Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, chharacters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used ficttitiously. Any ressemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 – Aced by K. Bromberg
All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author crane constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written crane permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at kbrombergwrites@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in the novel Aced are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
ISBN: 978-1-942832-00-3
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Works by K. Bromberg
Quote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Works by K. Bromberg
Driven
Fueled
Crashed
Raced
UnRaveled (a novella)
Slow Burn
Sweet Ache
Hard Beat
“RY?” I CALL HER NAME the minute I clear the top of the stairs. The little note she left me on the counter is in my hand. “Your nothing-but-sheets date night starts now,” it reads. Curiosity rules my thoughts and fuels my actions.
Well, that and the image of her naked and waiting for me. My day’s been for shit though, so I’m not going to push my luck and expect a miracle like that to turn it around. But a man can sure as fuck hope.
SoMo is playing as I walk onto the upper patio of the house where our original nothing-but-sheets date took place a long-ass time ago. Sweet Christ. My feet falter when I find Rylee. She’s leaning back on the chaise lounge, dressed in some kind of black lacey thing that I don’t pay much attention to because it’s see-through enough for me to tell she’s naked as sin beneath it. Her hair is piled on top of her head, her lips are bare, and her knees are spread so her feet are on either side of the chair. And I’m distracted momentarily—my eyes searching for a glimpse of the something more between those thighs of hers—before realizing sky-high heels complete the outfit.
Fuck me. I can already feel the spikes of those heels digging into my ass as her legs wrap around me. That’s a pain any man can find pleasure in.
“Hey,” she says in that raspy voice of hers that calls to my heart, my dick, and every nerve in between. A coy smile plays at the corners of her mouth as her eyes narrow, one foot taps, and eyebrows rise. “I see you got my note. Glad you knew where to find me.”
“Baby, I could be deaf and blind and I’d still find you. No way in hell I could forget that night.”
“Or that morning,” she says, and damn, she’s right. It was one helluva morning too. Sleepy sex. Just-woke-up sex. Sunrise sex. I think we tried all of those and then some. And I love the flush that crawls up her cheeks from the memory. My sex-kitten wife greeting me after work in lace and heels is embarrassed. The irony isn’t lost on me. I love how she can be this way for me, when I know, despite her confidence, it still unnerves her.
“Definitely a good morning,” I agree, as I stare at her. She’s always drop-dead gorgeous but there’s something new, something different about her tonight, and it has nothing to do with the lace. I can’t tell what it is but it’s knocked the breath right out of me.
Shit, what am I missing? Panic flickers inside me that I’ve missed something major. Could it be one of those dates guys have to put in their calendar with five alerts, so they don’t forget it? I run through the usual suspects: It’s not our anniversary. Not her birthday.