I have a bit of a laid back blog tour coming up for this book, kicking off tomorrow at Victoria Blisse's place. So pop back in for updates for upcoming guest spot dates. Tomorrow's a big day here at Unapologetic Fiction. I'm over at V's and I have a guest popping in to share a blog for y'all.
Make sure you come back and see who it is. Hint, it's a he and he's an UF virgin. :)
From Boys Next Door:
‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, pulling me back just enough that I brushed against him which helped me get my bearings.
He was warm against me, but I shivered.
‘Your hands are freezing. Are you claustrophobic?’
‘Not so much that,’ I whispered as if louder noise would make us plummet to our deaths. ‘I just don’t like elevators. How long? How long will we be here?’
‘Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?’
I sighed. ‘The truth, though the smart money is probably on the lie.’
‘Probably half an hour to an hour. George has a good heart but slow hands.’
‘Great.’ I moved my hands around to try and find the railing that ran along the sides of the elevator. I didn’t think this poor man needed to be holding me like some damsel in distress. But what my fingers brushed was most definitely not the wall of the elevator. My hand froze.
‘Um …’ he said. And there was that dark and almost sinister laughter that somehow slid up my spine and under my hair and prickled my scalp like electricity.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
A moment ticked by and I was afraid to breathe. I felt like I might laugh or cry or scream, or possibly all three at once.
‘But not enough to move it, eh?’ he asked, moving his body just enough that I felt the hard push of his cock to my hand.
My face heated with a blush. I was grateful he couldn’t see.
‘Shit. First I grope you and then I … just keep right on groping you. I don’t even move my hand. Have I mentioned the one thing that freaks me out is elevators? And a dark one that is being worked on by a slow man is the worst case scenario.’
‘Hunh,’ he said and I could hear him smile.
‘And my hand is still on your cock!’ I blurted, finally ripping my hand away.
‘Hey, whatever calms you down, Farrell McGee.’
I couldn’t help but snort, but my hands were shaking and I felt a little light-headed.
‘You’re really scared,’ he said.
‘It’s coming off of you in waves. It’s palpable. That’s hard to pull off. Palpable fear.’
‘I am nothing if not talented.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a failed actress. You?’
‘Failed writer. But I am currently the butcher for our small town.’
‘Ah, I love meat.’
‘Oh my God. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.’ I put my hand up to brush my hair out of my face, in the dark it felt like a million tiny spiders tickling my cheeks. But I brushed over him instead – I was starting to wonder if it really was an accident – and he took my hand and squeezed it between his warm ones.
‘Breathe,’ he said. He put my hands flat on his chest and then placed his over the top of mine. I stood there, trying to calm down and feeling the steady and easy beat-beat-beat of his heart.
I took a deep breath and held it before blowing it out. The same way I did for stage fright.
‘Better?’ he asked, his face close, his breath smelling of mint.
‘Better,’ I echoed.
‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Like peaches and … I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ Deke leaned in and sniffed right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. My skin prickled almost violently. ‘Honey?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I can smell is you.’
What was I doing? My God, I had just met this man, had only seen him in the light for a few moments and now – if my nether regions were to be believed – I wanted him. Badly.
‘And what do I smell like?’ He put his hands on my lower back, splaying his fingers, spreading their warmth. He pulled me just a touch closer and though his cock wasn’t touching me, I felt – or imagined I felt – the energy from his hard on mingling with my own lustful energy.
‘Pine and cinnamon and wood smoke. Like the outdoors. That’s what you smell like.’
‘Hunh. Good nose. I spent all day at a client’s fishing cabin, dressing a deer.’
For some odd reason, I imagined a deer in a skiing ensemble and snorted. But even as the laughter burst out of me, I pushed my pelvis to his. Brazen, but it was what I felt the urge to do. So I did it.
New life. New way of doing things.
‘Dressing?’ I rotated my hips just a bit and his fingers brushed over my skin sliding lower to slip beneath the waistband of my jeans.
‘It means butchering. But don’t worry,’ he said, when I went a bit stiff. ‘I cleaned up real good and even had some coffee by the fire before I left.’
His mouth came down on mine then and I figured, fuck it. I was scared and horny and he was handsome and Satan-ish and felt damn good pressed against me.