Sunday, September 24, 2017

Sizzling Sunday: Nasty Business (#BDSM #multicultural #SizzlingSunday)

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Welcome back to another edition of Sizzling Sunday, when I share some of my most explicit and erotic excerpts. Today I’ve got one of my favorite scenes from my contemporary erotic romance Nasty Business.

Short Blurb

All's fair in lust and business. "Ruthless" Ruby Maxwell Chen, the deceptively feminine CEO of a huge British business empire, may have met her match in wily, charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell. Both are used to winning; neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth their paths to success.



Mulholland Drive turns out to be a narrow, torturously twisted road that runs along the crest of the mountains above Hollywood. Rick drives much faster than seems safe, yet once again he’s relaxed and in control. The MG careens around curves, hugging the pavement. My whole body hums with excitement. I can’t tell how much is sexual and how much born of our reckless velocity and the wildness of my hair whipping around my face. The wind is simultaneously a slap and a caress against my skin. I feel as though I am glowing. Totally alive.

My sex is humming, too, quivering, throbbing along with the engine of the car. Rick glances over at me. For the briefest instant, his eyes are pools of pure lust. Triumph and fear simultaneously seize me. He wants me. He’s dangerous. Then both emotions are submerged by the answering lust flooding through me.

Take off your top,” he shouts at me above the wind. “I dare you.”

A silly notion, I think, but I want to do it. I want to feel the wind against my naked breasts. “Keep your eyes on the road,” I call back. I pull my blouse over my head and push it down in the space between the seat and the door so that it won’t blow away. Then I slip my bra straps off my shoulders and peel the cups away from my swollen nipples.

The air dances over my heated flesh, cool, provocative. “Go ahead, touch yourself,” Rick shouts. “You know you want to.”

He’s right, and suddenly I don’t care that he’s there, or what he thinks, I’ve got to pleasure myself. I grip my nipples between index and forefingers, squeezing until the sensation reaches the edge of pain. My cunt contracts as I release them, then contracts again at the exquisite tickling of their stiffness against my palms. The wind lashes my hair against my skin, sweet little stings that make me hunger for more intense sensation. My clit is so swollen that the slightest movement in the bucket seat sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body.

Rick is yelling something again, but the wind carries his words away. He makes a rude gesture, pantomimes raising my skirt. I’m already in the process, wriggling against the seat belt as I try to pull the fabric out from underneath my bum. Finally, I manage to free my thighs from the skirt’s constriction. Looking straight at my companion, I pull my soaked panties out of the way with one hand, and sink the other one deep inside my hungering pussy.

Oh, I love the look on his face, shock, astonishment, arousal, but the sensations welling up in me are too intense to bear open-eyed. I’m not delicate. I don’t tease myself, don’t play, don’t take myself gradually to the top. No ceremony, no technique. Desperate, I use both hands, working with single-minded fury to bring myself off.

I forget Martell. I forget where I am, racing along a dangerous road at a dangerous speed with a dangerous man. There is no reality but the fire, the electricity, the tension crackling in my cunt like lightning in a thunderhead. I tilt my pelvis, forcing my fingers deeper into my slippery depths. My thighs stick to the leather seats as I rock back and forth. In and out, faster, harder, more, more please just a little more…

The climax is sudden and unexpected. A shattering like glass, fragments ripping gloriously through my stretched flesh. Momentary blackness cloaks the setting sun. When I finally open my eyes, I find I’m slumped in the seat, skirt and bra tangled around my waist, still trembling.

It takes me a moment to realize that the car has stopped. Martell is watching me in fascination, like a cat stalking a bird. He grins when he realizes that I’m back among the conscious. “Wasn’t that fun?” he asks, with heavy irony. Torn and tired as I am, his voice still sets up stirrings in my sex.

I don’t answer. It doesn’t seem to matter. He comes around to my side and opens my door. “Get out of the car, Ruby.” We’ve pulled over into a parking area, a scenic lookout. The checkerboard miles of Los Angeles are spread out below us. Off in the distance, a fiery sunset paints the Pacific. He holds out his hand to steady me, and the touch is enough to send me back into a frenzy of desire.

Lean against the railing,” he commands. I don’t seem to have any will to resist. “I want to admire the view.”

You promised,” I protest weakly, as he pulls my sodden knickers down to my ankles.

Well, you started it,” he replies. “Don’t move, now.”

He leaves me there, bent over the guard rail, my arse bared to the world. Why don’t I get up and cover my nakedness? Why don’t I scream, or run off down the road to find a ride? I don’t understand.

I admit to myself: I’m weak with lust. I want more, and he knows it. He’s using my own desire against me. A breeze tangles my hair in my eyes and trails caresses along the back of my thighs. Where is he? What is he doing?

I hear his footsteps crunching on the gravel, then his laugh. “Just as I suspected, Ruby; you always come prepared. Just look what I found in your handbag?” The sinking sun glints red on the silvery vibrator that he holds in front of my face.

Get your own copy of Nasty Business!

Amazon

BN

Fireborn Publishing

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