Eggcerpts from The Brit Babes

If you fancy some steamy excerpts from The Brit Babes - of which I am 1/8 - then please keep reading. We're a diverse group and span a wide range of styles, genres and voices...enjoy...but beware, they're all HOT!

We fell into our hotel room. Ruben kicked the door shut and dropped the key to the floor. Next thing I knew I was up against the wall, my wrists held above me in just one of his hands. He was staring down at me, his nostrils flaring as he breathed fast.

“Tell me this is it,” he said, palming my left breast through my dress with his free hand. “Yes, this is it,” I panted.

“You and me?”

“Yes, you and me.”

He smiled, not in his usual sweet way but in a downright predatory way. “And what do you want?”

Excitement and anticipation swirled in my belly. Between my legs I was buzzing for attention. “You, Ruben. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

He gritted his teeth, but only briefly because then he caught my mouth in a wild kiss.

I pushed against him as he drove me harder into the wall with his body. There was nothing weak about him. He had me held tight with his chest, his belly and legs all taut with muscle and his lust as powerful as any force I’d ever known.

I matched him kiss for kiss, looped my right leg around one of his. Tried to move my arms but couldn’t.

“Like this,” he said, suddenly releasing me and spinning me to face the long mirror next to us. “Bend over. Put your arms out.”

I stooped and pressed my palms onto the cool surface. He yanked my short dress up to my waist and tugged my knickers off. Cool air washed over my bum and legs.

His movements were swift, precise and within seconds, his cock was nudging at my pussy from behind.

Spreading my legs to make his entry easier, I watched in the mirror as he concentrated on his task, his hair flopping forward and his tie hanging loose, tapping against the small of my back.

But he didn’t penetrate me with his cock. Instead, he plunged two fingers into my pussy.

I shunted forward and gasped, the filling as sweet as it was intense.

“So wet for me,” he said, withdrawing then pushing back in, just teasing my G-spot the way he was so damn expert at. “You’re perfect for me.”

I forced myself to continue watching his reflection. He was tall and wide, looming behind me. Still wearing his suit it seemed extra sexy, extra forbidden that we’d snuck away from the celebrations to satisfy our sudden carnal urges.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he said, fingering me, “or your sexy pussy.”

“Mmm...oh yes...but...” I needed more stimulation so let go of the mirror and searched out my clit.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, pushing me away, “that’s my job.” He took over with his free hand, working and rubbing, building me up.

I locked my knees and whimpered a complaint when he removed his fingers but then braced as he pushed his cock into me that first inch.

He gripped my left hip, kept working my clit. “I’m in heaven when I’m in you,” he said, sinking balls deep, and a long, low grunt of pleasure erupting from him.

“Me too,” I gasped. “When you’re in me.”

Palms still on the mirror, I took him all, so deep he nudged right up to my cervix. I adored this position, I’d forgotten how much, and being able to see the bliss on his face as he withdrew then thrust back in was sublime.

He held me tight. I was a little unstable, my concentration wavering from my legs to my pussy. An orgasm was blooming. His fingers were wicked, unrelenting, feeding a pressure in my clit that was demanding more, more, more.

“Ruben,” I gasped.

I didn’t know how I managed to stay on my feet as the coiling wave of bliss unraveled through me. Ruben had me pretty well held at my hips and the mirror supported me a little, but still, I felt as if I were crumbling, floating. I bucked for more, jerked away. It was so much and the intensity stole my breath.

My climax crested and rolled, and I opened my eyes again, concentrated on Ruben’s reflection.

“Ah, yeah, squeeze me like that,” he said, releasing my clit then clutching both my hips. “It’s gonna make me come...ah...ah...” He tipped his face to the ceiling, closed his eyes and buried himself to the root. “Fuck, yeah...” He sucked in a deep breath. His tie settled for a second, and his chest expanded beneath his clothes.

His orgasm looked and sounded beautiful, and I knew I’d never get enough of seeing and hearing it. We were meant to be, Ruben and I. We were in perfect synchrony to weave love and time together.

He pulled out, slowly, then pushed back into me, a tremor traveling over his body and into mine.

There’d probably be bruises on my hips tomorrow but I’d wear them with pride. The way he’d enjoyed the scratch marks I’d left on his back.

“I just want to stay like this all night,” he said, releasing my hip and pushing his hair from his eyes.

“Nice thought... Mmm...” I moaned as he slid almost out then pushed in again, my tender, swollen flesh hugging his cock.

He smoothed his hands over my bare buttocks. “You have such a sexy arse. Why haven’t we done it like this before?”

“I’m sure there’s lots of things we haven’t done yet.”

“Shall we make a list?” He caught my gaze in the mirror.

“That could work.”

Breathe You In is available with an additional sexy scene from the publisher Totally Bound, and from all other ebook retailers including Amazon Amazon UK

If he’d had a wall, Wilkes would have punched it. This was beyond ridiculous. Crushing on his interpreter had so many items in the “cons” box that even the dimmest soldier in the platoon wouldn’t consider it. But his brain, or at the very least his libido, just couldn’t let go.
Sighing, Wilkes then gritted his teeth. “Fine. Have it your fucking way. Knock yourself out.”
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax and let his brain do what it wanted. Naturally, it veered straight back to Balkhi. Balkhi as Wilkes had first met him, in dish-dash and flip-flops. Balkhi in British Army uniform and sturdy boots. Finally, Balkhi in nothing but a smile, his long, lean body hard and tempting. His dark skin shone in the light, shifting over muscles and sinews as Balkhi waited for Wilkes to make a move.
“Touch your cock,” Wilkes said in his fantasy, while in real life his hand tugged down his boxer shorts and released his own. “Touch it for me. Stroke it. Squeeze it.” Each sentence mirrored his own actions, and within seconds his shaft was as hard as fantasy-Balkhi’s, which was now tipped with pre-cum.
Balkhi did as he was asked, his long fingers wrapping firmly around his dick, shifting up and down. The skin around his knuckles paled slightly as he obeyed the last command—squeeze it. His pupils were so large that his eyes looked almost black, and his bottom lip jutted out temptingly as he panted. Wilkes wanted to nip it between his teeth, make Balkhi gasp with the sharp bolt of pain, then pull the plump flesh into his mouth and suck it all better.
Remembering it was all in his head and that he could do whatever the hell he damn well wanted, Wilkes acted on his impulse. Balkhi tasted and felt as good as he looked, and Wilkes pumped his cock harder and faster, wishing he didn’t have to keep quiet. Not that anyone would do anything if they noticed what sounded like come-noises emanating from the boss’ tent, but no doubt he’d have the piss taken out of him at some point for being heard tossing off. And, knowing his luck, they’d bring it up in front of Balkhi, and then Wilkes would die of embarrassment on the spot.
Dropping to his knees, Wilkes hurriedly shoved Balkhi’s hand away from his shaft and took a moment to study it. Just like the man it belonged to, it was not too big, not too small, and yet far from average. Circumcised, the head was fully visible; nothing was hidden beneath folds of skin. Reaching out, Wilkes wrapped his fingers around it, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face as it hardened further beneath his touch.
Shifting a little to get the perfect grip, Wilkes then began to masturbate Balkhi, in long, steady strokes, squeezing just a little harder as he got to the base, releasing the tension as his hand travelled up the length. Then he reversed the technique, playing around to see what Balkhi liked best, what made him gasp, what made him moan. Everything seemed to have the desired effect, so Wilkes picked up speed and grew rougher with his strokes, delighted when more clear liquid beaded at the dark purple head.
Unable to resist, he stuck out his tongue and tasted it. A hiss escaped from between Balkhi’s teeth. Wilkes did it again, and again, poking his tongue deep into the slit, pulling out more of the salty liquid and drinking it down eagerly. God, he wanted to make him come in his mouth, make his cock throb between his lips and his balls empty their load down his throat.
Making sure his mouth was plenty wet, Wilkes licked his lips then sunk them onto Balkhi’s cock. It tasted good, so fucking good. Clean, musky, salty. Masculine. Wilkes had barely started and already he was hooked. Concentrating on the head for a while, he got it soaked with saliva, letting it dribble down the shaft and onto his fingers. Then he used his hand to pump the base while his lips, teeth and tongue teased the tip, gradually working down and down until he needed to move his hand out of the way. Continuing on, Wilkes pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils, willing himself to relax as the head of Balkhi’s cock flirted with his gag reflex. Pushing through the initial discomfort, he swallowed, taking it in, gratified to hear Balkhi’s yelp, and feel desperate fingers grip his scalp.
Fuck, he felt powerful and vulnerable all at once, and it was perfect. Utterly perfect. Working his throat around Balkhi’s cock, he hoped it would be enough to make him come. His hands now free, he reached down and began teasing Balkhi’s balls, rolling them gently in the soft sac, tugging, squeezing lightly. A strangled sound came from above, and Wilkes smiled in his head.
Releasing Balkhi’s balls, he crept a finger behind them, pressing on that smooth patch of skin there, before venturing farther, teasing the crinkled skin of his arsehole.
That was enough—just the suggestion was enough to send Balkhi over the edge, and with a grunt and a moan, his cock exploded.
Wilkes pulled back slightly, allowing the salty fluid to gush out over his tongue, before he swallowed it down.
Back on his camp bed in his grotty tent in the desert, Wilkes pressed his lips together to keep quiet as his own orgasm hit, spurting out over his fingers and his stomach, pleasure overwhelming as his mind was overtaken with erotic images of his Afghan interpreter.

Buy links for Lucy's Desert Heat HERE 

As I scrubbed one of the baths, I pondered on how I was in a whole heap of trouble here. My attraction to Stalker was strong, and in my other life I’d have gone to bed with him in a heartbeat if that had been on the table—or the bed, the floor, against the wall. But it wasn’t, at least not from where I was standing. Yes, he’d said he’d fallen in love with my smile, but that didn’t mean he’d fallen in love with everything else about me, did it? I, on the other hand, fancied the pants off him, but as for falling in love…

Could I let myself feel something for him?

It had been all very well, grabbing the chance at sharing my bed—or theirs—with men when they’d chosen me as their sexual partner for the night, but I’d known none of those liaisons would turn into a full-blown love affair. How could they have when I didn’t think I could share my personal space with anyone without ripping their damn heads off around ‘that time of the month’ or generally getting along like nice people did. I was headstrong, hard to deal with at times and I didn’t feel any man should have to put up with me.

Thus, me being single was just my thing. Best all round.

But Stalker? I reckoned he could handle me. 

Stop being such a Rapunzel, longing for some bloke to come along and rescue you. 

I laughed to myself at that and gave the wall tile an extra vigorous scour to remove a spot of mould. He had come to rescue me, but I knew I’d have to toss him—ha ha, mind in the gutter again—aside once this was over and continue living in my lonesome tower, my hair getting longer and longer by the day with no one else wanting to use it as a rope that would take them to my womanly wares.

Christ, the violins will start playing in a minute.

I finished in the bathroom then took polish and a duster into one of the bedrooms. This place was a mini mansion, the furniture old-fashioned with carvings that hoarded dust like a miser saves money. I loved the place. It felt right to be here—better than at mine, where loneliness was my best friend, apart from the various sex toys I had stashed in drawers and boxes.

Yes, I had that many.

What kind of sad cow had I become? I’d be buying a litter of cats next.

I switched my mind onto the task ahead. There were armoires to buff to a gleaming shine, not to mention the struts of the four-poster that would have overtaken a smaller room. Here, the space drowned the thing. The drapes around it were drawn shut, and I’d bet that it was really cosy in there once you’d got into bed. Cold nights wouldn’t be cold behind those thick curtains.

I couldn’t resist giving it a try. It wasn’t every day a woman got to realise a childhood dream, was it? I’d always wanted to be the girl from The Princess and the Pea, sleeping on a pile of mattresses in a bed fit for a queen. But as an adult I didn’t want to feel a pea. Something that resembled a long Cumberland sausage was more like it.

I need to get laid.

I placed the polish and duster on a tallboy then closed the door, checking to see if there was a lock. There wasn’t. I walked over to the bed, excited and feeling as though I was doing something naughty. I was in a way, with my intention of climbing into someone else’s bed and having a little play with my—

Nope, I wouldn’t do that. Not that. Not here. Not when someone could walk in at any moment and catch me doing it. It was bad enough that I thought about sex more than your average woman and, as I’d discovered, when I was scared witless too, but to do the rudies by myself in this place? Not on your nelly.

Is there something wrong with me?

Before I could answer myself, I drew back one of the two curtains on the long side of the bed in a quick, broad sweep and got ready to launch myself onto the mattress. I gave it my all and leapt forward, closing my eyes to better savour the soft landing.

The landing wasn’t soft.

“Oomph,” someone said.

Shit. Stalker!

I snapped my eyes open and looked down at him, widening my eyes as I realised he was naked from the waist up, and oh my God, he had chest hair. 

Chest hair!

My dreams really had come true.

Making out that I’d put my hand on his pecs to steady myself, I dared to stroke the fur. “Fuck me, I do beg your pardon,” I said, not wanting his pardon at all. This was too good to be wrong.

“I won’t beg your pardon but I will fuck you.”

“You can fuck me all you like,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows a little, but other than that his expression didn’t change.

“I do like,” he all but growled.

Growled!

Deary me, he’d spoken as though it was a fact, that we’d fuck and fuck until the cows came home. I wasn’t about to turn that down, not in a million years. And even if it ended up being just a one-day stand, that’d do nicely. I’d have some great memories to recall when I returned to my sex toy boyfriends.

The idea of that was suddenly unappealing now that I had a bulk of hairy goodness underneath me—a bulk of hairy goodness that had something hard in his pants. So it wasn’t only my smile he liked. Or maybe I was deluding myself. He might just be aroused because a woman was on top of him, not by me in particular. 

Could I fuck him regardless?

Erm, yes.

His eyes had a glint in them, one that spoke of his libido being well and truly up, his lust for a bit of a romp uppermost in his mind. It was uppermost in mine too. My cunt ached for the thrust of a real cock. Plastic or rubber did the job but it didn’t give that natural feel, did it?

He reached up to tightly grip the back of my neck—oh, he was a rough-and-ready man, then—and pulled my head down so our faces were millimetres apart. If I pouted, my lips would touch his and we’d be well away, off to Sex Land where all kinds of magic could happen. But I didn’t pout. I wanted him to make the first move, to take the lead. I needed to be ravished, tossed around on the bed by this big man who did all kinds of mad things to my emotions. He scared me. He thrilled me. He gave me the shivers. He soothed my soul. He was everything I shouldn’t be involved with and everything I wanted—an assumed bad boy with the heart of an angel.

He flipped us over so our positions were reversed. Beneath him I felt so small, and he looked so damn big that I wondered whether his cock would match the rest of him. He had large feet but I’d discovered in the past that didn’t mean anything. But if I had to hazard a guess, the firmness digging into my nethers meant he had quite the glorious package.

And I planned to unwrap it—if he didn’t unwrap it first.

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This time he engulfed her, pulling her tight against his chest. Then, breathing like he was about to explode, he grabbed both her wrists in one big hand, pulled them up over her head and pressed her against the support beam in the middle of the room. With a grasping stretch of the other arm, he yanked a length of utility cable from a metal work desk and bound her wrists with stunning efficiency.
‘You sonovabitch, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ She jerked and bucked against his efforts, but no matter how strong she was, he was stronger and bigger. ‘It’s not bad enough I’m your prisoner here, but then you have to -’ He bit her lip hard and kissed her until she could feel the press of her own teeth against the back of her lips as he slipped the cable that bound her wrists over a hook just high enough on the support beam to stretch her arms at full length. 
His eyes burned into her like fire. ‘You kissed him.’
‘I fucking didn’t kiss him!’ She stomped her foot down the inside of his calf and he grunted and cursed, but otherwise ignored what she knew had to hurt like a sonovabitch. ‘He kissed me! And it’s none of your business, and why the fuck should you care?’ She brought her leg up to knee him in the balls, but he blocked the move, swinging her knee wide and shoving in close, his upper thigh rubbing hard against the sensitive juncture between her legs. 
Then he took her mouth again and she felt a tooth puncture her lip, she felt the rasp of his stubbled chin abrading her face. ‘I care, goddamnit,’ he grunted against her mouth, then he pulled away and bit her neck right where her pulse shuddered in the tender spot, and she cried out. 
He gripped the top of her blouse with white-knuckled fists, large fists, so much larger when they were pressed against her breasts, and the room was filled with the sound of ripping silk. Buttons pinged off the metal desk as he tore and shoved as though the remains of the very expensive blouse had somehow offended him. From his jeans, he took a pocketknife and, before she could do more than yelp, he brought it up between the cups of her bra and with a quick slice, cutting the garment in two. Then he tossed the knife onto the table with a loud metal clank and buried his face between her breasts, his hand cupping and kneading until she was sure there would be bruises, until her nipples beaded and ached, until each breath she caught seemed less and less effective. The sound coming from his throat was a guttural moan that vibrated against her sternum as his lips then his tongue, then his teeth found one nipple and then the other.  And she lost it.
‘Fuck you, Crittenden! Goddamn you! Why are you doing this to me? Why the hell are you doing this to me? Untie my hands!’ The last words broke over a sob and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. 
For an instant he froze, head resting between her breasts, breath coming humid and fast. Then he slid his hands up her body to cup her face, holding her so she couldn’t look away, holding her until their eyes met. With his thumbs, he wiped back the mascara smudge of tears and spoke around his efforts to breathe. ‘I … don’t want him … touching you, Carla. I don’t want anyone touching you but me.’ Curling his fingers in her hair, he yanked her into a kiss that might have been fatal if she hadn’t bit him.
When he pulled back with a hiss of breath and tightened his fist in her hair she bared her teeth. ‘You’re an asshole, Crittenden.’ He tightened his grip, until her eyes watered, holding her so she couldn’t bite him while he deftly slid in between her thighs so that she couldn’t knee him while, with the other hand, he rucked up her skirt and shoved the crotch of her panties aside. His eyes sparked green fire as he wrestled open his fly and shoved his jeans down over his hips.  
‘Do it! Goddamn it! Just do it, you bastard,’ she screamed. 
And he did. The first thrust felt like he’d entered her with a battering ram. He cursed and grunted and fisted the clenching muscles of her butt. ‘Melbourne may have touched you, Carla, but when I’m done with you, it’ll be my touch you remember.’ His voice came in tight breathless fragments, between barely parted lips, but their meaning was crystal clear. ‘When you wake up in the morning, I want you to know that I’m the one who fucked you. I want your body to feel every place I touched, every place I had you. I want you to feel me every time you move, every time you breathe all day long. I want you to remember what I did to you.’ 
He gathered her to him and, she didn’t think it possible, but he thrust still harder, and she thrust back with all the rage and all the force her bonds would allow. The sound from his throat was an animal roar, a sound of violence, a sound of lust and passion being ripped from her. In the fire that raged in her brain and in her body it barely registered that she answered his wild animal rage with her own. She roared and kicked and bit, all the while cursing him and blessing him. She landed a solid heel in his kidney and he grunted and gave a low guttural laugh that made the fine hairs on her arms rise. ‘I’ll take your bruises, Carla. I’ll wear them and feel them and know that you gave them to me and not to him.’ 

Interviewing Wade, An Executive Decision novel (Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

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Again the silence fell, and Hermione concentrated on her drawing. When the outline was done, she could see it was going to be a good painting. It just needed a little colour and a touch of life.
She looked up and noticed Philip’s pained expression. “Are you okay there?” she asked.
“Yeah, not bad,” he rasped, then smiled that disturbingly disarming smile.
“Sounds like you need a drink. Hang on.” She reached into the recesses of her bag and pulled out a slim bottle of water. She popped open the sports cap and strode the few feet over to Philip, offering it to his lips. He smiled and accepted the tip of the bottle gratefully. As Philip gulped, Hermione tipped the bottle more and stood on tip-toe to get the necessary angle.
She over-balanced slightly and was unable to catch herself in time. She crashed into Philip’s thigh and the bottle flew from her hands, splattering them both with water in the process. The bottle dropped with a thump to the ground while Philip’s arm automatically wrapped around her falling body.
Their words poured out and stumbled over each other.
“Are you...”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Are you—”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
Hermione looked into foliage-green eyes and stopped. Her hands had landed on his chest, her stomach against his thigh. Philip’s arm was tight around her and his fingers gently gripped the opposite shoulder, holding her reassuringly in his warmth.  The bark of the tree rubbed across her calves and her knees stung from their impact against the log.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She focused in on his liquid lashed lips and stuttered.
His lips planted upon hers.
Surprise was the gentlest of emotions Hermione felt. A whole sea of emotion rolled over her as lust, shock, outrage and passion all at once transmitted across their bridged lips.
She found herself reacting and pressed her lips back against him, gently caressing his plump soft folds with hers. She clamped her fingers around the thick material of his shirt, pulling him against her before she realised fully what her body was doing. She was ignited like a bush fire. Dizzy, she was unable to stop burning.
Eventually Hermione drew away from the kiss and stood back a step. Philip’s hand rested on her upper arm as she panted and straightened her hair.
“I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me there.” Her cheeks were hot and she stared at the grassy floor.
“Please don’t apologise.” Philip smiled. “It was as much my fault as yours. I don’t know what came over me, I’m usually far more restrained. I’m afraid I do believe I’ve broken pose as well.”
She looked up at him and saw the cheeky glint to his eye and she laughed
“I think it’s time to break for lunch,” he said. “Is that okay?”
Hermione knew she was incapable of fine motor skills, so she nodded her head. “Good idea. So that basket is a picnic then.” She chuckled. “I did wonder.”
“Yup, I thought we might be here a while.” Philip hopped down off the log, moaned happily then yelped. “Ouch, my buttocks have gone to sleep. Want to wake them up?” 
Hermione giggled and flushed some more. “Cheeky! Are you asking for a spanking?”
Philip chuckled. “No thanks, I prefer to be the spanker, not the spankee. I was thinking more along the line of giving them a rub or a kiss or something.”
“Nope, it’s a spank or nothing.” She enjoyed teasing him and was quite surprised by her flirtatious nature.  He might not be her type but he was the only man to show interest in her for a long, long time. It was if the interest he had shown had switched on her long-lost flirt switch. Or something.
“Oh, okay then, just one.” He braced himself over the fallen log.
“Right, are you ready, buttocks?”  Hermione spent a moment admiring the curve of Philip’s bottom as he laid waiting for her slap.
“Ready as they’ll ever be,” he replied.
“Here it comes.” She raised her hand high and let it down quickly. She was a little surprised by just how much power she put into the spank and pleasantly impressed by the feel of his taut buttocks beneath her hand.
“Ouch! I wanted them waking up not knocking out.” He pulled himself up to his feet.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “It seems I don’t know my own strength.”
“You’re not sorry at all. I can read it all over your face. You were enjoying, it weren’t you?”
“Well, maybe a little. It’s not every day you get to spank a rich kid.”
“Kid?  Is that what you see me as?”
“Well, I know there’s not much difference in our age. It’s just you seem to lack experience, that’s all.”
“Lack experience? I’ll show you how experienced I am.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Was the kiss I gave you just now inexperienced?”
“I don’t know…I just thought…I wasn’t thinking.” Hermione wasn’t sure if he was genuinely pissed off or if he was just messing around with her. Her heart pounded.
“No, you weren’t.” He pulled her over to the overturned tree. “And now, young lady, you’ll pay for your insolence.”
He pushed her down on top of the rough bark and held her there. She didn’t struggle. She was too surprised at finding herself with her arse in the air to move.
“It’s all just a bit of fun,” he whispered as he leaned over her. “If it gets too much just shout ‘paint brush’ and I’ll stop. All right?”
She nodded. She wasn’t exactly sure where this was leading, but she was tingling all over with anticipation and she really wanted to find out.
“This skirt is much thicker than my trousers,” he said, then caught the hem of it in his fingers. “You’d not feel a spanking through it.” He flicked his wrist and pulled the material up and over Hermione’s back, exposing her cloud-white knickers to the warm spring air.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, her cheeks flushed. Her heart continued to pound like a bailiff’s knock on the door.
“Just giving you what you deserve, madam,” he replied. She glanced up at him and saw his focus was on her bum. His tongue slipped out and wetted his bottom lip. He was obviously enjoying the view.
“A good spanking.” He raised his free hand. The other was laid on her back keeping her skirt up whilst holding her down.
“No, I didn’t say you could do—” Her rant was cut off by the loud crack of his hand connecting with her milky flesh.
“That’s for calling me a kid,” he said then raised his hand again. “I am not inexperienced simply because I am wealthy, right?” He slapped down again and she yelped with the impact. “I asked you a question.” He spanked her again. “Answer me when I speak to you.”
“Sorry, no, no, you’re not.”
“No I am not, what?” Again he struck her bottom.
“Sir, no you’re not inexperienced, sir.”
“That’s better.” He smiled and stroked his hand over her bum.
Hermione had been outraged by the first spank, then frightened by the second. But as his hand raised and fell, her emotions changed. She realized she looked forward to each spank. The pain that had flared in her arse at first had mellowed into pleasure, and she wanted more.
As his hand fell she would raise up on her toes to encourage his spanks. She was sure he could see her do this, and didn’t care. She wanted him to know she was desperate for it. She’d never been spanked before, and was quite surprised by her love of it. She was a strong woman generally, but as a single mother in her mid-twenties with no family to help, she’d had to be fiercely independent. She’d always had the upper hand in any dealings, but now she thoroughly enjoyed being on the receiving end of his upper hand as it slammed down against her flesh. It seemed somehow to be freeing.

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Irritably adjusting her wide-brimmed hat for the third time in as many minutes, Dr Beth Andrews felt the sting of the African sun sear the back of her neck through the tresses of her long, ginger hair. 
She never dreamt she’d miss the stubborn, muddy clay of the British earth she was used to hunting through in her search for archaeological data, but the uncooperatively fine white sand of North Africa was enough to try the patience of a saint. 
Throwing down her brush in overheated exasperation, Beth thought fondly of her excavation trowel. Her tool of choice had quickly been rendered obsolete in the face of so much sand, and a job that was, by necessity, slow was reduced to a snail’s pace as the metre by metre square of the Ancient Roman bath house site in which she worked backfilled in on itself with every sweep of her light bristled brush. 
It had been a dream come true for Beth when she’d been selected to lead the University of Wales’s excavation team, digging the sprawling Ancient Roman city of Lepti Major on the outskirts of Sousse in Tunisia. She had longed to experience new exotic sites and see new exotic sights. The chance to uncover stunning mosaics and city roads that hadn’t been trodden for 1000 years was an opportunity she’d had no intention of letting pass by. 
The fact she’d be sharing responsibility for the site with her archaeological hero, the unimaginatively named Dr Harrison Harris from Colorado, an American academic who’d been the subject of many of Beth’s private fantasies since she’d fallen in love with his work, not to mention the photograph of him on the back cover of his books, in her first year as a student, was neither here nor there. 
Flicking her eyes covertly over towards Harrison, Beth averted her attention away from the slight increase in her pulse rate by recalling what the site’s previous supervisor had said about working in Africa’s extreme temperatures. “Scalding by day, and freezing by night”. Linda had warned Beth that her freckle-spotted, sensitive flesh would loathe being either fried or frozen just as much as her archaeological brain would relish the challenge of constructing a city from its remains.
It hadn’t taken Beth more than a few hours of digging in the unshaded bath house on her first day to see that a survival technique was required to prevent the elements disrupting her professional judgement. She tried thinking about work, home, rain, and even walks in the snow as she worked, but only one thing successfully diverted her attention from the exposure of her unusually pale flesh to the elements, and that was to allow her mind to fill with erotic scenarios and fantasies, while her fingers got on with the job in hand. 
This specialised amusement had the benefit of taking her mind off the sun that managed to scald her back even through three layers of thin cotton, and had the added bonus of warming her at night. Lying on her thin camping mattress, Beth would recall all she’d pondered during the day, engendering an ardour between her thighs that her fingers deftly maximised, leaving her physically warmer and bodily sated, and thus making it easier for her to fall asleep. 
At first, Beth had been determined that Harrison would not feature in her erotic musings. Her resolve had not lasted long, however, and although she did her best to make the men in her sexy survival scenarios anonymous, the American’s face crept in with increasing frequency. 
Manoeuvring a layer of burning sand from one side of her section to the other, Beth considered her colleague. His reputation as an expert in Roman archaeology was renowned. Beth had never dreamt she’d ever meet him, let alone work with him as an equal. His knowledge and academic intellect had been enough to make her heart flutter for years. Yet what Harrison was like in reality was not at all how she’d assumed he’d be. 
She’d envisaged him as being chatty, tall, slim, dark-haired, and weather-tanned. He’d probably wear glasses for reading, and be forever clad in T-shirts and large-pocketed shorts as he leapt around excavations like a gazelle. 
In fact, she’d hardly heard Harrison’s distinct Colorado accent. He seemed to prefer his own company to that of the group. When he did talk to Beth, he called her “doll,” which made her feel like a lump of mass-produced, animated plastic. 
Harrison was about 5 foot 7, not the 6 foot plus she’d pictured, and his spiked hair was a sun-kissed blond and not brown. His build was stocky and muscular, his bare arms and legs permanently gritted with granules of sand, and although he moved with a speed which would have been the envy of any gazelle, he managed to proceed around the site somehow without making a sound. 
The problem is, Beth thought as she traced the outline of what she suspected might be a Roman drain gully, I built up an image of him based on a book cover’s black-and-white out of date headshot, and I was way off. 
She’d been right about Harrison wearing knee-length shorts, though. Everyone on the dig wore such shorts, except for the stick thin, heavy-chested blonde on the American team, who might as well have been wearing knickers her shorts were so scanty. Beth sighed as she looked down at her own attire. A protective covering of baggy clothing shrouded her limbs, and her porcelain neck was hidden beneath spirals of her ginger hair, which glowed as if she’d been hit by radiation rather than African sunlight. 
Ryan wasn’t helping either. The most charismatic of her students had been so enthusiastic on his first morning that he’d headed to the site before everybody else, without waiting for Beth to detail where to dig. Consequently, he’d powered through the ground in an alarmingly gung-ho manner, neglected the recording of each strata-graphic layer and, with his six-pack and biceps shining against 120 degrees of sunshine, had crashed his shovel into the corner of a mosaic that had been safely protected by the landscape for hundreds of years, breaking off half-a-dozen exquisitely coloured tesserra tiles, and rendering one of the depicted Medusa’s snakes partially headless. 
Beth had gone ballistic. To his credit, Ryan had been mortified. He’d begged her not to tell anyone. For the sake of the university’s reputation, not to mention her fear that Harrison would take one look at her careless student, assume she was no good at supervision, and send her home, she had agreed it would be their secret. Ever since, however, Ryan had been driving Beth mad with his attempts to make it up to her at every opportunity. 
Only that morning he’d lent so close to Beth as he informed her he was going to make up for his blunder that his soft Welsh tones had vibrated against her skin. His manner was so blatantly suggestive that she hadn’t been able to prevent the inappropriate smile that had very briefly crossed her lips.
What exactly is Ryan offering? she wondered. A sneaky snog behind the equipment cupboard? A cooling down of my chest with his tongue? Or is he more ambitious than that? Does he imagine me naked, face down, spread-eagled over an empty wheelbarrow with his cock between my legs; or see us together in the shower, washing off the worst of the sand that seems to be permanently stuck to my body while he shoves his dick down my throat? 
For goodness’ sake, woman! She chided herself. Beth was surprised to find her chest, whose generous size she’d always loved before, but now heartily wished was small enough to go without the extra layer of material her bra provided, was becoming taut. Cross with herself, she shook her hair out from beneath her hat, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts from her head. Having random erotic dreams might be the only thing that keeps you sane in this blast furnace – but you must not consider your students! Get a grip!

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“Have you missed us, baby,” Jose said, running his hand down the curve of my back and squeezing my butt.
I pressed closer, loving how his cock, erect and ready, pushed onto my belly. “More than you’ll ever know.” It was the truth. Without them I didn’t feel complete. Despite having more than most people could ever dream of having, there had been a hole in my life without them in my bed at night.
Dillon stepped into the shower, his cock hard and heavy, jutting from his pubic hair. He, too, was more tanned that when I’d last seen him and his azure eyes appeared all the more stunning because of it. His expression as brooding as ever.
“I hope you’re not tired,” he said, curling one side of his mouth into a drop-dead sexy grin.
“Not at all.” I reached for his face, rested my palm on his stubbled cheek and accepted the lingering kiss he sent down.
Suddenly everything felt right in my world. Four hands roaming my body, two men wanting me, our three hearts beating as one.
“Sorry we missed the show,” Dillon said.
“It’s okay.” He didn’t say it with the conviction Jose had. But that was okay. To Dillon I was just me. My stardom did nothing for him other than it meant he had to take extra measures to protect me. “Perhaps I can give you a private performance later, ah...” My words were cut off as Jose slipped his fingers between my legs.
“Mmm,” Jose said, “you’re wet with water but also creaming too.” “Do you want us?” Dillon rumbled into my ear.
“Yes.”
“Both of us?” Jose asked, circling my clit.
“Yes, always.” My breathing was ragged, my body hot, feverish despite the cool water. Jose’s touch was like a hotwire to my pussy to start it trembling with need.
“Good, ’cause you’ve got us,” Dillon said, scooping my breast into his palm and squeezing. “And the door is locked.” His mouth found mine.
I fell into Dillon’s kiss. His dark, decadent flavor was intoxicating. I could do nothing to resist.
“Suck us, baby,” Jose said into my ear. “We’ve both been thinking of your mouth on us, on the flight here.”
Dillon pulled back and looked into my eyes. “Made me so fucking hard on the plane.” He clenched his teeth. “Thinking of how you do that other thing too.”
“Good,” I said. “Hard is exactly how I want you.” I rested my hand on each of their sternums, pressed, and backed them into the wall. Loving how they submitted to my will, letting me control them for a change, despite the fact they were both so damn big. “You ready?” “Yes,” Jose said, licking his lips. Dillon hesitated.
“What?” I asked
“I want this.” Dillon handed me a black rubber plug. “You know where.”
Oh fuck.
“Really?” I asked, trying to act cool. But damn! How fucking horny would it be to invade his asshole with a butt plug? He was fond of reaming mine, and of me fingering his. But that? It was considerably bigger than my finger, or even two of my fingers.
“Really,” he said.
I stared into his eyes. Damn, these guys pushed me to such delicious extremes. I took it from him, feeling the dense weight and the smooth texture. “I’m going to suck you both first, though, okay. I want you in my mouth.”
“Ain’t going to complain at that plan,” Dillon said, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.
It occurred to me it had taken a lot for him to ask me to use the plug. And in front of Jose too, though Jose didn’t appear in the least bit surprised or put off by it.
Who was I kidding? These guys knew everything about each other.
I slid to my knees, kissing and stroking over both of their abdomens in turn, then wrapped my hands around their rigid shafts.
Jose buckled his knees, sliding his hand into my hair. Dillon groaned and clenched his fists.
The water pounded onto my back, flooding over my shoulders, breasts and through the cleft of my ass. But all I could think of was the flavors of my men. I placed the plug on the floor, between my knees, then gobbled Jose into my mouth, rubbing Dillon with a firm hand.
“Ah, baby, yeah,” Jose said, curling his fingers onto my scalp. “That is what I’ve been dreaming of.”
I let him slip to the back of my throat, his slit gliding over my palate and his cock lodging tight. I set up small gulping movements, just the way I knew he liked.
He groaned. His shaft swelled and hardened further. I adored that I could do this to him, getting him to fullness so quickly.
After a few minutes I pulled back and glanced upward with just the crown of his cock in my mouth.
Two flushed faces stared down at me—Jose’s lips parted slackly, Dillon’s a tense straight line.
I allowed Jose’s shaft to slip from my lips, caught him in my palm and set up a push-pull movement as I switched my attention to Dillon. My hair was full of their hands, stroking, tugging, urging. I couldn’t tell whose was whose.
“Fuck it,” Dillon said, widening his stance as I sucked in his crown. “I’m always so close to coming on the first touch of your mouth.”
Unable to answer, I scooped my tongue around his shaft and took him deep, tonguing the thick vein on the underside, which I knew drove him crazy.
This time was no exception.
“Damn, it’s too much,” he said, though his words didn’t match his actions. He pumped his hips forward, taking possession of my mouth. The hold on my head was firm. The sensation of them claiming me like this was so erotic. I wanted them to know I was theirs as much as they were mine. So what if a thousand fans thought they knew me.
They didn’t.
Only Jose and Dillon saw the real me.

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A dull ache thudded through Lena’s temples, and she paused for a moment before opening her eyes. Thinking back through every damp, cold, excruciating minute of lying all night in this dip, she couldn’t remember actually falling asleep. 

Her nose was dripping and she pulled her face down into her robes to heat it with her breath, surprised icicles hadn’t formed. Getting the feeling that she would never be ready for this day, she bravely blinked open her eyes to see the mist rising from the morning dew. She stilled and focused on the horizon. Three deer, hazy in silhouette, were nibbling at the wet scrubland. Lena’s scalp prickled as she made out the buds on the larger deer’s skull. A buck.

Excitement bubbled in her chest, and she wished she could rouse her companions to witness the sight. It was an omen. She was sure of that. A parallel trio, wild on the moors. When she felt she could, without breaking the spell, she let her mouth dance into a smile. As she did so, one of the does looked up in that eerie, languid, yet perfectly on guard way. Their eyes met through the thick morning air and Lena yelped in her chest. Suddenly, anything seemed possible. The uncomfortable, sleepless night forgotten, she gently rocked Angelo’s thigh, trying to wake him carefully. His eyes shot open and he sprang up, startled, and the deer scattered out of sight. Lena sighed then looked to her disheveled lovers. 

“Morning,” she said, and kissed his sleep-swollen lips. 

“Mmm.” He rubbed his eyes and smiled the smile that devastated her every time. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, snuggling back into the warmth and safety under his arm. 

“No.” He wrapped his arms about her. “But I’m guessing you didn’t either?” 

The hollow ache behind her eyes became a thump, and seemingly instinctively, Angelo took her hand and massaged the flesh between her thumb and forefinger. It was a strange pain, like an electric bolt, but Lena felt a knot unwind and release the tension in her neck and temples. 

“How did you do that?” she asked, wide-eyed and astonished when her head and vision cleared and she felt refreshed. 

“Come on...” He smiled and winked. “You know how good I am with my hands.” 

Lena nodded and leaned back as he drew his face close to hers, kissing her gently on the lips. She inhaled and all the tiny hairs on her skin came alive and connected to each other, sending similar shocks of electricity through her. 

“I missed you so much,” whispered Lena as Angelo kissed the still cold tip of her nose. She sniffed, tears as well as mucus threatening to spill. Angelo kept silent and shifted his kiss to her mouth. Lena slumped back into the land as he rose above her, scooping her while their mouths entwined. One arm cradled her upper back while the other roamed under her clothing. His fingers found her heat quickly, and she squeezed her thighs shut around his hand. He pried her open with two fingers and thumbed her clit slowly. Lena’s head fell back further, deeper into the earth, as he kissed her lips and thrummed her pussy. Twisting her arm awkwardly, she managed to rummage among the furs and robes, and found him hard and desperate. Still kissing ravenously, he shifted a little to allow her more space, and she wrapped her hand around his girth and began to stroke him.

Excitement welled frantically despite the deliberate, slow, sensual actions they performed on each other. Her hips undulated in time with her hand pumping his cock languidly. It was excruciatingly hot to be brought so teasingly to that state of arousal. 

He broke free of the kiss just long enough to whisper into the side of her cheek. 

“I love the way your pussy feels.” 

Her grip tightened on his cock, and she couldn’t hold back anymore. She fucked him hard with her fist and bucked her pelvis, swallowing him up and forcing his thumb harder onto her clit. The trembling began in her stiffened knees and rose to the depths between her thighs. 

The kiss stopped as time itself suspended. She came hard and ferociously on his fingers, pouring her juices onto him just as he shuddered in her hands. Taking the tip of her thumb over the come-slick head of his cock, she smeared his cream all over him and her hand. 

He withdrew from her and sucked his soaked fingers. 

She was a little embarrassed until she realized it was exactly what she’d intended on doing to her own sex smeared fingers. She brought the milky liquid to her lips and licked hungrily...

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