By Lauren Blakely
This is the third book in the Sinful Nights series of standalone stories with interconnected characters.
He's the inked brother. The one you're wondering about. The bad boy of the family.
Colin Sloan has a past. He's done things he's not proud of, but he's living differently now. Making changes in his life. Working hard, working out harder, and trying to win over one woman. He's utterly crazy about Elle Mariano, and though the sex is epic, their friends-with-benefits arrangement just isn’t cutting it anymore. He wants all of her, and is determined to prove he’s what she needs in her life.
Elle is fiery, loyal, and in major lust with Colin Sloan. He’s everything she craves in a man -- smart, sexy, kind -- and a rock star between the sheets. But his past hits too close to home for her, and the people she has to protect. There isn't room in her life for a relationship with Colin. Especially when she’s forced to keep a secret that could tear his family apart…
Why, oh why, did he have to be off-limits? Why did he have to fall squarely under the heading of do not pass go? It was truly fucking unfair because no one had ever made her feel like this. Like she was high on a touch. Like she was deliciously dizzy from a kiss. She wanted him so badly, and not just physically. She wanted more of him, but her emotions had to be cordoned offtonight. She told herself to let go for this one last night, let go of everything but the way he made her feel so alive.
“Close your eyes,” he told her firmly, and she let her eyelids drift closed, giving in to sense. Giving in to touch.
Maybe she was selfish. Or maybe she just wanted to feel a little something that was solely for her tonight. Nobody could deliver that better than this man.
He was kneeling behind her. She couldn’t even see him. But she was keenly aware of his presence as he dipped his mouth closer to her skin. His lips fluttered over her sensitive neck once more. She ached, pulsing between her legs as he kissed her all over. A snapping sound fell on her ear, and her hair spilled from its clip onto her neck as he undid her twist.
“Oh God,” she gasped, because she knew what was next.
His hands dove into her hair.
Fuck me now. Just fuck me now.
He’d discovered all her secrets the very first time he’d kissed her and explored her body. He’d read her responses as if it were his top-secret assignment to know every inch of her skin, then he’d remembered and sought them out, focusing on all the places that drove her wild. The back of her knee. The inside of her arm. Her neck, the gateway to her pleasure.
She was hopeless with him. He’d unlocked the code to all her desires, and he used it masterfully.
He threaded his talented fingers through her curls, gripping, and she moved with him, moaned for him, as if she were the notes he played on a cello. He was the musician; she was the instrument. He played and he played and he played, and her body sang for him, a song of pure desire. Of heat. Of want.
He twisted her hair once around his hand, pulling it to the side, and she tilted her head that way, giving him more room to devour her neck with kisses, like he was starved for her. He lavished pleasure all over her, leaving her drenched in sensation from soft, fluttery whispers along her neck, territorial kisses that claimed her as his, all mixed with the whiskery rub of his stubble. His ever-present scruff was trimmed to mere millimeters but long enough to brush against her skin with every kiss, bringing the intoxicating mix of soft and hard, of rough and tender. He rubbed his chin along her shoulder, and she arched into him.
He snaked an arm over her shoulders, grazing along her breasts as he traveled down her belly, his fingertips dancing against her waist.
“You like what I do to you.” It wasn’t a question.
“So incredibly much,” she said, as he flicked the tip of his tongue across her shoulder. When he kissed her like this, and he touched her like that, she wanted to give herself to him fully. The way he wanted. The way he’d asked for. A voice in the back of her head started to argue with her, to warn her what happened when she made choices in heated moments like this, and she tensed for an instant.
But this was different. This was a moment she was choosing to relish. A night of pleasure.
His hand reached the crest of her hip and her brain went dormant. He traced the top of her panties through the fabric of her dress. “Show me how much you like giving in. Show me how wet you are.”
She yanked up her skirt, bunching it near her waist, giving him instant access to the V of her legs. Even with her panties on, there was no hiding her arousal.
He groaned huskily. “Look at you, Elle. Look at how wet you get. For me.” His fingers glided up the soft flesh of her thighs, and she parted her legs for him. Grazing the wet panel, he whispered, “I want to feel that all over my dick. I want this sweet wetness all the fuck over me. Tell me how much you want me inside you right now. Tell me.”
“Oh God,” she panted. “Yes, God yes. I want that. I want it so much.”
“You want it?”
“You,” she said quickly, correcting her error. “I want you so much.”
Lauren Blakely writes sexy contemporary romance novels with heat, heart, and humor, and she has had eight books on the New York Times Bestseller list and fifteen on the USA Today Bestseller list. Like the heroine in her novel, FAR TOO TEMPTING, she thinks life should be filled with family, laughter, and the kind of love that love songs promise. Lauren lives in California with her husband, children, and dogs. She loves hearing from readers! Her bestselling series include Sinful Nights, Seductive Nights, No Regrets, Caught Up in Love, and Fighting Fire. She recently released SWEET SINFUL NIGHTS, the first novel in her new sexy romance series Sinful Nights that became an instant New York Times Bestseller. Her new adult forbidden romance, 21 Stolen Kisses, hit e-readers in May and landed on the USA Today Bestseller list. In January, she'll release BIG ROCK, a standalone contemporary romance sure to make you swoon. She also writes for young adults under the name Daisy Whitney.