The Receptionist Who Saved Christmas and Other Holiday Fun

If you'd like to see what Dana, Ethan and Simon from The Receptionist series are up to this holiday season, stop by the Nine Naughty Novelists blog at http://ninenaughtynovelists.blogspot.com/?zx=aa92841cf769e9dc for a special free read called THE RECEPTIONIST WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS!

You might also want to stop by our Sweater Season event page on Facebook. We're having tons of fun over there. People are posting all kinds of ugly sweaters and naughty Christmas fun. One poster will win a $50 gift certificate, but everyone will have a blast! Happy Holidays!

Release Day for MY THREE MASTERS

It's here! This is my most-requested sequel, the continuation of the story of MY THREE LORDS. In MY THREE MASTERS, the Marquis de Beaumont takes center stage, as he falls in love with a mysterious servant girl. His arrangement with Alicia, the Countess of Dorchester, her husband the Earl, and the devastating Duke of Warrington is just as fascinating and complicated as ever.

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It’s been years since the Marquis de Beaumont, London’s most notorious rake, felt anything more than sexual need. But something about the mysterious nursemaid Miranda Brown catches his eye. Why is her face so terribly scarred? Why does her speech slip into the cadence of the upper class? Why is she haunting his dreams?

Miranda is used to hiding in plain sight. After fleeing her vicious guardian, she’s wary of everyone, especially the Marquis, who stars in her most secret nighttime fantasies. But not even her fantasies could prepare her for the truth about the Marquis, the Duke, the Earl and the Countess…or for the intense passion that flares between them. As the secrets from her past begin to surface, she fears their fragile bond won’t survive, and that not even her three masters will be able to save her from a cruel fate.

Inside Scoop: This Regency-set tale boasts ménage, BDSM…just about everything you could possibly want in a hot historical. 

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Midsummer Night's Dream-Man Blog Hop

A Midsummer Night's Dream-Man
A JustRomance.me Bloghop

Welcome! I'm Juniper Bell. In my upcoming Regency Erotica release, MY THREE MASTERS, the young nurse Miranda Brown spends her nights in feverish fantasies about her master, the Marquis the Beaumont:

In the dark, my face burned as I recalled some of the Marquise’s stories about her husband. At Eton he’d been caught in bed with three students and a professor—at the same time. He was equally voracious with men and women, and his sexual appetites knew no bounds. I’m ashamed to admit that I lived for those stories. Shocking and titillating though they were, when I crawled into my tiny cot in my mistress’s dressing room, I thought of nothing else. It was as if I were transported into another world. A dungeon, perhaps, where I hung helplessly in chains, my arms stretched overhead, my naked body exposed to the ruthless black gaze of the devil himself. With that sardonic twist of his mouth, he’d come closer, closer, then he’d lift one gloved hand, touch his finger to my nipple and a shivery sensation would sing through me. I’d sag against the chains, panting and begging for… I knew not what.

Exclusive for the Midsummer Night’s Dream-Man Blog Hop, here’s an expanded, “deleted scene” glimpse into Miranda’s forbidden dream world. 

 Miranda's Midsummer Dream

The expensive leather of the Marquis’s glove felt like a tabby cat’s tongue against my tender nipple. No one had ever touched me there before. Only once had I done so myself, when I crept to a mirror late at night and explored myself by the light of a candle. I’d pinched my own nipples between my fingers, shocked by the sweetness that lanced through me. This was different. The Marquis lifted my nipple as if he owned it, as if he knew something about it I did not. And so he did. He knew that if he rubbed it between the thumb and forefinger of his gloved hand, it would answer with a pulsating burn. He knew it would grow plump and swollen under his attentions. He knew that golden fire would streak to my belly and make the hidden place between my legs ache with need.

I couldn’t bear it. I twisted as far as I could to make him stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” With one firm hand, he gripped my waist, his thumb pressing into the little dip inside my hip bone. I burned, flames licking at my sex.

“Stop. Please stop.”

“Little liar.” Still holding my hip steady, he bunched one of my bosoms high, a ferocious gesture that made my nipple stand out, red and eager, like a saluting soldier. “You want this more than your next breath. Admit it.”

He flicked his thumb against my frantic nipple. Fever flashed through me, a lunatic, wild need I’d never felt before. “No!” I cried. My body contradicted me, swaying toward him with shameless want. My body might be like softened candle wax in his hands, but I’d claim my independence with my words.

He gave a low, amused chuckle, then shifted his hand from my hip to my bottom, where it joined my upper thigh. He squeezed hard, spreading the two globes apart, even as he lowered his mouth to my bosom. My eyes widened at the sight of his black head bent over my chest, and then I felt a warm, wet sucking at the nipple.

A brilliant spasm ripped through me. I arched my entire body toward him. I thought I might die. Of shock? Of pleasure? It was all the same. I moaned something that had no words. Lucky it didn’t, because they would have been embarrassing pleas for more.

“Tell me again that you don’t want me to take you,” growled the Marquis around my nipple. “That your hot little quim isn’t begging me to fuck you hard and long.”

Forbidden words, nasty words, thrilling words that I’d only heard from the Marquise’s stories. I shook my head violently from side to side.

A rough finger entered me, sliding into the slippery cave of my sheltered innocence. Why so slick and liquid? I didn’t know. I knew only a restless craving for something hard, something that would rub the itch I couldn’t reach, the need I didn’t understand. I pushed against the finger, desperate for contact. The palm of his glove deliberately brushed against a spot I knew well from my own nighttime explorations. It flamed into glorious life, more radiant than the solitary candle that lit our dungeon.

He knew it, too. Of course he did. The Marquis knew everything. He pressed against that spot, just so, making subtle circles that made my legs tremble.

“Oh please,” I whispered.

“Please stop?” Oh, that sardonic, mocking tone! I wanted to hit him. I wanted to bite him. I wanted to devour him. The hand between my legs slowed to a crawl, dragging a long, lingering stroke along my soaking wet cleft.

“No,” I whispered. “No!”

“No what?” He dipped his head to my bosom and scraped his teeth along my nipple. “No to this?”

I shook my head wildly. I didn’t know the right answer. I knew only that I’d die if he stopped.

“No to this?” He tightened his possessive grip on my sex, sending shooting stars all the way to my toes, which lifted off the floor. All my weight rested on his hand; as did all my happiness. He gave me a slight shake. I felt my bosom jiggle in the cool dungeon air. Surely steam must be rising off me.

“No!” I wailed the word. “No!”

“Never say no to your master,” growled the Marquis.. “Understand?”

“Yes,” Speared on his gloved hand, I shrieked as he ruthlessly worked his way deeper into my passage. He sucked my nipple into his mouth. “Yes!” And then he rubbed against that magic spot, that engorged and sensitized button, and I shattered. “Ye-eeeess,” I sang as I spiraled into a realm of pure sensation, a world where pleasure echoed through me like the deep tolls of a bell, a world so different from …

A bell. A bell was indeed ringing. My mistress’s bell. I blinked, lying on my narrow cot, my hand between my legs. I snatched it away, my own sharp scent rising to my nostrils.

“Miranda!”

I wiped my hand on my shift and swung my legs over the edge of my cot. My heart skipped and fluttered as I tried to regain my equilibrium. It was time to resume my duties. My dull, dreary days of tending to the Marquise and living for mere glimpses of the Marquis de Beaumont. Time to resume the long wait for the night, when my dreams would reign and the Marquis would come for me once again. 

MY THREE MASTERS will be out on August 2 from Ellora’s Cave. You can add it to your wishlist here, and read the blurb and an excerpt by scrolling down. To celebrate, I’m running a special side contest for all you blog-hoppers. If you leave me a comment, I’ll put you in the running for a copy of the first book in this series, MY THREE LORDS. The two books are both stand-alones, but hey – the more smutty Regency fun, the better, right?

To return to the blog hop, click the banner at the top of this post. Happy midsummer night’s dreamin'! 

Excerpt from MY THREE MASTERS

Are you ready for the first excerpt from MY THREE MASTERS? Of course you are! This story is the sequel to MY THREE LORDS, though it can also be read on its own. It'll be out on August 2, but you can preorder it now. Enjoy!

It’s been years since the Marquis de Beaumont, London’s most notorious rake, felt anything more than sexual need. But something about the mysterious nursemaid Miranda Brown catches his eye. Why is her face so terribly scarred? Why does her speech slip into the cadence of the upper class? Why is she haunting his dreams?

Miranda is used to hiding in plain sight. After fleeing her vicious guardian, she’s wary of everyone, especially the Marquis, who stars in her most secret nighttime fantasies. But not even her fantasies could prepare her for the truth about the Marquis, the Duke, the Earl and the Countess…or for the intense passion that flares between them. As the secrets from her past begin to surface, she fears their fragile bond won’t survive, and that not even her three masters will be able to save her from a cruel fate.

Inside Scoop: This Regency-set tale boasts ménage, BDSM…just about everything you could possibly want in a hot historical. 
 

EXCERPT 

-->

Lying awake at night in a state of worry wasn’t unusual for me. Ever since I’d run away from my guardian, the Vicious Viscount—as I called him—I’d encountered one dangerous situation after another, each more dire than the next. The Marquise had seemed to be a reprieve, as unlikely as that seems. I knew she was a bitter, horrible woman. I knew she derived enjoyment from the suffering of others. I knew some sort of monstrous pain infected her soul. But once I began caring for her, she became my patient and I ceased to pass judgment upon her. We’d got on fairly well, all in all.

But could it be that she’d been storing all her cruelty for one final act?

The notorious Marquis de Beaumont—my master?

In the dark, my face burned as I recalled some of the Marquise’s stories about her husband. At Eton he’d been caught in bed with three students and a professor—at the same time. He was equally voracious with men and women, and his sexual appetites knew no bounds. He’d once kidnapped another man’s mistress, chained her in a dungeon and tormented her until she crawled to him on her knees, begging for his… I blushed even to think it. How she could crawl when she was chained, I failed to see. On occasion I would wonder if all the Marquise’s stories were true. But it was not my place to question. If I questioned, she might stop her tales, and that… I couldn’t bear.

I’m ashamed to admit that I lived for those stories. Shocking and titillating though they were, when I crawled into my tiny cot in my mistress’s dressing room, I thought of nothing else. It was as if I were transported into another world. A dungeon, perhaps, where I hung helplessly in chains, my arms stretched overhead, my naked body exposed to the ruthless black gaze of the devil himself. With that sardonic twist of his mouth I’d come to know, he’d come closer, closer, then he’d lift one gloved hand, touch his finger to my nipple and a shivery sensation would sing through me. I’d sag against the chains, panting and begging for… I knew not what.

I’d sneak my hand between my legs, where my fingers would dip into a soft, liquid slipperiness. There was a spot there, just there. If I rubbed it a certain way, a seed of a feeling would blaze to life. My heart would begin to pound, my breath come fast, and soon joy would shriek through me. As I arched and held my hand tight against my throbbing body, the horror of the world would disappear.

Maybe it was wrong—it probably was wrong—but when everything has been ripped away from you, such considerations don’t carry much weight.

The Marquis hadn’t left Beaumont House. He’d decided to stay the night. Servants always know such things, and I would have known in any case. The very air felt different when he was present. Even now, I felt his dark existence pulling me as if it were some magnetic force. How could I work for him when he unsettled me so? It would be impossible.

The solution was simple. I had to tell him that I had no intention of entering his household. And I had no reason to wait another moment. The Marquis was a notorious night owl. No doubt he was in the billiards room or perhaps the library.

I rose to my feet and drew on the simple brown homespun dress I wore over my shift. I left off my pattens as they made too much noise for the quiet nighttime household. I stole through my mistress’s room and ran silently down the stairs.

I didn’t have to search far. The door to the library was slightly ajar and firelight flickered within. I tiptoed to the door and peered in. The Marquis sat sprawled in a leather armchair squarely in front of the hearth. He must have asked a footman to move it, or perhaps he’d done so himself, the unpredictable man. One hand dangled to the side, a snifter of brandy held carelessly in its loose grip. I wondered if he was asleep, or merely in his cups.

That question was answered soon enough.

“Who’s there?” he drawled thickly, the “s” and the “th” melding together on his tongue.

In his cups, most decidedly.

Cautiously I came closer. I’d seen the Marquis in a drunken state before, and I knew he didn’t become threatening. But he was always a man of whom to be wary. “It is I, Miss Brown, your wife’s nurse.”

“Miranda,” he murmured, and I knew a moment of shock that he knew my given name.

“Don’t lurk behind me. Come around here.” He gestured with his glass.

I approached him the way one might a wild boar. Step by step, he guided me to the spot where he wanted me, which was right in front of him, between the man and the fireplace. Warmth from the low fire caressed my back. Heat from the Marquis’ gaze scorched my front.

He regarded me with black, heavy-lidded eyes. I wasn’t accustomed to such scrutiny. Most people barely saw me—a plain, inconsequential servant in brown. A heavy sensation weighed down my limbs, and for a long moment I forgot why I’d come.

“So I’m to be your new master,” he said, one side of his mouth curling in a mocking half-smile.

Yes, that’s what it was, the topic I’d come to discuss. I opened my mouth, but he forestalled me.

“I have many bad habits, chérie, but employing innocents has never been one of them. Something will have to be done.”

The fact that I’d thought precisely the same thing fled my mind. “I believe I’d make an excellent employee.”

He smiled, that glittering, complicated smirk for which he was famous. “I have no doubt. I’ve seen how loyally you’ve served my wife. But would you be such a faithful servant to one such as myself? Perhaps you know my reputation.”

Color flooded my face. I knew his reputation perhaps better than he did himself. I was fascinated by it.

Once, in a moment of spectacular boldness, I’d asked the Marquise why she’d married him if he was so sinful. She laughed until she began to cough and I had to fetch her some mullein. When the spasms died down, she answered, “We were two of a kind, or so I thought. But the bastard disappointed me. He left me in hell, all alone.”

Had she banned her husband from her bed? I never once witnessed any moment of physical intimacy between them. I never saw him enter her bedchamber before that final conversation. Why did she allow so many others to partake of her favors when she denied them to her rightful husband? The husband whose bedroom exploits provided fodder for a thousand stories during the year I cared for her. The husband who haunted my dreams and made that place between my legs burn with need.

I put my hands to my scalding cheeks. “Yes,” I admitted stiffly.

“And yet you’re still willing to enter my household?”

No. Of course I wasn’t. That was why I’d ventured into the library. But I found myself nodding. He shifted his legs so his knee brushed against my dress. His head tilted backward so it rested on the russet leather chair back. He looked utterly disreputable, and utterly fascinating. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

I said naught. I felt guilty, as though I’d been caught in a lie.

“I’m afraid I’ll require some proof.”

“Proof?”

“Proof that you’re fit to work for me. I require a certain ease with one’s sexual nature. I cannot have prudes in my house. Are you a prude, Miss Miranda Brown?”

The diabolical glitter in his eyes made my knees weaken. This was how I’d always imagined him in my midnight fantasies. For a wild moment, I wondered if I was dreaming this whole encounter. I swayed from side to side.

“My dear, you look a bit faint,” said the Marquis. “Perhaps you should lean against that mantel behind you.”

I glanced behind me. A beautiful rose marble mantelpiece protruded from above the hearth. My mistress had a taste for ornate Italian design. I could comfortably lean my shoulders against it, but that would take me farther away from the Marquis, and I discovered I didn’t want that. I shook my head.

“Then come here and stand between my legs. I promise to keep you upright.” He said the word “upright” with light irony, as if referring to more than my stance.

I stared at him with wide eyes. Perhaps now was the time to tell him I wouldn’t work for him. Couldn’t work for him. Instead, I took a step forward, then another, until I stood between his two long legs clad in fine garnet velvet. His boots shone in the light of the fire. His waistcoat was slightly open, his cravat hanging to one side. His dark hair fell over his forehead in unruly waves. I’d never seen the impeccable Marquis in such disarray.

“Are you quite all right, milord? Shall I fetch a tonic for you?”

“Don’t waste your worry on me. I’m merely drinking to my soon-to-be late wife.” He raised his glass and swallowed more brandy. “Besides, I don’t want you to leave yet. I haven’t gotten my proof yet.”

“Really, milord—”

“It’s nothing overly difficult. It won’t take long, the matter of a mere moment.”

Excited chills raced up my spine. What was he referring to? The way he was speaking, and watching me with those lazy black eyes, it had to be naughty. Again I swayed, but he caught me between his strong legs. Through my dress, through his velvet breeches, I felt the heat of him, and it made my head swim as if I’d been drinking the brandy. “Wh…what?” I whispered.

“Let me look at you.”

He was looking at me. Closely. Heatedly. Confusingly. “But, sir, you are—”

“Lift your dress.”

The quiet words dropped into the library like stones into a well. Lift my dress. The Marquis wanted me to expose my private area to him. And that very region of my body seemed to pulsate with the desire to do just that. Heat tingled between my legs. I stared at him, feeling flushed and chilled in alternating waves.

He stared back and I knew his message. If I wanted to leave—the library or his employ—now would be the perfect moment to do so. Should I choose to remain, well, the dark promise in his wicked face left no doubt that I’d be traveling down a road to new sensual horizons.

CLICK TO PREORDER 

Cover Reveal: MY THREE MASTERS

For those of you who have been waiting for the sequel to MY THREE LORDS, here it is! MY THREE MASTERS will be releasing from Ellora's Cave in the near future, though I don't have an exact release date yet. The story centers on the Marquis de Beaumont and a mysterious young servant girl who catches his eye. More details to come, but for now ... enjoy this fabulous cover!

Fan's Choice Awards

Hey look! I'm a nominee!

Mary's Naughty Whispers has nominated UNLEASHING THE RECEPTIONIST in the category of Erotic Romance in the 2013 Erotic Menage Romance's Fan's Choice Awards. I'd love to have your vote, but there are also tons of great authors and lots of different categories, so have fun with this. (And vote for me.) (Just kidding.) (Kinda.) (Okay, you can ignore me now.)

Click here to vote.

Naughty New Year Blog Hop

--> KBBI studio 2, December 31

“And we’re back with our Naughty New Year Contest!” Damon checked the call lights. Three were already flashing red. KBBI had been on the air with the contest since nine o’clock, when the kiddies were, one hoped, no longer listening.

“You know the rules. Adults only. That’s eighteen and over, folks, and no excuses, like you were stoned on your birthday so it didn’t count. Can you believe someone actually tried that one? Points for originality there. You know what’ll happen if you try to mess with me. Yup, I’ll open a,” he pressed a sound effect button, “can of whup ass on you. Okay. Now we got that straight, hit me with your naughtiest New Year’s Eve plans. If you’re sitting home alone, well, that’s okay too. You got an imagination, don’t you? Fantasies count in this game. No verification necessary. Whoever wows – make that shocks -- our panel of judges the most wins that cherry red convertible that’s been sitting in front of the station all week. Me, I just want someone to get it out of here, man. It’s like walking past a supermodel every day, lookie no touchie.”

Damon’s DJ voice was completely different from his regular voice, and so was his personality. On the air he was the wild and goofy jokester, while off the air he was downright reserved. Maybe even boring. At least that’s what his ex, Sally, had told him during their last fight.

He shook off thoughts of Sally. He didn’t need her ruining his New Year’s Eve show. Her or her new boyfriend, Gary. Gary. What a stupid-ass name. Perfect for a gearhead Aussie muscleman who only wore a shirt if a 7-Eleven sign told him to.

The wild gesturing of Freddy, the production intern, caught his attention. Dead air. Fuck. Blame Gary and Sally for one more thing.

“All right, all right, let’s get this snowball rolling. Who can make me blush like a virgin at a strip show? Who can put the “F” in “What the F were you thinking? Line two, you’re up.”

A sultry girl’s voice spoke. “Me and all my sorority sisters are going skinny-dipping at midnight. You’re invited, Damon.”

“Sorority sisters, huh? What are you guys, the Gamma Delta Skank-a’s?”

“If that’s what turns you on,” she purred.

Damon let that slide. They might sound sexy on the radio, but the reality never lived up. It worked both ways, of course. Listeners thought he was some kind of sex god and were mostly disappointed.

“There we have it. Sorority sisters skinny-dipping at midnight. Say that ten times fast. I like it, I like it, but what does our panel of judges say?”  He pressed another sound effect button and a gong reverberated. “Sorry about that, girls. Have fun though. Line three, what’s your Naughty New Year’s Eve plan?”

“Am I on the air?” The caller gave a sob. “Oh, thank God. You have to help me, Damon.” Damon turned up the volume on his headset. Something in this woman’s voice sounded different – more serious. She wasn’t flirting or joking around. And she sounded familiar.

“Who is this?”

“I don’t want to say my name on the air. But my lover handcuffed me to the bed and left me here, naked and spread-eagled, hours ago. I think something must have happened to him. Help me, please.”

Damon relaxed. He prepared to enjoy himself dismantling her preposterous story. “If you’re handcuffed to the bed, how’d you make this phone call?”

“There’s a phone on the bed side table. I knocked the receiver off with my chin and pressed redial with my tongue. I guess the last call was to the radio station.”

Damon frowned. She sure sounded real, with that shaky voice. But please. Pressing redail with her tongue? He decided to call her bluff. “I’ll call 911 right away. I’ll transfer you to Freddy the intern and he’ll take down your address.”

“No! No police. Please, D. Please.”

Damon froze. She’d called him “D.” Only one person had ever called him “D.” He opened his mouth to say, “Sally, is that you?”, then snapped it shut. Pissed as he was at his ex, mentioning her name on the air was not cool. Instead he punched the “can of whup-ass” button. “I warned you guys about messing with me. Caller four, what are your naughty New Year’s Eve plans?”

While the guy talking about rubbing coconut oil all over his girlfriend’s body for a pina colada body shot, Damon ripped off his headphones. “You’re taking over, Freddy,” he told the intern.

“What?”

“Naughty New Year. How hard could it be? Sink or swim, kid.”  He grabbed his jacket and launched himself out of the studio.

He spent the short drive to Sally’s house cursing himself for being such a sucker. What kind of woman called her ex to rescue her from a sex game with her new lover? And what kind of man dropped everything to rush to her bedside, just in case she wasn’t toying with him? But there was something about Sally. Exciting, daring, addicted to the edge. But also sweet and loving and endlessly joyful.

But apparently he hadn’t been enough for her. At least that what he assumed. He hadn’t been willing to listen to her explain why Gary was better than him. He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

He swung into her driveway and raced up the front steps. He pushed open the door, only to have his arm jerked behind him.

“You’re under arrest for breaking and entering,” growled a low male voice. In the darkness, he could just make out the outline of a police officer.

“I got a call,” Damon explained quickly. “I know the owner of the house. Sally Burke. She invited me here. I’m not trespassing.”

“We’ll see about that.” A handcuff clinked onto his wrist, the other to the officer’s wrist, as if he were a manacled prisoner. Holy fuck, this was serious.

“That’s really not necessary …”

But the officer was hauling Damon toward Sally’s bedroom, where he shoved him through the door. Sure enough, there was Sally, with all her blue-eyed, angel-faced sexiness, naked in bed. A pair of handcuffs dangled from the bedpost, but they weren’t around her wrists. She’d lied.

“I’m outta here.” Damon turned to go, forgetting that he was handcuffed to the officer. The police officer turned on the lights and shoved his hat back to reveal his face. “Gary? What kind of fucked up game is this?”

“It’s not a game,” said Sally quickly. “You never let me talk to you. This is the only thing I could think of.”

“Trick me? Handcuff me to your new boyfriend? What the fuck?”

“I just want you to listen. I love you. I still want to be with you. I don’t want to break up. I never did.”

“I don’t believe you. You wanted him.” He jerked his head toward Gary.

“Yes, but I miss you. I want you to take me back. I’m begging you.” She stepped off the bed, walked toward him, then dropped to her knees. She reached for his zipper. Stunned, knowing he should stop her, but somehow paralyzed, he watched her liberate his cock and give it a long, hungry, lascivious lick. Sally knew just what he liked, curse her, and his body responded quickly to her touch. His cock sprang up like a fucking race horse. He completely forgot that Gary stood right next to him. Groaning, he closed his eyes while Sally worked her magic. When he was hard as one of her bedposts, she withdrew her glistening mouth and licked her lips.

“Here’s the thing. I’m not the only one in this room who’s hot for you,” she said.

Since all the blood had left his head, it took Damon a few beats to realize the only other person in the room was Gary. He swung his head toward the “officer” – with the lights on, it was perfectly obvious that he was a fake, like some character out of Magic Mike. Gary winked at him.  

“I’m all about the fun, mate. Ready when you are. Sally chatters on about you and how much she still loves you, and when she let it slip that one of her favorite fantasies is a threesome, I said, let’s give it a go.”

“Give it a go,” Damon repeated faintly, the blood still pounding in his cock.

“You, me and Sally. She’ll be the meat in the sandwich, if you know what I mean. She warned me that you might not go for it, since you’re a bit on the straight-edge side. But I said, I listen to the dude on the radio. That dude can get wild if he wants to. He just needs a little kick in the ass.”

In Gary’s laughing brown eyes, Damon spotted a lot more intelligence than he’d guessed. The message came through, loud and clear. Gary didn’t want to steal Sally away from Damon. He just wanted her to be happy. And to be happy, she needed him, Damon. Looking into her pansy-blue eyes, he knew it was true. They belonged together. As for Sally’s wild side? Well, maybe he should make the best of it.

“You really want this?” He asked Sally.

She nodded, her eyes misting over. “I love you. But sometimes I just … need to play. It would make me so very happy if you would play with me. Only if you want to, though.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’m still glad we did this, so at least we could talk.”

Her head drooped, her body slumping in disappointment; even her luscious breasts looked sad, their nipples a wan pink rather than the deep rose of their aroused state. And that did it. Sally wasn’t designed to be sad. She was a laughing, carefree flower who cast joy around her like petals. Besides, it was New Year’s Eve. Why the hell not?

“Gary, how about you play with her nipples while she finishes sucking my dick?”

Sally’s eyes flew open. Gary saluted, then unlocked the handcuffs. “Serve and protect, that's me.” He moved behind Sally to take her breasts into his hands. The sight didn’t bother Damon at all – maybe because she was now pulling on his cock with great suckling tugs.

“I’ll say one thing,” Damon gasped as he surrendered to the bliss of fucking her hot mouth. 

"What's that?" Gary asked, palming Sally's nipples. 

“You guys win the Naughty New Year contest. Hands down.”

 The end (and the beginning)

Thanks for joining the Naughty New Year's Hop! I hope you're having a great time with all the naughty stories and eye candy. How about a little side contest? If you leave me a comment, I'll put you in the running for a complete set of the Receptionist series, TRAINING, RESTRAINING, and UNLEASHING THE RECEPTIONIST. For more about the series, or my other books, click on the sidebar or check out my website.

Have an extra naughty New Year and a wonderful 2013!

Juniper