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You're Tops by Sydney St. Claire

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  • ISBN Digital: 978-1-5092-0421-2
    Page Count: 76
    Word Count: 17063
    Rating: 2 Roses

    When her husband ran off with a perky, much younger woman, Regina Cox got the house , a decrepit car, and her freedom. Divorced, she plans to remain man-free and focus on her career as a writer. Trouble is, the skinny boy next door who used to tease her about her braces is now a handsome hunk and features as the hero in her latest romance novel.  

    Tucker Owen is a Dom with his eye on the new divorcee next door. His fantasies center around draping Regina over his spanking bench. Too bad she’s a strong woman and not submissive in the least. But when he learns she writes erotica romance and is having trouble getting the research right, he offers a week-long tutorial that’s bound to teach them both a few things.  

    Regina can't  refuse all the research she could ask for and no strings sex on top. And with the sassy sub, Tucker soon discovers the pleasure that comes when the topper is topped.

    Excerpt:

    "Get sex off the mind. I've got work to do and so do you." And she needed to follow her own advice, but oh, wait, she was writing sex. Very hot, explicit sex. Writing, not engaging, so turn around and go. Self-preservation screamed run.


    But his burning-blue eyes rooted her to the spot. His lips, full, soft, and sexy as hell, curved, and she felt like a deer caught in headlights. Lost in her writer's imagination and womanly lust, she squeaked when he boldly lifted her onto the deck, his arm around her waist as he urged her toward the door. "Not taking you to my bedroom, not that I wouldn't mind that. You said you needed research so you might find what I have to show you useful."


    She stepped into the warm comfort of the house, out of his arms, and away from his warm, spicy, earthy scent, a combination of manly sweat, sunshine, and musk, before she jumped him like a feline in heat. Why couldn't he be runt-skinny, pale, and uninteresting, maybe an accountant named Boring Bob instead of a handsome firefighter hunk? Since his return, her body had awakened to possibilities and hummed with desire, making her avoid him as much as possible, including refusing him every time he asked her out.


    "Down the hall." He pointed toward the front of the house.


    "What? You got a spanking bench hidden away in your living room." She tried for humor.


    He grinned, nice and slow, showing even, white teeth, and ran a finger down the center of her nose as he used to do when she'd been younger. "Only one way to find out."


    Her breathing accelerated. That voice, combined with his nearness, his smile, and good god, the look in his eyes sent a jolt of pure lust screaming into her center and flaring up into her clit. That fast, her panties went from damp to drenched.


    Off men, Regina. Career. Remember? Focus on the writing. Trouble was, the writing wasn't happening, and what she wanted to happen right now involved her fictional hero inserting tab C into slit P. And that was a bad idea. B. A. D.

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You're Tops

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