"Gabrielle Holly spins her stories in a way that will take you on an emotional rollercoaster you'll never forget!"
~Paranormal Romance Junkies

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Book Birthday Celebration - FREE READ - First 2 Chapters of "Dressed for Success"

July 18th is my 'Book Birthday' - the anniversary of the release of my first erotic romance "Dressed for Success". To celebrate, I'm sharing the first two chapters - in their entirety - FREE! I hope you'll enjoy my birthday gift to you!

xoxo ~Gabrielle

About "Dressed for Success":
By day, Franny Campbell works as a set decorator and costume designer for television and stage productions. At night, her imagination runs wild and she concocts elaborate fantasies starring her handsome upstairs neighbor - ex-pro football player Jesse Williams.
She imagines the big blond has a Viking warrior, a stagecoach bandit, and a Scottish lord. Will she ever find out if the real man will live up to her dream lovers?
Praise for “Dressed for Success”:
Dressed for Success gives the reader a lot of depth and passion in a fast paced story. If you enjoy a blossoming romance, with quirky characters that have creative fantasies, then I definitely recommend picking up Dressed for Success. You will enjoy the emotional journey, the humor, and the heat packed into this novella. ~ Sizzling Hot Book Reviews
More Praise for “Dressed for Success”:
Dressed for Success is a fun, sexy, quick read that’s got a comical plot and adorable characters. I was burning up and laughing like crazy throughout this book and it was a really great combination. The descriptive detail made everything so easy to picture in my mind, it was like being right there.
I got a kick out of all the supporting characters that always poked daggers of jealousy into Franny. She always wanted Jesse, even before she actually had him and it had to be a bit overwhelming when Jesse had all these gorgeous women surrounding him at any given time. Dressed for Success is a perfect, sensual, fun afternoon read you’ll be thrilled with!  ~The Readers Roundtable Reviews
“Dressed for Success”
by Gabrielle Holly
Chapter One

Jesse Williams and Franny Campbell stood in the center of his warehouse loft taking stock of their surroundings.
Franny had her hands on her round hips as she slowly rotated, compiling a mental list of what should stay and what had to go.  The four-year-old automotive parts calendar over the kitchen sink. Had to go. Fast-food mega-sized plastic drink cups in the open cabinets. Had to go. Collection of sports trophies. Had to go. Second-hand lawn furniture serving as seating in the living area. Had to go. Cheap pressed wood bookshelves masquerading as an entertainment center. Had to go. Garage-sale-quality dartboard. Had to go. Open wicker basket doubling as a laundry hamper. Had to go.
The “had to go” category was the clear winner.
Franny stopped tallying the Had-To-Go items when she saw the sponge-ball basketball hoop hanging from the bathroom door. The list was becoming so overwhelming, she simply decided that ninety percent of the bachelor pad accoutrements Had. To. Go. In the interest of time, Franny deemed it prudent to just gut the place.
She glanced at the stunning man beside her, the object of two-years’ worth of panty-wetting fantasies, and wondered how someone so otherwise perfect could be so aesthetically challenged.
Franny’s own loft was just one floor down in the repurposed pasta factory. The two spaces had an almost identical footprint, but the similarities ended there. She loved her cute and kitschy space and wondered how its architectural twin could be such a disjointed calamity.  She inhaled deeply and blew out an audible breath. She ran her fingers through her spiky hair.
This guy needs help!
Franny tried to be professional and keep a poker face, but Jesse read her and voiced her assessment.
“I need help. Right?”
Franny looked up at the big blond and felt a twinge of sympathy for the desperation in his deep blue eyes.
This is impossible, she thought.
“It’s not impossible,” she said.
Jesse crossed his thickly muscled arms over his broad chest. “Give it to me straight, Franny. Can we make it look like a guy worthy of a magazine’s cover story lives here—in less than two days?”
The corners of Franny’s mouth tugged into an I-doubt-it grimace.
Jesse massaged the back of his neck. “Why did I agree to do this? It’s like I’ve got some kind of tic that makes me say ‘yes’ before I think a thing through. Just stupid! There’s no way this place will look respectable in time. I’m just going to call and cancel.”
Amusement, quickly followed by empathy, washed over Franny. She patted Jesse’s huge biceps. Wow!
“Okay, big guy, settle down. Let’s not panic just yet. I’ve transformed a soundstage from deserted mountain cabin to Victorian mansion in a matter of hours. This is the same principle, except on a larger scale and with four walls instead of three. It’s going to take some work, but I think we can do it.”
Jesse’s brows pulled together, and he squinted down at Franny with a look of cautious optimism. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to help him succeed. She glanced at the football trophies lined up on the shelf and instantly understood how to motivate the athlete. She imagined herself with a shiny silver whistle around her neck and a ball cap that read “Coach”.
“Can you give me one-hundred percent, Jesse?”
Jesse stopped rubbing his neck and looked down at Franny.
“A hundred and ten,” was his conditioned response.
“Are you willing to put in the time?”
“As long as it takes.”
His stare was intense and unwavering. Franny supposed this is how he must have looked when he’d played pro football. She would need the big man’s cooperation to make this thing a reality, and she didn’t hesitate to draw on his deeply ingrained team mentality.
“Are you willing to do whatever I tell you to?”
“Just tell me how high to jump,” he said.
Franny was barely eyelevel with the chiseled athlete’s shoulder, but she felt a sudden surge of power that exhilarated her.
“Pen and paper,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
Jesse rifled through one of the kitchen drawers and returned with a grease-stained pizza delivery receipt and a stubby, golf-course pencil.
Franny didn’t react to the subpar stationery. Instead, she scribbled her To-Do list for Jesse in big, bold letters. There was only one item: Box up everything and get it out of here.
'Everything' was underlined three times.

Jesse read his marching orders and nodded.
Franny started for the door, but Jesse stopped her by laying an enormous hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at him.
He ran his other hand back over his head and toward the place where his thick, blond ponytail was gathered.
“Um, Franny, I know it’s a lot to ask. And I know you’re really a set decorator and all. And I really, really, appreciate how you’re helping me out with the loft. But…”
Franny stared up at him with a look that said, get on with it already.
The big linebacker tugged at the frayed neck of his faded Surf’s Up, Venice Beach T-shirt, looked down at his flip-flop sandals and finished in a near whisper, “I also need something to wear.”
Well, he had a point. He did look like an oversized surf bum. She reached up and patted the valley between the thick slabs of his pectorals.
“Don’t worry, Jesse. I do costuming, too. We’ll fix you up. You hire some guys to clear this place out, and I’ll take you shopping. Meet me in the lobby tomorrow morning at ten. Sharp!”
Jesse lifted his gaze up from the floor and into Franny’s eyes. One corner of his mouth slid upward into a heart-stopping smile. A spot deep behind her bellybutton contracted in reaction to his sheer, masculine beauty. She’d secretly lusted after this man for two years, and he’d starred in some of her most inspired fantasies. A slideshow of naughty images flickered in her mind, and Franny felt feverish as a blush spread across her face and she fought to keep her expression passive.
“Thanks so much, Franny,” he said. “I’m really glad we’re neighbors.”
She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded. Franny thought of all the rides the two had shared in the big freight elevator over the past couple years. In the evenings, he was rarely alone. He usually was accompanied by beautiful women or big athletic men or both, but he’d always managed to acknowledge her with his smiling blue eyes.
When it was just the two of them in the rumbling lift, they’d engaged in easy conversation. At first, it had been just pleasant, neighborly small talk about street construction, the weather or the likelihood of the long-promised, modern passenger elevator ever being installed. Soon, they’d shared little life details, as if their elevator rides were abbreviated first dates.
Franny had done most of the sharing. She’d told him about her job and he’d said simply said he was an entrepreneur. Of course, Franny knew about his football career; he was something of a celebrity in the building, albeit a reluctant one. Occasionally, Jesse had reached out and yanked down the stop lever so they could finish a conversation. Before long, Franny had found herself hoping to see him every time she pressed the call button, and recently, she’d begun to think he might feel the same. A tentative flirtation now flavored their encounters. Jesse occasionally looked at her with a new intensity that elicited a primal response from her body.
She’d tried not to seem too eager when he’d asked her to help him prepare for the photo shoot and made a show of pausing to consider his request. She’d gone so far as to pull out her smartphone and bring up the calendar app. Her weekend was woefully free and Monday, the day of his interview, was wide open. Even if she’d been working on a show, she would have shuffled her scheduled. She would have done almost anything to spend time with him outside the confines of the freight elevator. And, since she doubted he would ever ask her out, she reasoned that a working date was the next best thing.
Now, as he drew her into a hug, she concentrated on pressing as much of her soft body as possible against his incredibly masculine one. It was the first time they’d ever touched, and the feeling almost overwhelmed her. His muscles were rock hard, but he managed to bend himself pliantly against her. She felt feminine and vulnerable against him but intuited that what he needed from her now, and for the next couple days, was strength.
Fighting against the knot of humming energy that gathered between her thighs, Franny pushed away from his body. Mustering an air of nonchalance, she managed, “Ten o’clock in the lobby. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Franny concentrated on her stride as she walked out of Jesse’s loft, across the common foyer and into the open freight elevator. She felt his eyes on her, and she added a little extra swing to the sway of her round ass. After stepping into the lift, she confidently pulled down the gate by its canvas strap then punched the button for her floor. She averted her eyes but not before stealing a look at him between the slats. He hadn’t moved from his doorway. He watched her intently, and she resisted the strong urge to hit the emergency stop, yank open the gate and throw herself on him. She knew by the way he stared at her she wouldn’t be turned down.
Franny had learned a thing or two from the actors she worked around. She had to ignore the fact that her audience of one was watching her every move.  She fought against her natural tendency to play easy to get. Rather than flirtatiously batting her big eyes at him, she made a convincing—she hoped—show of examining her fingernails as the elevator sank. She was certain Jesse was accustomed to being pursued and surrendered to. How he would react to a woman who stood up straight beside him rather than falling down in front of him with her legs wide open? She wondered if she could be confident enough to be that woman.
By the time the freight elevator had concluded its shuddering path to Franny’s foyer, she was trembling. For the first time in her life, she was taking on an entirely alien role—the lead—and the prospect thrilled her.
This athlete, this hulking blond Viking of a man, didn’t need another easy conquest. What he really needed was to be conquered.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Franny closed her eyes and lifted her chin as she waited for the hot water to rinse away her sleepiness. She’d been so wound up about her shopping date with Jesse that she had tossed and turned all night. She groped for the tube of cleanser, and as she lathered up her face, Jesse’s long blond hair, deep blue eyes and full lips loomed in her mind’s eye. She pictured the angles of his sharp jaw and every curve of his muscular body. She imagined what he looked like under his surfer-dude clothing. He was more suited to the uniform of a Norse Viking.
A familiar scalp-prickling tingle signaled one of her voyages into fantasy. Franny’s report cards had often included a notation about her daydreaming. Her teachers, without exception, had considered this personality quirk a negative. But, for as long as she could remember, Franny had embraced her daydreaming. She preferred to call it creativity. She had, after all, made a career of dressing television soundstages and the actors who populated them.
This morning, her creativity ran wild. She imagined Jesse’s shoulder-length hair tied back in a leather thong with random tendrils braided and adorned with pillaged beads and coins. His thick, well-defined calves were covered by knee-high, soft leather boots. A bronze chest piece mimicked the mounds and valleys of his thick pectoral and abdominal muscles. Loose leggings and a rough tunic covered his most titillating parts.  
In her fantasy world, Franny wasn’t standing under a chrome, adjustable showerhead in the state-of-the-art bathroom in her chic downtown loft. She was a free-spirited, Scandinavian villager taking a secret shower under the sun-warmed spray of a secluded waterfall.
She flipped open the cap on her shatterproof bottle of lavender-scented shower gel and squeezed a dollop into her palm. In her fantasy, she pulled a cork from a hand-blown glass bottle of lavender-infused oil and poured out the precious liquid. Closing her eyes, she transported herself to a lush mountain pool beneath a cascade of natural water.
The woman from the orderly little village in the pines closed her eyes and stepped back into the sheet of water that fell from the rocky ledge above…
She reveled in the rush of water streaming down her face and washing over her lush, naked body. It was liberating to be free of her itchy linen shift and sweaty leather boots. She’d devoted a half day hiking to this private place and, she knew she’d be hard-pressed to be back in the village before nightfall. She would be admonished for worrying the others, but if he came to her here, the sacrifice would be worth it. If he didn’t, she would take full advantage of her time alone.
In the village, every move was watched. Every chore was shared. One wasn’t even allowed her own thoughts when milking the goats, churning butter or weaving wool. She didn’t mind that people thought her odd for wanting time alone. They would think even worse of her if they knew she’d run off for the chance at a tryst with a secret admirer.
By late afternoon, the other villagers would be searching for her. They would be frantic when she finally wandered back into the village at dusk, but the benefit of baring her body to sky in this perfect moment was worth any punishment she might incur.
She glanced at her clothing draped over a boulder at the water’s edge. It was undisturbed. She’d hoped to see another trinket left there. But it seemed the only other living things in the clearing were elk, deer, rabbits and squirrels. None of those would be interested in her clothing or in her nakedness.
And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Twice in as many days, she’d felt eyes on her when she’d been out gathering. Yesterday, she had set down her basket to relieve herself in the bushes, and when she’d returned she’d found a tiny bunch of snow-white wildflowers lying atop the deep-red lingonberries.  Their stems were threaded through an amber-colored glass bead.
She’d braided a hidden hank of hair behind her ear and slid the tiny trinket onto the plait. The smooth glass bounced against her neck while she worked, and its coolness reminded her of her secret suitor. It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s touch, and she ached for it.
She supposed it was one of the men from the village, and she’d planned this hike to the waterfall to test his ambition. She wondered who, if anyone, would follow her here and how he’d react to her boldness.
She ran her fingers through her hair and rolled the amber bead between her fingertips. She poured another measure from the bottle then smoothed the aromatic oil over her pale skin. Her hands stroked her throat, and she traced her fingers over the narrow ledge formed by her collarbones. The lavender scent drifted up to her nostrils as her touch trailed downward.
She peeked again through her lids, half expecting the unknown man to have made his appearance. When it was clear that she was alone, she cupped her bare breasts. Her hips began to rise and fall as she lifted up on tiptoe with one foot then the other. She found a rhythm in the water and began to answer it with her movements. She pressed her thighs together, and the tempo of her undulating hips increased as her hands explored her breasts. She squeezed and pinched at the hardening nipples. Instinctively, one hand dropped between her legs while the other continued its squeeze-and-pinch rhythm on her breast.
The hand between her legs squeezed the fleshy mound, and she tilted back her head. She opened her mouth and gulped pristine water from the fall. Moving backward, she found a smooth rock that created a natural seat. She was out of the main sheet of water, but the fall’s spray tantalized her skin as she sat back on the rock. The frothy flow massaged her toes. Her hands began to work separately yet in harmony. One teased her breast while the other squeezed and explored the outer limits of her pussy.
She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings. She was at once disappointed and relieved that she was alone. She focused again on her self-pleasure. In her village, full of prying eyes, she had no time at all to explore her body. This moment under the waterfall was liberated ecstasy.
She traced the border between her pussy lips with her fingertip, tentatively stroking the mysterious place that often throbbed when she thought of the bare-chested men chopping wood or the hunters returning from the forest with their quarry slung over their broad shoulders.
She hesitated to touch the hardened bud that pushed through her lower lips. The temptation proved too much, and she let the pad of one finger press against and circle the tender spot. The feeling was, as always, a revelation. She felt the power of the great universe surge through her fingertip. She pushed up her pelvis to meet her hand and closed out the rest of the world. The thunder of the waterfall faded into the background as the world’s energy concentrated between her legs.
She let her sight blur as she stared into the wall of water in front of her. Her vision focused for a split second before her eyes rolled back in her head. A figure registered briefly in her mind. Her hands still tantalized her nipple and bud, but the new object in her vision insinuated itself into her consciousness. The figure at the water’s edge would not be ignored. She continued manipulating her body, but at a slower rhythm. She was hurtling toward something life changing when suddenly she was pulled back from a mysterious precipice.
He’s here! her psyche screamed.
She sat tall on her water-slicked rock chair.
Peering through the veil of water streaming before her, she saw him standing at the bank. He was not one of the men from the village! He was enormous, out-sizing her by twice. Long, sun-bleached hair fell over his impossibly broad shoulders, and he wore a pounded-metal chest piece and tall leather boots. He leaned against a waist-high sword as if it were a walking stick. He was so close that she saw the beads and small, round coins that hung from his braids.
Viking! Marauder! Pillager! her mind screamed.
This was one of the wild men she’d been warned against her whole life. Before her was a man that would steal for his own everything in his path—including her body.
Her hands ceased their manipulations and became shields, one arm protecting her breasts and another hand covering the center of her womanhood. She felt exposed and vulnerable…and the feeling thrilled her to her core. Her body still hummed from her self-exploration, and every sense was heightened.
The man didn’t move. His gaze didn’t waver. She eased herself back onto her stone perch. She dropped the left arm that covered her breasts and rested her palm against the cool, wet rock. Her nipples grew harder in the prickling spray. The man still didn’t move. She shifted her right hand from between her legs and placed it flat on the stone beside her right hip. Still, he did not move.
She shivered at the exhilaration of her own boldness. This was madness. She knew it was. If she screamed, no one but he would hear her. If she ran, he would capture her. If she fought back, he would easily subdue her. She was putting herself in unimaginable danger. This powerful man, this conqueror, could overpower her weaker body without effort.
But she instinctively understood it was her weakness to his strength, the softness of her flesh to his hard-forged muscles, that gave her ultimate power. With the force of goddesses behind her, she rose from her rock seat and stood, unashamed, behind the curtain of water. He opened his fist, and his sword toppled to the ground. He shucked his armor, tunic, boots and leggings. He stood naked and glorious at the water’s edge. He took a step forward, and she thought she might cry out in sheer anticipation.
The Viking trudged into the water without testing its temperature. The surface frothed against his thickly muscled calves as he took long strides toward her. He stopped when the water reached his knees, his broad chest heaving. She dropped her eyes and focused on his long, thick penis, standing erect and nearly brushing his taut belly. Her own belly contracted in fear and anticipation. The place between her legs throbbed.
She stepped forward and closed her eyes while she passed through the curtain of water. She opened them again when the fall was behind her, and without its veil, she saw him clearly. He was magnificent! His face was intent and beautiful. His body was perfectly formed. He didn’t move, but a gust of wind blew back his hair and an amber bead, one that matched her secret gift, glinted in the sunlight.
The two faced each other in the pool, mere paces apart. Her body thrummed. He seemed like a totem. She longed to walk up to him, to reach out and touch the carved ridges and valleys, to play her fingers over him. She was so mesmerized by his beauty that she was startled when he reached out his hand. He stood for a timeless moment, arm outstretched, his palm upturned. She was propelled forward by a force outside of reason.
She walked to him, extending her own hand until it rested in his. He closed his fingers around hers then reached out with his other hand and found the braid behind her ear. He drew it through his fingers until he reached the amber bead at the end. A wicked smile animated his handsome face, and she drew in an audible breath. The Viking slid his hand down the side of her face until he cupped her jaw. He tilted up her chin and bent to kiss her. He didn’t ask permission. That they were together in the pool was permission enough.  His mouth crushed against hers, and she kissed him back, pulling her hand from his and wrapping her arms around his neck. She knew her willing response both thrilled him and empowered her.
She was beginning to believe she had complete sway over the Viking when he suddenly yanked her hands from his neck, bent until his cheek pressed into her side at the waist and jerked upward, slinging her over his shoulder. He turned and sloshed back to the shore, back to the place where he had shed his clothes. He lowered her to her feet then turned his back to her while he spread his cloak on the ground and knelt to arrange it. If ever there were an opportunity for her to flee, this was it. Instead, she stood motionless, tethered to the spot by her attraction to him. She watched his bare back, mesmerized by the way his muscles slid beneath the taut skin. She watched his broad hands smooth the fabric and was moved by the care he took. 
The Viking sat back on his heels and laid his palms flat against his thick thighs. He dropped his chin to his chest for a moment before turning his head and looking up at her. His stare held her fast, and she was aware of her own heartbeat sounding in her ears. Her eyes didn’t leave his, but at the edge of her vision, she saw one of his hands lift from his thigh. He reached out to her. She laid her hand in his, and he closed his around it. With the slightest pressure of his fingers, he led her as if in a dance. Without a word, he spoke to her.
She stepped onto the cloak and, when she faced him, he urged her downward with a gentle pull. She sat back on her heels, mirroring his posture, their knees two hand’s lengths apart. He gathered up her other hand and lifted up off of his heels, taking her with him. Now, they touched at the thighs and the hips. His cock pressed into her soft belly. Her heavy breasts pressed against his hard chest. She looked up at him, and his mouth found hers.
With their lips still pressed together, she slid her hands from his and smoothed her fingers up his arms, over the rise of his thick shoulder muscles then downward until her palms were flattened over his chest. She pulled her mouth from his and leaned back so she could look over his body. She dragged her fingers downward, and they found the valleys of his hard belly muscles. She traced each forged line. Her hands reached the head of his cock, and with her thumbs, she followed the deep ridge behind the head. She let her fingertips flutter down over the hard shaft, and she mapped each bulging vein. She was so engrossed in her study of him that his moan startled her.
With one hand wrapped around his cock, she reached up to touch the stubble of his flaxen beard. Her eyes met his, and she anticipated his question. He was about to ask her name. She wondered how his voice would sound, and if she would understand his language, but before he could speak, she slid her hand behind his head and pulled his mouth onto hers.
His hands slid down her back and cupped her ass. He squeezed the soft flesh, and she drew in a hard breath. Where his touch had been restrained before, now his energy surged. He pressed one palm between her shoulder blades and laid her back on the cloak. He planted a broad hand near each of her shoulders and hovered over her. She thrilled at his looming masculinity. The place between her legs throbbed and grew wetter. She longed to feel him inside her.
She squeezed shut her eyes and expected he would rush and plunge into her wildly. That had been her experience with the men in the village. So many times, they had responded to her tempting stares, waiting until the others slept then slipping out to meet her at the edge of the hard-tamped paths, where the pine needles signaled the edge of the forest. They’d all kissed her tenderly at first and stroked her neck, breasts and the curve of her belly. Every time, she’d begun to respond, pulsing against them like the waves on the shore. And every time the men from the village had responded, mirroring her movements, but soon, they’d lost themselves and taken on a beat of their own. She would hold on to their bucking hips, squeeze shut her eyes and hope she could push herself over the cliff that loomed before her.
But each time the men from the village would surge and surge wildly until they reached a sacred place she could only glimpse. They would cry out then draw in a heavy breath, as if it were their last, then crumple atop her, suddenly wet, cold and heavy.
Even with her eyes squeezed shut against the inevitable, it was obvious the Viking shared something of that urgency, something of the same headlong tumble and fall that the village men had. His breath surged, and she felt the thundering heartbeat beneath the thick slabs of his broad chest.
And yet, there was something else. She sensed it clearly.
In this savage, there was something… controlled.
As disciplined as the exacting curve of the blacksmith’s iron.
As measured as the parallel rows of the planted fields.
Time had stopped. He had stopped.
She opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her. His eyes flashed.
As surely as she’d known he’d been about to ask her name, she understood he sought her permission to continue. Her mind reeled. This was a Viking! A pillager! One who took what he wanted without regard for his victims.
She looked up at him. The sunlight slipped clear of a cloud and lit him from behind. The pale blue of his eye was illuminated, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling in an audible breath.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he dropped his chin. The wordless motion was an eloquent plea. Her mouth softened into a natural smile. She reached up and fanned her fingers behind the angle of his square jaw. Wordlessly, she answered his question by pulling his lips down to hers.
She was at once moved and frightened by his response. She understood that she had given this giant permission to take her. The prospect thrilled and terrified her. Her acquiescence had been the linchpin in this encounter, and now that she had turned over the reins, she wondered if she would survive the adventure.
He crushed his lips against her while he pushed open her legs with his knees. He slung a muscular leg over one of her plump thighs and his hard cock pressed into the soft flesh. She groaned against his mouth. She longed to feel him inside her. Instead, he slid a broad hand between them and began to knead the flesh of her other thigh. She tried to raise her hips to meet him, but she was pinned beneath his weight. His hand slid upward, and he combed his fingers through the hair between her legs. She jerked her head to one side so her mouth would be free to cry out.
No man had ever put his hand on that place. They’d only plunged in with their cocks and thrust away until they were spent. The Viking massaged the soft mound of flesh, and she buried her mouth against his neck. She cried out again when he slid a long, thick finger into her. He pushed it in and out of her while his breath rushed hot against her ear. Her pleasure mounted, and she wished to move her hips against his hand.
He shifted his leg from atop hers and centered himself. He slid his hand out of her pussy and pressed the head of his cock against her opening. He straightened his arms and raised himself above her. His eyes met hers again. Her breath heaved, and she managed a slight nod. That was enough. The Viking pressed forward his hips, and the thick head of his cock breached her pussy lips. He didn’t break his stare as he pushed slowly into her he was buried to its limit.
The feeling was magical, and she was afraid to move lest it stop. One corner of his mouth tugged upward in a wicked grin and a thrill zipped across her skin. She tilted up her hips then began grinding slowly against him in small, tight circles. The Viking’s grin was replaced with a grimace of concentration. She increased the arc and the tempo of her gyrations. The hum of energy between her legs was glorious, and it was building. Reaching around him, she grabbed the tight, rounded muscles of his ass. She pulled him against her, intent on breaking his maddening standoff.
The Viking let out a rumbling moan then bent again to crush his mouth against hers. His hips answered her movements. Her fingers dug into his hard flesh as she urged him onward and urged him to take her along. Their bodies fell into a rhythm like waves on the shore. The weight of his thrusts and the pleasure they carried made her moan against his lips, the sound cresting with each advance. He pulled his mouth from hers and looked down at her. His thrusts quickened. His muscles tensed beneath her hands, and she knew by his breathing that he neared that magical place. His pleasure thrilled her and she knew she they would reach that magical place together…

In the sleek shower of her modern loft, Franny brought herself to orgasm as in her fantasies she conquered the Viking at the water's edge and the athlete in the loft apartment above.

Like what you’ve read so far? Find out what happens when Franny imagines Jesse as a mischievous stagecoach bandit and a brooding Scottish lord. Will the real Jesse live up to her fantasies? “Dressed for Success” is available from Resplendence Publishing, Amazon for Kindle, Barnes & Noble for Nook, All Romance eBooks, and other fine eBook retailers.

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