Mixing
business and pleasure is never a good idea.
Or is it?
Find
out in Slave to Love by Julie A Richman
NOW
AVAILABLE!
Blurb
There are risks to
mixing business with pleasure...
IF A MAN HAS AN
AFFAIR AT WORK, HE'S A STUD.
He was a royal
prick.
The night we met,
he ignored me.
Then Mr. Big Shot
CEO grabbed my ass in a business meeting.
My boss just loaned
me out to this guy.
Now, we’re working
on a major project together.
And our chemistry
is dangerous.
Combustible.
If I allow it to
ignite, I’ll risk losing that promotion.
Worse, what if I
lose myself in him?
IF A WOMAN HAS AN
AFFAIR AT WORK, SHE'S A SLUT.
From the moment I
saw her I knew she was trouble.
It was the
combination of her fresh face, smart mouth and nipples that seemed to know my
name.
This woman could
satisfy my needs both in the boardroom and the bedroom.
But there was more
to it than that.
I wanted her.
Really wanted her.
And I was in the
position to change the course of her life.
But I’ve got
secrets, secrets that could destroy her.
And either make her mine or drive her away forever.
Slave to Love: Chapter One By
Julie A. Richman ©
2015 Julie A. Richman I am
a slave. Seriously, I am. My shackles may not be what you’re envisioning, as
unfortunately, they are not crafted from leather with a hot, sexy dominant on
the other end, flogger in hand. But they are trendy and cool and golden. Yes,
my handcuffs are golden and they come with stock options, a 401(k), oodles of
frequent flyer miles and hotel points and an Admiral’s Club membership at the
airport. I wear my handcuffs 24/7. And I
have no freaking idea where the key is. ***** Eight-twenty
A.M. and I already need an effing shower. Ugh. Running late for an eight-thirty
A.M. meeting. I thought a cab ride would be the answer and certainly cooler and
quicker than walking, or God forbid, taking the dreaded subway on a sweltering
Manhattan morning. But no. I emerge from the cab, with my now translucent white
silk blouse pretending it’s a soggy second skin gearing up for our fabulous win
in today’s “Who’s Got the Perkiest Nipples” contest. Shoot me. Just shoot me. As I slide sideways into an elevator, the
doors already half closed, I have the distinct honor of joining two techy nerd
boys returning from their eight-fifteen A.M. smoke. Lucky me. The unkempt duo
reek of cigarettes, yet I can’t decide which is worse, that, or the stench of
their general shoddy hygiene and filthy jeans. Nerd Boy #1 is enjoying my
transparent, wet tank blouse and my not-shy nipples. I catch him and he
pretends to look at my necklace, a gold mermaid, just grazing my cleavage. The door opens on my floor. Eight twenty-six.
I’m not late yet. On my way out of the elevator, I lean over and whisper to
Nerd Boy #1, “Great necklace, isn’t it. Would be better if it were pearl.” I hear him choke as I exit. Schwing.
Excerpt I’m
really not quite sure what to do with her. She’s not like the women I date. She’s
not like the women I fuck. Yeah, I have women in my company, just not in my
inner circle. So, I’m not sure how to balance having a close work confidante
that I want to bang. So damn bad. Would
it be a bad thing to keep her in the conference room after dismissing the rest
of the team, lock the doors, pick her up and seat her on the edge of the
conference room table. Feel her melt into my hand as I run my fingertips down
the front of her silk tank top. When she shivers, twist her taunting nipples
until they harden, then stop and listen to her moan. Would that lost animal
sound be coming from what I was doing to her or because I stopped? I wouldn’t
wait to find out as I pushed her underwear aside, and harden even more, the
moment I feel her wetness. Using her slick juices to moisten her clit, I’d
finger her until she is gasping for air and reaching for me. I’d let just her
nails and the tips of her finger graze my hard cock as I hang just out of
reach. I would totally get off knowing that it is her need to grab me, making
her wilder, and that crazed instinctual desire in her eyes would have me
titanium hard. I need to be buried deep inside her. I know my face is portraying a practiced and
perfected look of deep concentration when my VP of Product Development asks for
the second time, “Can we get the go-ahead on that, Hale? Shaking my head and drawing my brows together,
“Give me your full brief in writing.” I act as if there’s something bothering
me in what he presented, when in actuality I’m just buying time because I didn’t
hear a word he said. About
the Author:
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