Welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads, pumpkins! Today I’m featuring Lynn Burke and her hot new ménage novel The Playboy Bachelor. And now, here’s Lynn!
Dubbed Boston’s bachelor of the year, Blake Harper knows how to make the North Shore’s women sigh and say yes…except for the studious Wren Shipman. The more she resists, the more he’s compelled to pursue the little birdie, conquer her, and flee to save himself from a fall he’s never wanted.
Wren would love nothing more than to dig her fingernails into Blake’s back and squeeze the life from him with her thighs. But she’s not interested in being another notch in the billionaire bachelor’s string of shapely sweethearts—not when she’s so close to earning the precious college degree that will help her rise above the trailer-trash stench she was born into.
With his best friend’s help, the playboy’s persistence wears on the young co-ed, until he has the little bird soaring from every fantasy he fulfills. What goes up must come down, and when Wren finds herself falling hard and fast towards a bitter reality, she’ll do anything to save her heart from shattering. Even if it means walking away from the only man who had the passion to make her fly.
“Dance with me,” he said, pushing to his feet and holding out his hand.
I’d rather get right to the fucking, I thought, but I took his hand anyway, cursing myself with every erotic sway of our tightly pressed bodies. His hard cock pressed against my belly, his large hand palmed my ass.
I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck, closed my eyes, and leaned my forehead against his rock-like chest. He smelled ten times better than chocolate; woodsy, sexy man … I wanted a bite. “You drive me insane.” I heard myself whisper.
Blake’s other hand palmed my ass, and he lifted me higher.
My legs wrapped around his waist and squeezed as our mouths crashed together. His groans filled my ears as his fingers dug into my backside. I’d bruise for sure, I thought, pulling his hair to angle his head so I could bite his lower lip.
“Fuck,” he gasped as I bit harder. He ground his cock against my soaked core, and I repeated his curse over the fact clothing separated our bodies. His mouth released from my hold, Blake kissed along my jaw, down my neck, and back up to my ear as I squirmed in his hold. He bit my earlobe, and I winced, my panties useless to contain my arousal.
“I want to fuck you, Wren. Right here. Right now.”
I shimmied out of his arms, and he tugged my tank top off. In my rush to get his shirt open, I heard a few buttons ping off the furniture as they flew. Holy shit, his bare chest. I licked across one pec and bit the hard nub on the other.
“Goddamn it, woman.” He all but ripped off my skirt, the material floating to the floor.
Panting—heaving for breath—we stepped apart, hungry gazes drinking in the other. His eyes set my skin aflame, and I swallowed, nails digging into my palms, as I studied every curve and indent of his sinful upper body. The luscious V of muscle disappearing beneath his jeans flooded my mouth with drool and my pussy with cream.
“Lose the jeans,” I said, my voice raspy and low.
“Lose the bra and panties,” he replied, reaching for his zipper.
A quick rustle of clothing and we both stood naked, his jutting cock drawing my gaze. “Condom,” I whispered, every inch of my body thrumming.
Blake fished one from the back pocket of his jeans, ripped it open, and rolled it on. Two steps forward, and he tangled a hand in my hair, his other hand gripping my thigh to hoist me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and wiggled around, trying to line up his cock with my dripping core. He attacked my mouth, striding across the room.
My back slammed into a wall, ripping a gasp from me, but Blake swallowed the noise and thrust into me, balls deep and perfect.
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About Lynn Burke
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.