Haunted by memories of her brother’s death, and searching for answers, Lily Hart embarks on a career that takes her into a seedy underworld, where she is exposed to wealth, greed, lust and the reign of gorgeous, powerful, and dangerous men—one man in particular wreaks havoc on her emotions.At thirty Jake Eden has everything: looks to die for, money, power and a never-ending line of twisted, fucked-up women willing to do anything to get with him. Love? Love was for pussies…until a woman with the stage name of ‘Jewel’ arrives on the scene. She alone is different from all the others.Oozing pure, unadulterated sex, strong, intelligent and independent, she is everything he should stay away from, but she makes him itch to tame her and keep her for himself.
Her lure is addictive and undeniable and soon he is hooked.But when the line between betrayal and loyalty is put to test…
Will love be stronger than revenge?
She flicks her head flirtatiously like an animal in heat and deliberately presents her buttocks to me. I see her sex clothed in satin and puffed out between her spread thighs. I know exactly what she is doing. She is showing me the sweet wet heat at the center of her. The urge to reach out and touch. Fuck!
She moves her hips from side to side, slowly, teasing, provoking. Then she pushes back until she is inches away from my face. I can smell the heady scent of her arousal. It has hidden itself within the noisy smells of cheap perfume, sweat, sex, and seedy thoughts. It flowers in my face.
Like a wolf scenting the air, I inhale in quick bursts. She pulls back and my nose moves forward, following the intoxicating trail of her scent. Her hands skim lightly over her ribs and linger over the tops of her breasts, the skin satiny. She cups her breasts. I stare at her utterly riveted. She hooks one leg over the chair’s back and in one deft, smooth movement, sits down on the edge of the seat.
Keeping her body arched and her legs straight, she opens her thighs so her long, long legs make a fabulous V. The position is obscene and bewitching. She is good enough to eat.
I stare at the wet patch hungrily.
She holds the pose.
I raise my eyes up to hers. ‘How much to push the material aside?’
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Georgia Le Carre lives in England, in an old 19th century romantic cottage surrounded by a magical garden filled with fruit and walnut trees.
When she is not feeding words into her laptop, she is either curled up in bed with a box of chocolates and a good read, or lost in a long walk in the woods. Especially on moonlit nights. And often with the man of her dreams.
I’m not the hero in this story; I’m the motherfucking villain.
