I'm giving a shout out to my Decadent Publishing pub-buddy London Saint James. The second installment in her Bad Boy Fever series came out today, and this (warning needed, scorching hot, adults-only, kinky-filled) excerpt should whet the appetite of many a BDSM romance fan. She's also running a giveaway for a $10 gift card, so don't forget to scroll all the way down to take advantage of the Rafflecopter.
Claimed by the Bad Boy
BAD BOY FEVER, BOOK 2
by London Saint James
Something always brings him back to her...
Ryker Cage is a rough guy, with very particular tastes when it comes to sex. Rough, hard, and dirty is the extent of his repertoire. Never soft. He doesn’t have a clue about connecting with his sensitive side in the bedroom, or that find-your-inner-femininity bullshit. He fears nothing, except—his feelings for the sweet and innocent Molly Monroe.
The bad boy who lived next door claimed Molly’s heart long ago. Crazy, or not, she loves him. Always has. No matter what he does to push her away, nor how far he runs, Ryker is the one man she’ll never stop loving.
When Ryker finally finds his way back home, will he find the courage to claim what's always been his? Or, will he be destined for heartache when someone threatens to take everything away?
Excerpt (For Mature Audiences Only.... You have been warned.)
“Fuck,” Ryker said in a gruff grumble, staring down at the smoking-hot, red-headed bartender on her knees, polishing his dick with her tongue stud—her shorts unzipped, her right hand tucked inside—rubbing herself. Let’s just say, when he ordered a deep throat, this wasn’t what he had in mind.
“You’re-so-big,” she managed between long licks. “Just look at you.”
He was a big guy, so hearing what she thought he wanted, wasn’t a turn on. What was? The way Red nibbled down his length and fondled his balls.
He sucked a breath through his teeth. The little vixen teabagged him.
“Sweet.” His head went back when she trailed her tongue up his sack, between his testicles, continued up his shaft, swirled the metal piercing of hers across the winking slit of his cock before wrapping those lips around the broad head—sucking him hard. “There you go.”
“Do you like that?” she asked.
The bar-babe picked up the pace, using her left hand to grip the base of him, alternating between jacking and sucking.
“Keep it up, and I’ll come, baby,” he said.
Ryker had no idea what she said her name was. Why? Easy. He’d been too busy eyeing her round ass jiggle in those skin-tight daisy dukes when he escorted her to the back door of The Cherry Bomb for a cigarette, although he didn’t smoke. And when she rubbed up against him—supple breasts to muscled chest—whispering things like, “Suck,” and “You,” and “Down the back of my throat” into his ear, they’d taken a quick detour.
He wasn’t what one would consider sensitive when it came to the opposite sex. Rough, hard, and dirty was the extent of his repertoire. Never soft. He supposed his tastes were very particular. And, he didn’t have a clue about connecting with his softer side, or that find-your-inner-femininity bullshit his free-spirited aunt Dali spouted to him and his brother every chance she got.
The bombshell scraped her teeth up his shaft and he groaned low in his throat, muscles flexing, fingers splaying wide on the two, steel-sidewalls of the stall—calves hitting the front of the toilet.
“Mmm….” The little hum she did sent a satisfying vibration down the length of him.
The shine from the overhead light bounced off the top of her head, setting a sunset blaze as she bobbed up and down on his cock. She was eager. Focused. Determined to have him bust a nut. He growled at the sight. She reminded him of a porn star by the sounds she made. And the suctioned pull of her mouth on him with the twist at the tip, along with the hand-tug at the root—freaking brilliant. But when she changed things up and twirled her tongue around the under-edge of his flared head, good God, the combination was shiver inducing. Having been the happy recipient of a lot of differing techniques in his almost thirty-two years, Ryker figured she hadn’t learned to do that without plenty of practice.
Shit. She did the combo thing again. Red had him there. Ready.
“I’m going to come,” he warned.
She popped her plump lips from his throbbing dick. “Mm, yes,” she uttered in a breathy voice. A second later, he exploded, warm jizz covering her manicured fingers and silky-smooth palm, while she shook—her other hand still shoved down the front of her shorts—climaxing.
Ryker closed his eyes for a moment reveling in the extraordinary haze of nothingness. No thoughts. No guilt. Nothing but the slowing of his breaths until they drifted into quietness.
“Good?” she asked, disrupting the silence.
His eyelids lifted and he glanced down into her face. “Great, baby.”
She took on an eye-twinkling, pleased expression, then Red slipped her fingers free, reached for the toilet paper, and wiped her cum-covered appendages.
“I’m off in a couple of hours.” She smiled up at him—a dimple creasing the right side of her cheek.
Ignoring the comment, Ryker righted himself and tucked his softening cock back into his pants in an efficient manner. Here was the part he detested the most. He hadn’t thought Red would be a clinger. He figured she’d be well versed in the rules of a random hook-up. But he also understood what her last statement was leading to. She wanted more, and he didn’t.
When Red stood up, his gaze shifted to her. She reached around him and tossed the TP in the toilet, zipped up, turned, unlocked the slider on the stall door, and stepped out. They were the only two in the restroom. He was glad they didn’t have an audience awaiting their exit.
“Want to hang around for a while?” she asked. “We can go back to my place when I clock out.”
They both cleaned up at the sinks. No need to wait. He wouldn’t be going to her place.
“Can’t.” He added soap from the dispenser to his palm. “Early morning.”
“Hmm,” she mumbled while washing her hands.
Jesus. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a fuss. He hated those pouty, I-can’t-believe-I-blew-you, you bastard, scenes. But when her green-eyed gaze met his sea-blue one in the mirror, she appeared fine. No frown. No pursed lips. No tears threatening to overflow. She didn’t look as if she were going to go all fatal attraction on his ass.
She asked, “Do you want my digits?”
Ryker rinsed and dried his hands. He might be an epic asshole at times, nonetheless taking her number, and acting as though he would call, wasn’t something he’d do.
“I think we both know I won’t be calling.” Being as upfront as he could be, he strived not to sound too douchebaggery.
She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least give it a shot.” Red sauntered to the restroom door. Glancing over her shoulder at him she said, “Thanks for taking a ciggy break with me.”
“Sure thing, although I should be the one thanking you.” She grinned. “So, thank you.” No reason not to be polite. After all, Red did all the work, and even got herself off in the doing. He’d just been along for the joy ride.
“I guess I’ll see you around the club, Ryker.”
He stared after her. Something about the way she said “I’ll see you around” in a soft, almost remorseful tone, reminded him of—
“Don’t,” he reprimanded and scrubbed his palm down the back of his neck.
Fan-fucking-tastic. He was talking to himself now.
He pulled his cell from the top pocket of his shirt, gripping too hard.
Letting up before he broke his phone, he brushed his thumb across the black screen, bringing it to life, and gritted his teeth. Ryker detested this. He despised a lot of things when it came to his desires he supposed, and this ache for something he couldn’t have kept him traveling so much over the past year, taking on software security jobs, which took him away from home. Far from….
So much for the bliss of oblivion, which was, let’s face it, always fleeting. Chasing that short-lived minute was part of the reason for his extracurricular activities. To stop thinking. Forget. Lose himself. And here he was, minutes after his latest quickie, contemplating a conversation better left alone. Nothing good would ever come from what he was considering.
Ryker glanced down at the phone—finger poised.
He typed in his text. Paused. Thumb hovering for a long moment, reading those four words over and over. And, then, unable to do anything else, he pressed—send.
About London Saint James
London Saint James has lived in many places, but never felt “at home” until she met the real-life man of her dreams and settled down in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her husband and their fat cat who thinks he owns them.
As an award-winning, bestselling, multi-published author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she did, that big imagination of hers, and all those clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.