Sophia Ryan

Click here to edit subtitle


You’re blaming me for your epic striptease fail?” She grabbed the other boot and tugged it off, dropping it beside its mate, then tugged the legs of his jeans until they slid off him and puddled on the floor next to his boots.


“Since I met you,” he said, and leaned over to strip off his socks, “the blood supply to my brain has taken a hard detour south.”




He stood. The massive tent in his boxer briefs drew her gaze, and she stood mesmerized as he slowly pulled down his underwear. His cock bounced free of the waistband and pointed directly at her, as if saying you’re mine.


She licked her suddenly parched lips and heat rushed through her body as she pictured him filling her with that…masterpiece. “I did that, huh?”


He eliminated the boxers and sat on the edge of the bed again, legs spread, cock standing at perfect attention up by his belly, his thumb and finger stroking the bulbous tip. “Yep. All you.”


She slid her hands into the sides of her panties and slowly lowered them past her ass, her hips, her thighs, her legs. They pooled around her feet, and she easily stepped out of them.


Fully naked, fully aroused, she stood before him, her nipples so hard they hurt, the ache low in her belly growing stronger as her eyes caressed every inch of the fully naked, fully aroused man in front of her. “I do good work.”


“So do I.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”


Her heart jumped into her throat at his low, sexy drawl. She took his hand, and he drew her to him.


“Natasha thinks you’re her hero.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re taking her to bed.” Even she heard the jealousy in her tone.

He lifted his hand to the back of her head, let his fingers tangle in her hair. “Well, now, love. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Dipping his head, he leaned a little closer, close enough for her to breathe in his exhalation as he spoke. “For me to fuck her?”

Up until that point, it had been mostly teasing between them. But when she felt his guttural “fuck” sink into her skin and lodge deep in her body, the mood shifted. At that moment, she was acutely, achingly aware that she didn’t want him fucking Natasha. She didn’t want him fucking any woman. Any woman but… No. She couldn’t say it. Not even to herself.

“Do you want to?” she managed.

His eyes—lazy, hazy, and unwavering—gripped hers, holding her still. The intensity in their blue depths wouldn’t let her look away or speak. She could barely breathe from the way he was looking at her. Time slowed, freezing them in place, mouths inches from each other.

“Breena.” His whisper burned into her skin. “You’re the only woman I want to fuck.”

Her eyes opened wide. The words, the brush of his breath on her face, the weight of his hand in her hair, the feel of him so close threw off sparks all through her body, and she couldn't think.

"Ask me not to fuck her," he breathed, then kissed and nibbled all her sensitive spots of flesh. "Ask me to fuck you."

“Don’t fuck with me, Charleigh.” Josh kept his voice to a low whisper. “I promise, you won’t like the results. I’m no longer the gullible boy you had wrapped around your little finger.”

His harsh tone cracked her reverie like a fist to an eggshell, and it took every ounce of will she could muster to stand her ground against him. She leaned back at the waist to take in his face. The subtle move thrust her hips into him, and she swore she felt the bulge between his legs harden.

“Believe me, Josh, fucking with you is the last thing I want to do. And by the way…it’s Mrs. Simms to you.”

His eyes and face drew even harder. For a split second, he looked like he was going to slam his mouth onto hers in a punishing kiss that would make her regret crossing him and make her body and soul bend to his will. But then he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back.

“Have it your way, Mrs. Simms.” He said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Today. Monday morning you’d better be ready when I get here at 7:00. If you’re not, you can pack your bags, and you and the boy can go back to wherever the hell you came from, because I’m not going to waste my time if you’re unwilling me meet me half way.”

As he spun away from her and stormed toward the door, she couldn’t hold her tongue on a final stinging retort. “Pull off those shitkickers the next time you come into my house, Flores. I’m not here to clean up your messes.”

At the sound of the screen door slamming, she dropped heavily into a chair and felt every stitch in the never-healed wounds in her soul pop open.