Read Against Me (Cedar Tree Book 3) Online
Authors: Freya Barker
“There you are, honey!” the woman exclaims loudly, “Was wondering where you were, since you weren’t answering your phone.”
“Told you I was out for dinner and would call later. This is not cool, Brenda.” The barely contained anger in Joe’s voice is clear.
Then Brenda turn her attention to me. Oh shit. With a huge, and fake as hell, smile she sticks out her hand at me. “Hi there, are you one of Joe’s colleagues? I’m his wife, Brenda.”
I don’t remember how I got to the car, let alone home - but I end up in bed with a pillow over my head, crying at my own stupidity. Again!
I could hear him yell after me when I tore out of Tequila’s on a run, but I wasn’t about to stop and listen to another set of goddamn lies. Been doing that for too fucking long already. Once bitten twice shy. Except I guess I needed that extra reminder that you can’t fucking trust men.
To be continued...
Cedar Tree Series
Book #1
SLIM TO NONE
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Book #2
HUNDRED TO ONE
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Book #4
CLEAN LINES
Coming this summer!
b
y
Ava Manello
War almost destroyed them, but they survived thanks to their brother in arms Declan.
Coming home wasn't as sweet as they'd hoped, lives had moved on without them. For one it was all too much.
United by grief and angered by injustice the Wounded Heroes vow to always be there for each other.
Little do they know that's going to come sooner rather than later.
P
assionate reader, blogger, publisher, and author. I love nothing more than helping other Indie authors publish their books be that reviewing, beta reading, formatting or proofreading,
I love erotic suspense that's well written and engages the reader, and I love promoting the heck out of it over on my book blog.
I'm a mother, but most of all I'm me!
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T
he touch of my fingers sends a small tremor through her body. I try to keep the massage firm, yet tender. I can already see some of the tension leaving her body. She groans as I knead the hard knot at the base of her neck. This past week has been a living nightmare for all of us, but especially her and the stress has really knotted her neck and shoulders.
My hands leave her skin for a moment as I reach for more body lotion. She moans in protest. There’s a delicate hint of coconut in the air as I warm it in my hands before applying it at the base of her spine.
I knead up and down her back, leaving a trail of warmth where I’ve passed. I can feel my cock twitching in my tight boxer briefs, begging to be let loose. It’s been too long since I allowed myself that particular pleasure. After everything that’s happened I wasn’t sure it would show interest in sex again, I’m pleased that it is, but I can’t. Not here. Not now.
Georgia is laid underneath me, dressed only in skimpy briefs so that I can massage her back. My legs are astride hers and I’m pretty sure she can sense my cock pushing against her. She says nothing though.
How the fuck did I find myself here? On this bed and in this position? This is my friends widow for fucks sake. I need to show him some respect. I need to remember the man that he was, not the shell he had become. He sank so low that there was no coming back. That’s why I’m here. We buried him today, so the last place I should be right now is in his widow’s bed.
I couldn’t ignore Georgia’s scream though as she’d woken from a nightmare, or the fat tears rolling down her face. She’s too young to be a widow; she’s not even forty. She has her whole life ahead of her. I’d consoled her by drawing her into my arms, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her close. She’d whimpered when my hand touched her back. The downside of living with Max for these past few months had been the abuse. She may have outgrown most of the bruises but the residual pain was still there.
I’d offered her a back rub in my innocence, and that’s how I come to find myself here now, sitting on top of her and desperately begging my cock to go back into its usual state of stupor.
There’s something so sensuous about caressing a woman’s skin, and it’s turning me on. As awful as it sounds it helps that I can’t see Georgia’s face. I couldn’t do this if I looked her in the eye. I need to just pretend she’s some anonymous stranger if I’ve any chance of getting through the rest of this night.
Georgia moans as I unknot a particularly deep knot in her shoulder, but it sounds more like a moan of passion than relief.
“Declan,” she pleads. “I need you. I need this.” She whimpers.
“I can’t.” I whisper back. “I can’t do it to Max.” I apologise.
“Fuck Max.” She hisses. “He didn’t give a shit about either of us these past few months. I need this.” She pauses. “And from the feel of your cock digging into my ass you need it too.” She reasons.
She’s right. I do need it. But I can’t.
“I can’t look you in the eye.” I apologise.
“Then don’t.” She reasons. She reaches down behind her and pulls her almost non-existent underwear down and raises her ass slightly. I can see her glistening pussy. She’s wet for me and I know for sure that my cock is hard for her.
I dismiss the guilt from my mind and release myself from my boxer shorts. Without allowing myself time to think about it I push into her. Fuck! That feels so good. It feels so tight and deep. I pause for a moment just enjoying the sensation, and Georgia lets out a loud groan of satisfaction.
“That feels fucking amazing.” She almost purrs.
Slowly I move in and out of her, each time it feels like I’ve gone deeper than the last. Her legs are trapped together by her shoved down underwear and her ass is gripping tightly to my cock as I move in and out.
She moves a hand to caress my leg and I stop her by holding her arms down. She likes that from the satisfied moans she’s making. Her face is almost hidden in the mattress, the pillow already tossed aside. She’s got short hair, I want to grab hold of it and pull her head back each time I push into her, but it’s too short for that. It’s just long enough to hide her face, and that’s probably a good thing. If I saw her face right now I suspect my cock would deflate faster than a popped balloon.
The only sounds in the room are the slap of flesh against flesh as my movements become stronger and our mutual groans of pleasure. I slap her ass sharply, and when she doesn’t protest I do it again. She’s pushing her ass back up against me, silently begging for more. I give it to her.
That’s when it all goes to shit. I’m having the best sex I’ve had in months, fuck it I’m having the only sex I’ve had in months, when I hear it.
A car backfires outside and I lose it. Suddenly I’m not in this suburban bedroom; I’m back in Afghanistan the day it happened. I can feel the heat, taste the sand in my mouth, and hear the screams of the other guys.
I snap out of it, just in time. My hands are round Georgia’s neck and I’m strangling her. She can barely breathe, let alone make a sound and her face is going a shade of purple. I release my hands quickly.
Georgia draws in a deep gulping breath of air before collapsing back down to the mattress and taking shallow breaths.
“What the fuck!” She croaks, her voice barely there and raspy.
What do I say; how the fuck do I explain the nightmare that I live constantly? I can’t. Instead I do the most dick move possible. I pull out of her and rush from the room without explanation.
Within minutes my bag is packed and I’m gone. Driving to an unknown destination in the dark of the night. I didn’t even say I was sorry.
I’m not sure where to go so I just drive. I’m not fit to be around normal people. Something broke in me out in Afghanistan, and I’m not sure I can ever be mended.
So I drive, and wait to see where the road takes me.
Survival (Twisted #1)
by Rebecca Sherwin
Survival (Twisted #1) and Revival (Twisted #2) available on Amazon now.
Thrive (Twisted #3) coming April 2015.
With intertwining memories and a world of deceit and betrayal yet to be exposed, Survival, book #1 in the Twisted series, is an intense, compelling page-turner, seen through the eyes of Skye 'the Skillet' Jones.
A mother. A father. Two daughters and a son. A happy suburban family of five.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
An alcoholic mother. An absent father.
Abandonment. A family ripped apart.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Oliver. Beautiful Oliver. My twin brother, my protector.
Fighting. Freedom. Death.
Tick-tock, Tick-tock
Cut Throat Curtis. My fire and ice. My light and shade. My pleasure and pain.
He taught me to fight; to control emotional turmoil with physical distraction. He had pain of his own, secrets he would never reveal, and I should have known it would only be a matter of time until he left, becoming a ghost in a life I no longer knew.
Tick-tock, Tick-tock.
Thomas. My magic. My fairy-tale. The man who promised the happy ever after I’d never dared to dream of. My prince. My lover. My everything and more.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
But fate was waiting, as always. The merciless force of kismet watched over me, biding its time, waiting to strike; to plunge me into the depths of defeat and leave me with no choice but to succumb.
It was coming, the twist of fate that would bring me to my knees. It was up to me, Skye the Skillet, to decide whether to bow down and surrender to its will, or fight back, to fight for what I had left.
To fight for my survival...
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Excerpt
© Rebecca Sherwin, 2014
“T
hat dress makes your tits look incredible.”
Thomas curled his arm over my shoulders, taking one of my breasts, sheathed in midnight blue, in his hand.
“Yeah, well, those trousers are too tight. I could see your cock twitching for me all night.”
“Mmm,” he groaned, moving his arm and slipping both hands into his pockets. “It’s been twitching for you for thirty six hours.”
That was how long it had been. Sometimes we would only last an hour without each other. Sometimes we’d go at it all night, multiples times, until I was so exhausted I only just made it to work the next day. And sometimes we would go for days with nothing but a teasing touch and a goading glare. It was what we enjoyed most. The anticipation. Building the need until it was on such a base level we couldn’t stop for hours. It had been thirty-six since he was last inside me. The only contact we’d had was chaste kissing, an ass grab on his part and a crotch stroke on mine. I ached for him; I would have torn my clothes off and rode him on the back seat if it weren’t for the game. We played it every time we went out.
Thomas pulled his closed fists from his pockets and presented them to me.
“If you get it, you go. If you don’t, I go,” he licked his lips and I knew he had a wicked plan. “Pick a fist.”
I thought for a second, just a second, because I was too excited to drag it out, and tapped his right fist. He turned it over and opened it; it was empty. He opened the other. It was empty too.
“Cheating, Mr Radley?”
“We never agreed to play fair,” his voice lowered to a seductive, rasping timbre that resonated through me and made my stomach flutter.
He reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and held out his fist again. I pried it open and found a small red gem settled in his palm.
“A ruby?” I took it from him and closed my fingers around its warmth.
“Red. For Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
He always bought me a gift when we played. I didn’t need them, didn’t expect them, but I took them. The first time, he gave me pair of Cartier diamond studs. I went crazy and demanded he take them back...
So he wrote the word ‘Cartier’ on my clit with his tongue again and again, refusing to let me come until I begged for release and promised not to reject his gifts again.
I flushed thinking about that night and squeezed my thighs together.
“You’re wet for me already,” he breathed and turned to look out the window. “I can smell your sweet nectar. I imagine it trickling from you, waiting for me to lap it up.”
I exhaled a moan, just from the sound of his voice and the images of his head between my legs. I’d gone from nought to nymph in seconds. Faster than the flashy car he fucked me on last week.
The car pulled up outside Thomas’ house and we climbed out. It sped off into the distance as we waited at the end of the driveway for it to disappear.
“Ready?” Thomas asked, running one finger from the top of my neck to the bottom of my back.
“Ready.”
Buy Survival on Amazon
Amazon.com:
Amazon.co.uk:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00NOFDNSO
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Biography
“M
other of a superhero...Writer of romantic smut.”
Rebecca is a coffee drinking, music loving, working single mother and writing insomniac. When she’s not writing, she’s reading and when she’s not reading she’s squeezing her eyes shut and willing sleep to descend.
She writes about serious issues, giving emotional turmoil a twist and adding a little ‘British’ humour and dry wit. Her stories are real and relatable, yet unexpected and unpredictable. Every writer was a reader first and Rebecca owes her passion for creating and telling emotional tales to the stories she has read and the people, places and experiences that have, and continue to, inspire her. Rebecca wants her readers to escape to a world where fairy tales and true love exist, wrapping her stories up with angst, passion and curveballs you won’t see coming.