No matter how cruel it's been to me in the past, I've never been able to flip fate the bird. I'm a romantic at heart. So when fate drops a leather-bound journal at my feet, I know I should walk away.
I don't. I pick her up, bend her spine, spread her pages. From the first word, I'm a goner. The owner didn't give me access to her most intimate desires, but I devour them anyway. Her private darkness, her candid, sensual poetry - it all goes down like warm milk. And from that point forward, I drink, eat, and sleep her.
I went to his apartment and let him take my picture. Just once, to see how it would feel. I'm not his to look at, to inspire, to touch, but when he watches me through his lens, it gives me a high I don't want to come down from...
My journal is the one place I can be myself - as long as I can tie it up and put it away when I'm finished. But when Finn undoes the bow, he pulls strings that could unravel each of us.
Yours to Bare can be enjoyed as a standalone or as book two in the Slip of the Tongue duet.
Listen to a sample:
Read an excerpt:
“You said that last time, and you did neither.”
A challenge? I stand, nearly upending her onto the ground, but I catch her at the last second. “Bend over the couch.”
When she does, her skirt rides up the backs of her thighs, exposing more garter clips. I unzip my pants all the way. I haven’t had her from behind often, mainly because I like to watch her face as she comes. No time like the present. She’s just as pretty from this angle and appetizing as fuck.
I slip my hands under her blouse to grasp her breasts. She prepared for me, the scrape of her lace bra welcome against my palms. She shivers when I caress her lower back, goosebumps pebbling her skin. Slipping a finger into the elastic crotch of her panties, I say, “Next time wear white, so I can see how wet you are.”
“White is for virgins,” she says, backing onto my hand.
“There are still so many things I haven’t done to you,” I murmur, admiring her smooth apple of an ass. “You practically are a virgin.”
“Tell me what things,” she says. “It’s only fair. You’ve read most of my dirty thoughts.”
“Most?” My cock strains against the confines of my underwear. I pull my shirt over my head before removing my pants.
“You think I could fit everything in one journal?” she asks.
I stroke myself and look up at the ceiling. Lord, help me. This woman is figuring out just what it takes to ruin me, and I’m not even going to try and stop her.