Nailed to the Wall Part 13

When Marti turns him down again, Jackson insists on knowing why. That's when she shows him her list. He takes it, thinks about it-and calls on the only men he can trust: four buddies from his academy graduating cla.s.s.

Between the five of them, he's sure they can come up with a plan to check off every item on her list in one wild, wicked weekend. That is, if she has the nerve to follow through-and if he can bear to share her.

Warning: Contains five men on a mission to break down the resistance of one determined woman, using everything in their a.r.s.enal from BDSM accoutrements to roleplay of non-consensual situations.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Five Ways 'Til Sunday: Marti Kowalski waved a hand blindly behind her at her desk, swiping the inventory sheets she'd slaved over for two days, and her telephone, to the floor. She didn't care about the mess-or by the crunch-the loss of her phone. Right this moment, she had Jackson where she wanted him-too far gone with want to worry what damage he might cause.

His body was hard; his expression carved to a l.u.s.tful edge, which promised the kind of s.e.xy interlude she preferred-something spontaneous and surprising.

Even after all the months they'd been seeing each other, he managed to surprise her. Like now. He'd pulled her from the door of the ladies' restroom and goose-stepped her with her arm bent behind her back to the manager's office, growling menacingly into her ear about the wicked things he'd do to her.

Ma'am, keep quiet and I won't hurt you.

She'd s.h.i.+vered at the menace in his voice, but he'd rubbed her hip gently to remind her this was just a game.

She had to hand it to him. He knew what made her hot.

Jackson bent her over her desk and shoved up her blouse. His head ducked to pluck a nipple with his lips, and then he bit it.

"I wasn't expecting you," she gasped, her fingers digging into the rigid Kevlar armor he wore beneath his dark s.h.i.+rt. "You're on duty. Thought you didn't cross that line when you're wearing the uniform."

His head reared back. His dark eyes flashed. "Shut up, ma'am. You draw any attention, and I might have to get rough."

So he was still playing the role. She widened her eyes. "Please, sir, I'll do anything." She tried to infuse a little angst into her voice, but inside she was laughing uproariously.

A glint of humor in his gaze might have just been the reflection of the overhead light because it quickly extinguished. He bared his teeth. A hand snuck between her thighs. A finger tucked beneath one side of the crotch of her panties and tugged. Elastic stretched and gave. His palm crammed against her bare p.u.s.s.y.

There was no hiding how turned on she was. Not when cream smeared his hand.

"f.u.c.k, you're hot." He drew back, gripped her by the waist and gave her a little shake-just to remind her who was in charge here.

Her head bobbed backward. Her heart skittered at the strength in those large, hard hands. He could so easily hurt her, but was careful to give her just the right kind of pain.

Nostrils flaring, he did a good impression of a criminal intent on doing her bodily harm. She guessed he saw enough of them in his line of work to mimic the look.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Sure this is the way you wanna play it?"

"Baby, don't stop now," Marti moaned.

His grunt accompanied the tightening of his hands on the corners of her hips. He gave no warning and whirled her around, then pushed gently on the back of her neck until she folded over her desk.

Her short leather skirt lifted. Hands gripped her cheeks and squeezed. His mouth pressed against her skin.

She huffed. "What kind of a rapist are you?"

"One with an a.s.s fetish."

She giggled and reached back to push him away, wriggling on the desk like she wanted to escape. "Stop," she whispered huskily. "Stop or you'll be sorry. My boyfriend's a Memphis PD cop."

Another grunt was his only response. He straightened, his hard body rubbing against the back of her thighs and a.s.s. An arm clamped over her lower back, holding her down. A zipper sc.r.a.ped. His c.o.c.k nudged against her folds, thick, insistent-lord, Jackson was completely into this naughty game. He found her entrance and drove deep inside in a single, merciless thrust.

Her body arched off the desk. "Oh s.h.i.+t!"

"Did I hurt you?" he muttered, deeply embedded, but unmoving.

Didn't he know how to play this game? "You're gonna pay, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said with an edge of a sob in her voice, but she wiggled her b.u.t.t to let him know it was okay to proceed.

He withdrew slowly then stroked deep again. This time his hands slammed the wood on either side of her shoulders. "Stick it up higher, s.l.u.t," he growled. "My b.a.l.l.s are bangin' the desk."

s.l.u.t? He'd never called her that before. She held back a chuckle, hoping the playacting wouldn't end too soon. Jackson could only keep his focus up to a certain point. Not that she'd truly mind it when he dropped the act. Knowing she was the reason he couldn't stay in control gave her deep satisfaction. She rose on tip-toe and tilted up her a.s.s.

His c.o.c.k crowded through juicy, engorged walls, filling her up like no man ever had before. Maybe he really was that big, or maybe she'd never been so excited. Jackson was the best lover she'd ever had-the most adventurous with the most stamina. That his body was ripped like a bodybuilder's only added to his dangerous appeal.

She gave a short, throaty groan. "OhmyG.o.d, that feels incredible."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Go away," she shouted. To Jackson, she whispered, "Hate to say it, but we might have to rush this a bit."

Nailed to the Wall.

Jayne Rylon.

The crew is back and they're dirtier than ever.

Five s.e.xy men with a penchant for love and l.u.s.t in any variation have formed a crew. They work hard and play harder-together. Though their partners.h.i.+p began in construction, renovating houses and selling them for a mint, they've formed a bond around their shared goal to provide women, and each other, with the ultimate s.e.xual experience.

Over the past year, as each member discovered his soul mate-or two-they expanded the reach of their circle, lighting up their nights along with their souls. Monogamous relations.h.i.+ps and the desire to start families threaten to put their libertine revelry on the back burner. Will the pa.s.sion that bonded them fade away? How will the new crew wives cope with the complex relations.h.i.+p the men will always cherish and crave?

Determined to prove they stand by their men, the women decide it's time to flex some muscle and give the crew a dose of girl power. They collude to take the guys as their h.o.r.n.y hostages, using some big guns: boudoir photos, a pillow fight and a calculated foray into partner swapping. But will they have the guts to go through with their plans?

Warning: By Book Five in this series, fans will attest that anything goes in the crew. Be prepared for menage in every flavor-m/f, f/f, mfm, fmf, and more-along with a slew of that's what he said jokes. No throwing tomatoes at the author, please!

end.