There’s a huge banner hanging above the entrance that says, Welcome Freshmen. Distracted with reading it, I almost collide with my resident adviser.
Popping her gum she sticks out her hand and says “Hey, I’m Erin, the R.A. for Muse and you are?”
Wiping my clammy hands on my yoga pants I stick out my hand, “Chloe Evans.”
She shakes it, then untucks a clipboard from under her arm and flips through the attached stack of papers. “Okay…” she runs her fingers over the pages. “Evans, Chloe… let me see. Here you are. You are in room 306. Third floor,” she replies cheerily.
“Great. Thank you,” I say. Time to unpack. I head back to my car to grab a couple of boxes. Heaving two boxes and a bag out of my trunk, I turn to head up to my dorm when suddenly I lose my grip, my toe hitches on the curb and just before I face-plant on the concrete, I’m caught by two strong arms. They heave me up onto my feet.
For a moment, all I can see are two strong muscular arms covered in tattoos. I catch a glimpse of the name Matthews written in black Celtic script running the length of his forearm from below his elbow to his wrist. His striking cobalt blue eyes distract me from my embarrassment. His jet-black hair looks just long enough for me to run my fingers through it and I’ll be damned if that’s not exactly what I want to do. His thick lips are spread wide in a charming smile. He’s strongly featured, his jawline chiseled, softened only by a day’s worth of stubble. He’s the paragon of masculine beauty.
Dumbstruck, I flush with embarrassment. I’m staring but who could help staring at him? He’s amused; I can see it in his eyes.
“Tha— Than— Thank you,” I stutter. Geez, Chloe could you sound anymore ridiculous, I scold myself. Get your shit together. Despite the cautioning voices in my head, I hesitate to detach myself from his arms, but somehow I find the strength to step back just a bit.
“No problem, sweetheart. Next time watch those curbs. I may not always be around.” He winks and I’m speechless, then almost immediately indignant.
“I am not your sweetheart.”
“Not yet,” he replies. Those two words threaten to make me weak in the knees. His voice is a dark rich baritone, like an audible dessert. He is definitely confident and arrogant, I think to myself. Either way, I am ready to give it back to him.
“Yet? How about not ever,” I spit.
“Whatever you say, princess,” he winks, walking away.
Who the fuck was that? And, what hell just happened to me?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Brandelyn Harris resides in Richmond, Virginia with her husband, teenage son, and furry friend. She can normally be found hiding away in her writing cave, blogging, eating Dove dark chocolate, drinking wine, or reading a steamy romance novel on her Kindle. Her love for reading and just recently writing started once she read the infamous Fifty Shades of Grey Series. Make Me Forget, Brandelyns’ debut novel is slated to be released late 2013.
Add Make Me Forget on goodreads
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18300526-make-me-forget
Contact Brandelyn:
On The Web:
http://www.AuthorBrandelynHarris.com
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBrandelynHarris
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/YourRomanceGirl
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7211727.Brandelyn_Harris
Pinterest:
http://www.pinterest.com/YourRomanceGirl
LILY OF THE VALLEY
Excerpt
by Sarah Daltry
Copyright 2013 Sarah Daltry
She meets my gaze and her mouth turns up in a wry smile. “I’m not that innocent.”
The challenge is there and I would love to test it. This girl looks like she’s just one wild night away from becoming an entirely new woman. I wouldn’t mind being the guy to help her out, to give her that one wild night. I’m tempted to touch her, to play with her damp hair, to see how she’d react if I kissed her right here. Her challenge would surely result in me being slapped, though.
“Sweetheart, I am sure we have very different understandings of the term.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t know that I mind being your idea of innocent.”
There it is. The judgment. She may have something hidden in her that’s more than what she appears to be on the surface, but the superficial persona is too important to her. Fuck her and her judgments. I’m going to watch her squirm.
I step closer and lean down slightly in her direction. She smells like she just showered; her wet hair carries the scent of a strawberry field.
“I don’t doubt it, but I just wonder what would happen if you let loose a little. You know, had a bit of fun.”
She backs away. I can almost hear the words in her head. Freak. Loser. What would her parents think of her for talking to me? What would her boyfriend think? She’s still nervous, but I can sense that our closeness makes her feel something. I just don’t know that I want to test it.
“I have plenty of fun. I don’t need anything else. Especially not whatever you have in mind.”
I have to get to work. Things are hard enough without playing games like this and I go back to my coffee. She crosses her legs and I think of what’s between them. I hope I made her tingle at least a little. After I finish my coffee, I smile and I see her thighs reflexively tighten. The muscle movement is hot and my cock springs to life. I need to get out of here.
In the doorway, I reconsider, thinking of her strawberry hair and her gorgeous eyes. Turning in her direction, I reiterate the challenge.
“I’m Jack. 401. If you ever want to test that theory. See what real fun is like, princess.”
Back in my room, I know I need to get to work, but I’m feeling horny as hell. It’s strange. She isn’t even my type. I like girls like Alana – wild, bitter and angry, and willing to do it all in bed. Lounge girl is probably a virgin, a sweet and pure angel who doesn’t even swear and goes to church every Sunday. Given my own experiences, I should feel some guilt about how badly I want to corrupt her, but I don’t. I think of strawberries as I stroke my cock; closing my eyes, I picture slipping into her innocent pussy, the strawberry smell surrounding me as I fuck her into submission. It takes almost no time to come, and then I go to work.
I can still smell strawberry as I ride.
Copyright
Copyright 2013 Dawn Robertson
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.