Locks, keys and prison bars can’t contain a love that’s meant to roam wild and free, but when that love is let loose, will Lacey be able to handle what’s heading her way?
Rules are meant to protect the innocent and keep danger at bay—except for me. The lines blur, and it all started when I met the ultimate bad boy. But is he? Miller Davenport might be big, bad and brimming with sin but he’s confessed his crimes and for ten years he’s served his time and walked the line.
Everyone deserves a second chance, right? And as his nurse—the one person who understands him—I can’t help but count the days till we can be together properly, without guards watching over us and without every look and word we share censored.
When that day comes, though, will our desire for each other explode and take me to the new heights he’s promised? And if so, how will I survive such intensity?
One thing is for sure. With Miller I’ll be whisked up in a whirlwind of his dark energy and a tornado of his lust, and likely taken to the very edge of what I can handle. I can’t help a few nerves, though, as release day approaches, because if it all comes crashing down, who can I depend on when I’ve ridden into the sunset with a man who’s broken all the rules? Will I be saved or will I have pushed everyone and everything too far?
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of exhibitionism, anal play and light restraint.
General Release Date: 10th November 2015
I wriggled on my seat and stared at the man walking toward me. He wore a navy pinstripe suit twinned with a white shirt and red tie. As he paced, his slender thighs pressed against the front of his trousers and the bottom hems flashed a hint of scarlet socks.
I wondered what he’d be like to fuck.
Would he be fast and furious? Fuck like he was walking now, with purpose and full of self-importance? Or was I wrong? Maybe he’d be slow and gentle, take a break from his busy high-stress day to indulge in sweet and sensual lovemaking. Would he use that tie to harness his lover to the bed then blindfold her? Perhaps he’d keep his red socks on as a little joke for himself or perhaps to ward off chronic cold feet.
I took a sip of coffee.
He looked at me.
I poked out the tip of my tongue and swiped away the streak of frothy milk my cappuccino had left behind on my top lip.
His attention lingered, his steps slowed, just a fraction, then he walked past the café in the direction of Oxford Street.
I stared at his arse. I could just see the lower curve before his jacket started. From what I could tell, his buttocks were small and neat. Was it an arse that liked to take it hard? Was he gay? Did he instruct the woman in his life to don a strap-on and bury deep until he came? Maybe he was an anal virgin. What would he say if I followed him now, invited him to my flat for a drink, then offered to fuck him where the sun doesn’t shine? Would he jump at the opportunity or would he be horrified? Maybe he’d insist on taking my arse first, tit for tat, and make me receive before I doled it out.
He turned the corner and instantly his imagined sexual preferences were erased from my mind. I didn’t have the brain space to store all the men in my game. That would result in mental overload. I only had one bloke who I thought about late at night, if I was alone and needed to masturbate, which wasn’t very often since I had a long-standing arrangement with a fuck buddy.
A waiter stepped from the blue doorway of the café, clutching a white plate holding the cheese panini I’d ordered for my lunch.
I held up my hand and signaled.
He smiled and headed my way.
Judging by his accent, which I’d heard when I’d paid, he was Italian, and his flawless olive skin highlighted his high, cherubic cheekbones. Dressed in black, he had a white apron tied at the waist embroidered with Lorita’s Coffee Shop.
“Thank you,” I said as he put down the plate
“Welcome. Enjoy.” He smiled, flashing neat white teeth.
A whiff of strong aftershave filled my nostrils. Rich and spicy, it laced the back of my tongue and reminded me of a holiday I’d gone on with Shay years ago. Maybe he’d had the same cologne back then.
Thinking of Shay sparked my game again—not that it ever took much. I looked at the waiter’s hands. He had neat oblong nails and a skinny cluster of brown leather bracelets on his right wrist.
Beneath the table, I parted my legs slightly and imagined what those hands would be like skimming up my inner thighs. They looked soft, almost feminine, but would he compensate for that by being determined and forceful? Perhaps instead of gently stroking through the folds of my pussy and teasing my clit out to play, he’d go for the bullseye straight out—shove three fingers deep inside and rub furiously at my nub with the heel of his hand. Oh, he might talk dirty in his native tongue. That would make me want to come instantly, even though I wouldn’t know what they meant, those harshly whispered words spewing from his mouth.
I looked up at his dark brown eyes. They were the color of hazelnuts, shiny and intelligent, and he had sinfully long, black lashes that curled upward at the ends.
Could he read my mind? That was part of the game. Here was me, thinking of him fucking me with his hand and talking filth, yet I was smiling sweetly as if butter wouldn’t melt.
He took a cloth from his back pocket and wiped away a drip of liquid that had been on my table when I’d sat down.
Now I was thinking about my hands on him.
His delicate limbs, the sleekness of the tendons in his forearms, were perhaps a clue to his preferences in bed. He could be the type of man who liked to be taken under the control of a strong woman. Perhaps this was shameful to him, being an Italian stallion and all that, and he kept it hidden or suppressed. But I could see him now, slim and lean, sprawled on the bed, arms and legs trembling, mouth parted, eyes dinner-plate wide as I tickled his balls and stroked his long, thin cock.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.
“No, that’s fine, thank you,” I said with a smile.
He tipped his head, just slightly, as though seeing something in my eyes—or maybe my smile—then he wandered away, again leaving me with a back view.
“Hey, Lacey. Didn’t you get me anything?”
I looked up at the sound of Shay’s voice.
“No, sorry, not sure what you wanted.”
“That looks good.” He picked up my panini and chomped into the corner.
“Hey.” I snatched it off him.
He grinned and sat down, still chewing. “How’s it going?” He pressed a crumby kiss to my cheek.
“Fine, but I can’t stay long. I’m on a late shift.”
“Shame.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m in court soon too, but I always make time to see my favorite cousin.”
“Oh, now I’m suspicious. What do you want?” We were only cousins by marriage, his father had married my mother’s sister when we were kids, but Shay liked to call me cuz or cousin. I guessed it stemmed from him having very few blood family members of his own.
He faked a hurt expression. “Nothing.”
“I bet you do.” I started on my panini. It would probably be all I’d eat until late evening. Prison food was crap, even for the staff.
“Well,” he said, signaling for the waiter. “I might fancy your company tonight, that’s all.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll be too knackered for any of that.”
The waiter came over. He glanced briefly at me then nodded at Shay.
“Can I get a tea please? Just plain old English with milk,” Shay said.
“Yes, sir.” The waiter nodded.
I stared up at him and wiped a speck of bread from the corner of my lips.
Again he looked at me.
A thrill tightened my stomach as once more I thought of him on that bed, stretched out, submissive, me touching him, teasing him, denying him orgasms to the point that he begged, cried for relief. Then, and only then, would I rub his cock until he came and spunk shot onto that slim belly of his in great pearly ropes.
The waiter frowned slightly then retreated inside the café.
“Do you fancy him?” Shay asked.
“Nah, not really.”
“You looked at him like you do.”
“I was just playing my game again.”
He nodded slowly. “Ah, the what’s-he-like-in-bed game.”
“Or the how-does-he-fuck game, or the what’s-his-kink game, does-he-take-it-up-the-arse game, depending on my mood.”
“And how do you think our cute young waiter likes it?”
I took a sip of coffee. “I was thinking he likes to be used and abused.”
“He’s Italian. You don’t think he’d turn into a rampant beast in the bedroom and get all Neanderthal?”
“No, there’s something about his hands, his wrists in particular, and the way he moves—not gay, but effeminate.”
Shay looked into the coffee shop, shifting his head to see past the writing on the window. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Would you do him?” I asked.
Shay laughed. “If I was gay, which you know damn well I’m not, then…” He twisted his mouth as if thinking about it. “Er, nah. I don’t think so.”
“Okay.” I nodded thoughtfully. “What about this bloke then…if you were gay, that is?” I indicated, with my eyes, a builder crossing the road in front of us.
He wore chunky boots covered in dust, tatty jeans and a black T-shirt with a high-viz vest over the top. He had a receding hairline but it didn’t detract from the pleasingly symmetrical angles of his jawline or his plump lips. He was butch and manly, oozed testosterone and had hands that looked strong and sure. Likely they were callused too.
I stopped myself constructing a bedroom scenario with him spanking my buttocks with beefy muscle behind each whack and grazing my tender flesh with his work-worn skin.
Instead, I studied Shay.
He was chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes were narrowed and he was tapping the fingers of his right hand on the table.
“Well?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I knew it. You like ’em rough and ready.” I laughed—a deep guffaw that burst from my mouth.
The builder looked our way.
Shay tutted and averted his attention to me. “Except I’m not fucking gay, am I.”
“But you did it just then,” I said. “You imagined fucking with him. Now tell me, were you bent over and he was shoving his cock into your arse, or were you being all bossy and assertive and screwing him?”
“Shut up,” Shay said, frowning. “It’s a stupid game and you’re a dirty cow.”
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his freshly shaven cheek. He smelled of his regular cologne, something fresh and vanilla, a bit like a cocktail on the beach. “You love me really, and it’s only stupid when you don’t play it right. Here, try it on her instead.”
Shay looked up, frown still in place, as a woman dressed in tight jeans and an even tighter red T-shirt with Armani scrawled over her breasts came our way.
His frown softened.
I bit into my panini, wondering what the hell was going through his mind, what all those clever lawyer brain cells were thinking.
She tottered past on her heels and gave Shay a haughty look then flicked her peroxide-blonde hair over her shoulder and tipped her chin into the air.
I bristled. Why was she looking at my Shay like that? He was one of the most eligible bachelors in town. He was handsome, well paid, had a Thames view from his apartment and was sought after by some of the richest people in the country to get them off the hook.