Storm Stone’s super erotic eight-part serialized novel continues with Part Four: Casual Car Deception. With Jemma spending several days in New York City with her publisher, she’s forced to be apart from Damon. And as she heads back to Las Vegas, she decides it’s finally time to tell him about what she really does for a living.
Read on for a hot excerpt, then pick up your copy to read the whole story.
In the scene below, Damon confronts Jemma about what she really writes online…
“It’s not porn!”
“Oh, really, have you any idea how many men jerk off to your blog?” His smile was mean. He’d done his research; she knew almost a third of her readers were male.
“That’s not my fault, I write for women. I don’t need to justify my writing, my work to you — to anyone.”
He nodded, still leaning back in that relaxed, belying pose. “But you knew who I was? When you came on to me at Alfie’s Bar, you knew exactly who I was, didn’t you?”
Jemma stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “Who you were? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Then why did you lie to me? You knew who I was, Jemma,” he said softly. “That’s the only explanation.”
“I was going to tell you.” Her voice sounded weak, pathetic.
“Today, maybe tomorrow.” She’d just been waiting for the right moment.
He laughed again, clearly not believing her. “I read some of your blog, pretty hot stuff, Jemima.”
She cringed, feeling naked, exposed at the thought of him reading her work. “I’m Jemma, Jemima is a — character.”
“Well, character or not, you certainly got me going. I had to jerk off after reading some of that stuff.”
“It’s written for women,” she repeated.
“And I suppose you didn’t target me, after that business in Arizona, to build your readership?”
Business in Arizona, build her readership? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I was going to tell you, Damon.”
“Whatever,” he straightened up and walked towards her. “If you try to use me for your blog, or your book, or whatever the fuck, I will sue the ass off of you, Jemma, do you understand?”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t want to rile him up any more than he already was. He was looming over her, too close for comfort and her skin prickled with fearful awareness.
“What happened between us was private,” she managed steadily. “Nothing to do with my blog, or the book.” Except for another novel…
“So innocent, so convincing,” he reached out and trailed his finger from her cheek to her neck.
Jemma’s body caught fire at his touch, she was hungry for him, moisture pooling between her thighs.
His finger continued down over her dress, circling one hard nipple and he smiled smugly.
“I still want to fuck you, I want to punish the hell out of you, but I also want to fuck you.”
“Punish me?” She croaked.
“Yes, punish you, for lying to me.” His finger circling her nipple was exquisite torment.
Her mind was confused with dozens of unanswered questions, but all her body wanted was him on that bed naked, fucking her brains out.
“Are you up to it, or shall I just leave?”
“No!” She sounded desperate, she was desperate. “Just let me explain first, Damon.”
“I’m not interested in explanations. Do you wanna fuck or not?”
She was so weak and he knew it, his smile told her so.
“Yes, I do.” He seemed so cool and detached, so totally out of her league. “But what do you mean by punish me?”
His expression was filled with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck your ass,” he laughed. “There are less extreme forms of punishment.”
This was crazy, she should’ve told him to leave, but raw lust coursed through her, her body clenching every time she looked at him. Maybe she could explain to him afterwards…
“Go over and stand by the bed.” His voice was cool and commanding, and after a moment she did as he asked, feeling his eyes on her back. “Turn around.”
He was smiling; that predator’s smile. God, how could she not have seen that she was playing with fire?
“If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop and I’ll leave.” He strolled over to her, an air of tense anticipation about him. “Do you understand?”
She nodded, not understanding at all, but she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to listen to her, to get back what they’d had before, before New York.
“Yes, I understand,” her voice was husky with desire and trepidation.
He took her hand, long fingers sending currents of need through her. Seating himself at the bottom of the bed, he ran his hands up her thighs and beneath her dress, Jemma’s head fell back as she whimpered. Suddenly, he yanked her on top of him. In one swift move she was spread across his lap, her face buried in the mattress, her pelvis pushing against his groin and her booted legs kicking at the air. What the hell!
“Legs straight!” He grabbed both her legs in one big hand and forced them down onto the mattress.
She did as she was told, turning her head from side to side, trying to see what he was going to do.
Twisting her hair painfully in his fist, he turned her face sideways, facing the cupboard. She was breathing hard, fear of the unknown seeping through her. He was so angry, livid. What would he do to her?
“I think we’ll keep these sexy New York clothes on.” His voice had changed, the anger gone, replaced by a sensual, yet sinister, tone. “For the moment anyway.”