Monday, 28 January 2013

Mandy's He-Man by Donna Gallagher






Can this rugged mountain of a man really protect her, teach her to trust and love again? Or will the choices she’s made in the past destroy her future?

Blurb

Having managed to break free from an abusive relationship with a cruel and dominating ex-boyfriend, Australian artist Mandy Magenta—a.k.a. Amanda Smith—should be terrified when she first meets the enormous bulk that is Jonathon ‘JT’ Thomson. He is fierce. Not only is JT the biggest, most muscular man Mandy has ever set eyes on, but he makes a living playing the brutal sport of Rugby League.

So why, then, does Mandy’s body go into lust overdrive at the mere sight of him? She doesn’t feel a hint of alarm as the colours that exist in her mind—created and inspired by her own emotions and her artistic talents—explode with vibrant and passionate intensity. Could JT be the man to remind her that she is still a sensual, amorous woman, a woman deserving of love and tenderness—and can he protect her from the threats her ex has promised to deliver on?

Excerpt


As they lay in each other’s arms, JT whispered to Mandy, “Happy birthday, Mags. Hope you’ve had a day to remember.” 
“Oh, He-Man, the best ever. But it’s still my birthday and I want another present. It amazes me how something so hard can feel so soft to touch…” Mandy gave a sultry purr as she wrapped her palm around JT’s erection. “My favourite part is this raised bit, just here,” Mandy teased as her finger rimmed the mushroom-shaped head of JT’s penis, stopping at the slight join of flesh at the top. JT could only moan and growl in response as she wrapped her soft hand around his steel-hard cock.
Mandy lowered her head and blew gently on the enormous length that stood erect before her, then ran the tip of her tongue slowly over the same path that her finger had taken before it, loving the way JT jerked in response. She took him into her mouth slowly, pressing her lips together tightly to create just enough friction as she sucked his warm cock all the way into her mouth, until the head bumped the back of her throat.
Mandy tried to relax her throat even more, so she could take all of him, moving her mouth up and down. She grazed her teeth gently along the rigid shaft as she pumped her hand in a complementary rhythm. 
She was enjoying herself, totally absorbed in her endeavours. She could feel the moisture building between her thighs and squeezed them together to try to ease the ache. Now she was so in tune with JT’s body, Mandy knew he was getting close. When he tried to pull her mouth away from his almost exploding cock, she shook her head and sucked harder.
“Woman, I’m coming in your mouth if you don’t let go. I can’t hold on any longer,” JT groaned. 






About the author


Sydney-born Donna Gallagher decided at an early age that life needed be tackled head on.
Leaving home at 15 she supported herself through her teen years. 
In her twenties she married a professional sportsman, her love of sport -- especially rugby league -- probably overriding her good sense. 

The seven-year marriage was an adventure. There were the emotional ups and downs of having a husband with a public profile in a sometimes glamorous but always high-pressure field. There were always interesting characters to meet and observe and even the opportunity to live for a time in the UK.
Eventually Donna returned home a single woman, but she never lost her passion for watching sport, as well as the people in and around it.

Now happily re-married and with three sons Donna loves coffee mornings with her female friends, sorting through problems from the personal to the international. But she's on even footing with the keenest man when it comes to watching and talking rugby league.

Donna considers herself something of a black sheep in a family of high achievers. Her brother has a doctorate in mathematics and her sister is a well-known sports journalist.

An avid reader, especially of romance, Donna finally found she couldn't stop the characters residing in her imagination from spilling onto paper. Naturally rugby league is the backdrop to her League of Love Series, published through UK publisher Total-E-Bound, spicy tales of hunky heroes and spunky heroines overcoming adversity to eventually find true love.



Buy Links

Caitlin’s Hero 





Mandy’s He-man




Laura’s Light



Sunday, 27 January 2013

Six Sentence Sunday - Good Cop, Bad Cop


Blurb


Fame and fortune is a blessing that, for me, has changed its taste from sumptuously sweet to murderously bitter. Leaving me no choice but to look over my shoulder at every turn and question the scruples of even my most faithful friends.

I would give up all the glowing adoration from my fans in a heartbeat in exchange for not running for my life. But fate doesn’t deal cards that way, and instead I find myself far out at sea and being bounced between two hot cops—one so chilly just his glance gives me frostbite, and the other showing a kindness that barely covers his own demons.

So with nowhere else to turn, quite literally, I have to trust two men I hardly know with my life and cope without the luxuries my status usually affords me. But it’s not long before I discover when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Turns out these cops are not only the wrong guys to mess with, they also have partnership skills above and beyond the requirements of their day job. And for once, while just being me without the frills, I get to discover that they are as sinfully bad as they are dreamily good in every department, and it seems, I am the one they want cuffed and controlled at the same time as they are protecting and serving.

SUNDAY SIX

   He yanked my arms above my head and I heard the sound of metal on metal.
   I twisted to see what he was doing.
  He’d looped the central part of the cuffs over one of the rope hooks, wedging it in tight so that my arms were held aloft and there was nothing I could do about it.
  I tugged and pulled, looked at his face, shadowed by the bimini overhead. The glint in his eyes and the slackness of his jaw told me something new about Dillon, something I really should have guessed—the damn cuffs got him off.
   Conniving bastard.

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK




Reviews for Good Cop, Bad Cop

"I Highly recommend this! It had a little mystery, a little excitement and a whole lot of steamy scenes! I thoroughly enjoyed the story. It was awesome!!"

"Great story about one lucky lady and two hunky guys. The story was really gripping and I really felt sorry for India as she was so frightened but she found luck when she found safety on a boat which just happened to be owned by two hunky cops who came to her rescue, but not after being handcuffed and treated a little roughly first, especially by Mr Moody cop Dillon."

"Didn't know what to expect, and I'll be honest, I don't tend to fantasise about some of the things described in this book, but damn! That was so hot!"


"I really enjoyed this story of a scared and lonely country singer who quite by accident drops into the lives of two sexy cops on vacation. Just when she needs them they are there for her. Such a sweet story with a perfect amount of suspense to keep you guessing til the end! Oh and the HEAT factor is off the charts!"



"If you are up for something different, try this. it is a very arousing read. Definitely not for the weak of spirit."














Saturday, 26 January 2013

Well Colour Me Lustful and Give me a Laptop


A Guest Post by K D Grace

Picture Botticelli’s lovely painting of Venus and Mars. You know the one I’m talking about, the one that you just want to stand in front of all day staring and sighing and thinking romantic Renaissance thoughts.  Have you got that in your head? Good! Now picture the goddess in a black corset  and a bad-ass strap-on. And all those cherubs in the picture, well picture them as overworked servants of the goddess, whose job it is to hold the sex toys she’d not using at the moment and offer them to her with hot little hands … or wherever else she wants them to hold them.

Now then, as for Mars. Weeeell, picture Mars, or in this case Jack Calendar, dressed in a ratty track suit a pair of badly worn Nikes Add to that an aging Avengers t-shirt, and imagine Mars with a laptop instead of a sword and shield. Are you starting to get the idea?

Now then for the story that goes with our lovely Botticelli does DC Comics, think about a cross between The Big Bang Theory on steroids and The Corleones from The Godfather meet The Olympians from Greece – a truly dysfunctional family. The Olympians are moonlighting in London. Aphrodite has a head for business, and poor Jack Calendar has been caught peeking while the goddess of love does the nasty with …. well just about everyone! When Jack’s punishment for peeking is to be hired on as Aphrodite’s PA, he quickly discovers that his job demands special skills, Aphrodite is quick to offer on-the-job training. 

Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action can be downloaded as a stand-alone novella or it can be purchased with the other six sins in Sweetmeats Press’s fab new anthology, Seven Deadly Sins. This fabulous anthology contains stories by Lily Harlem, Sarah Masters, Victoria Blisse, Lucy Felthouse, Lexie Bay, and Rebecca Bond. It’s illustrated by John LaChatte and edited by KoJo Black.

Blurb for Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action:

There’s no place to go but down when, against all odds, sexually inexperienced, nerd’s nerd, JACK CALENDAR gets shanghaied into being APHRODITE’s PA. And she has him going down a lot! Who could have guessed that the moonlighting Goddess of Love had head for business? The hours are long, the work is difficult and the Goddess is demanding and insatiable. Then there’s her family, who make the Corleones look like the Brady Bunch.

A PA’s work is never done, and Jack wasn’t hired for his impressive organizational skills. Nerdy Jack is at Aphrodite’s beck-and-call, because he’s the only mortal she has ever known with a lust powerful enough to match her own. Jack’s never had so much sex. He didn’t even know one could have so much sex – with someone other than themselves, that is. Just when he’s starting to get the hang of serving the goddess, Jack meets the husband, whose jealous temper is volcanic to say the least. Can Jack survive a run-in with the original dysfunctional family, or will he end up just one more manipulated mortal fucked by the gods?

Excerpt

‘Hey you! Ass-wipe! Don’t make me come up after you.’

Coming up wasn’t necessary. Startled, Jack lost his balance on the limb and fell out of the tree backward, his fall being slowed by the hard thwack, thwack, thwack of a half a dozen smaller, more supple branches before he hit the manicured lawn flat on his back leaving him winded and stunned.

‘Izzee dead?’ A voice hissed from somewhere above Jack’s prone, breathless body.

‘Course ‘es not dead. His cock’s still hard. Sonovabitch! Hat’s off to ‘im, I say.’

‘Don’t matter. When her dad gets through with him, he’ll wish he was dead.’

‘Shut up, you two. No one asked your opinion,’ a third voice said. Then the owner of that voice grabbed Jack by the arm and hauled him to his feet nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He found himself nose to nose to a man with perfectly coifed hair that looked like it came straight from an eighties cop show. And the rest of him looked like a poster boy for a hard core muscle mag, right down to the bad-ass eagle tat rippling up his bulging right bicep. If that wasn’t crazy enough, the man was wearing a toga, for chrissake! 

His pecs bulged and his nipples looked like they’d been clamped within an inch of their lives. And who the hell noticed a man’s nipples, Jack wondered, especially when Blondie’s old man was about to make him wish he were dead.

‘Tuck it in, Bub,’ Toga Man nodded to Jack’s cock which, embarrassingly enough, still offered a full frontal salute. He shoved and shifted it back into his track suit, but even then it led the way as he fell into step behind Toga Man with two black-suit security types flanking him. What the hell was the matter with him? He could die or worse and he still had enough wood to start a bonfire.

‘Big Z ain’t gonna be happy you watching his daughter do the dirty,’ the suit to his left spoke out of one side of his mouth.

‘You shut your pie-hole,’ Toga Man said. ‘You dunno what makes Big Z happy. Besides, she ain’t his daughter.’

Big Z? What the hell was this, Jack wondered, some kind of Mafioso toga party? They made their way through the enormous marble foyer of the house Jack hadn’t noticed being anywhere nearly so huge from his perch in the oak tree. But then it wasn’t the house he’d been looking at, was it? At last, Toga Man dismissed the Mafia-thugs and fast marched Jack, both hands protectively folded across the bounce, bounce, bounce of his erection, to another set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. He threw them open and with a hand on Jack’s shoulder, half shoved him into an opulent study. There, Jack found himself face to face with the bare ass of a bloke doing the nasty up the bumhole of another, a situation that didn’t prevent Toga Man from announcing loudly. ‘We found this scumbag up the oak tree watching Aphrodite.’

Buy Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action Now

Love Thy Neighbour: Sweet Hell on Fire


Welcome to Love Thy Neighbour, where something that has affected us or we feel deserves a bigger mention is shouted about. As writers, Outrageous Girls like to pay it forward, to help other authors out on the quiet, and genuinely get emotional when someone else gets a good deal or progresses in their careers.

My Love Thy Neighbour today is about author Saranna DeWylde/Sara Lunsford. I first “met” her through my job as Head of Art for Total-E-Bound. I’d created a cover for Saranna and after that she submitted it to a contest. It won! I found her Facebook posts interesting, funny, poignant, and she soon became someone I “stalked”, for want of a better word. I have certain people I look forward to “seeing” on Fb every night when I lounge on the sofa and scroll through my feed. She is one of them.

My first taste of her writing came with Sweet Hell on Fire, a book that absolutely stole two of my evenings—I couldn’t put it down. It was one of those books that rang many bells for me. I related to how she felt. She was brutally honest, and I admired her for having the balls to say it exactly how it was, especially her feelings and actions regarding her mother and her children. It isn’t easy to admit our shortcomings, but she did, and in a book that so many people would read too. She risked having those who knew her as Saranna hating her after her revelations, and I hold her in the highest regard for still going ahead and telling it how it was. She needed to—from reading that book I knew she had to purge.

It struck me so hard that I created a piece of art, but I had to wait for a while afterwards because creating it was emotional. Everything she had been through came back while I worked, and I’ll admit I cried.



So then I created a cover for Johnny Angel, read the book and bloody loved it. So of course I went to find some more and bought the books available so far in her Darkyrie series—all great, by the way. There are other books I have yet to buy, but rest assured, I will.

Then I read the news that prompted this post. The digital rights to Sweet Hell on Fire have been bought. My God, did I cry (called a soppy sod by Hubby) because my word, Saranna deserves this success. The book came flooding back, her fears, her needs, her honesty, bravery and downright humanness, and I knew right then and there that there is a higher power that rewards those who go through hell and fight to come out the other side a better person—herself, who she really was underneath all that time.

If you haven’t read Sweet Hell on Fire, I recommend that you do, because it gives you a feeling of awe that wow, this woman has laid it all bare and she is so brave to do so. I couldn’t get over that.

I’m proud of her. She’s a down to earth, lovely person. I wish her all the success in the world, and I can’t WAIT to see that book on TV or as a movie. I will watch it, knowing what happens, knowing that I’ll cry all over again, but the best thing about it is this raven, who had tattered wings, a hoarse cry, and was lost in a stormy sky, is now sleek, feathers shining, her voice strong, and now those skies are summer all the way.

Bless you, Sara/Saranna. Your tale will remain with me for the rest of my days. Go forth and live the life you were meant to, writing, happy, and at peace with your past and yourself.

As a corrections officer at an all-male maximum security prison, Sara Lunsford worked with the worst of the worst, from serial killers to white supremacists. She knew that at the end of every day, she had to try and shed the memories of the horrors she had witnessed in order to live a happy existence. But the darkness invaded every part of her life. And dealing with a stressful divorce and a mother sucumbing to cancer led her to a complete immersion in her work and eventually the bottom of a liquor bottle. Sweet Hell on Fire takes the reader on a journey with the author, from hitting rock bottom to becoming a woman who understands the meaning of sacrifice, the joy of redemption and the quiet haven to be found in hope.




Friday, 25 January 2013

Under My Skin by Sommer Marsden




House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.

Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.

Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancé—check.

What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?

To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.
It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.


Excerpt from Under My Skin 
© Sommer Marsden

“I’m telling you, Minnie, it feels off.” I tucked the phone under my chin and tried not to trip on the damn thing. My brand new kitchen had a way-old phone. It actually had a cord, for goodness’ sake.
“Off how? Off is relative when it comes to you, twin sister, dear.”
I snorted, and Minnie made a high-pitched sound that said she was laughing at me. “Har har.”
I slipped my silverware—triple wrapped in plastic—into my freshly washed and tidied drawer. I had just spent three hours wiping down the room and cleaning everything. I wanted it as spic and span as possible for me and my own energy. Most people don’t realize when you move in a new home, along with other people’s dirt, you get other people’s emotions.
“I mean, what is off, Juliet? Is the paint too bright or the window too small or…what?” My sister was mocking me.
“The energy,” I said, pushing a stack of brightly colored cake plates into a small side cabinet. “Don’t play dumb, Min. You haven’t just met me. You know, your sister…the sensitive. Resident psychic medium,” I chuckled, making a joke at my own expense.
I swore I heard her smile over the phone line. I could picture my sister in my mind. Same long unruly dirty blond hair as mine. Same startling blue eyes that could turn gray with mood, weather or depending on what color we wore. But we weren’t identical, we were fraternal. She was shorter and curvier than me, her nose just a bit sharper. And her tongue.
“Juliet, let’s face it, any place is going to be off to you, right? Any place you go is going to be steeped in someone else’s emotions and past, yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed, wiping my hands on my shirttails and leaning against the giant butcher block island in the center of the room. “True story.”
“Well, then, just deal with it. There is no clean space for you, really. Unless you build a brand new home from scratch and not a single worker has a bad day or an illness or any of that.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. She was right.
“So take this new home and treat it as your own. Smear your own energy all over the place.”
I snorted, eyeing my shirt. It had been Justin’s. My heart crimped up at seeing it. Three years had not dulled my loss, and despite being psychically sensitive and talking to spirits more often than not, I had yet to see or talk to him. I wondered if it were somehow taboo for us to speak or if he thought it would be too painful for me to see him.
“Hello?” my sister sighed.
“Sorry, I hear you. You’re right. Though I don’t know about smearing my energy all over the place. Kind of makes me sound like a monkey—”
“Juliet!” she snapped, knowing where I was going with that analogy. “Onto other things. How are you doing? I mean…how are you doing?”
She meant moving out of the former home that Justin and I had shared before he died. She meant on my own. She meant finally embracing the fact that I was single and maybe moving on with my new life. Montgomery House was that chance. I mean, how often do you get to buy a house with a name? And I’d gotten it for a song. Which worried me, but…
“I’m fine,” I lied. “No worries.”
“I’m coming to see you soon,” she threatened, and I smiled.
“You’d better.”

* * * *

He was big—big and looming. But he was also thin. The kind of build that made the mind pull up images of a praying mantis or some ungodly sea creature trapped in the darkness near the ocean floor. Just seeing him turn his muddy eyes to me made my heart thunder.
“You’re here,” he said and smiled.
The smile was the most frightening aspect of his appearance. It twisted his face in such a way that it reminded me of a molded rubber mask that had gone askew. Almost as if his skin didn’t quite fit on his bones the right way.
I turned to run, and when I did, his long arm shot out to plant a big, strong hand on my shoulder. Being touched by him was like experiencing the most sudden and all-consuming emptiness imaginable. A sob ripped out of me.
“I thought three was my lucky number,” he said, his voice gravel turned under a tire. Sand scraped across stainless steel. It made my head hurt, and my heart followed suit.
I pulled against his strength, knowing I’d never break free until I awoke. I knew by the energy I was trapped in a dream. Knew he couldn’t really hurt me…not yet. But I also knew that as long as I slept, I was his. This was the secret my new house held. This energy. And this was where I’d be until I could drag myself back up to my conscious mind.
“Three what?” I managed, stalling.
“Three girls before you came.” The cadence of his words stirred goose bumps along my skin. The fine hairs of my scalp prickled with dread.
“You killed them?”
“I consumed them,” he said. “Their essence.”
The urge to scream was overpowering. The urge to weep even stronger. Instead, I did the only thing I could do. I turned into his grip to face him. He looked surprised for a moment, his long rubbery face and his sick brown eyes showing shock. But then he smiled, and that hole seemed to open in my stomach again. I studied the face. The old-fashioned brown suit. The proper white buttoned-down shirt. Cufflinks, a tie clip, wingtip shoes and close-cropped hair.
Then I bit my tongue as hard as I possibly could and tasted blood. His face lit up when the coppery taste flooded my mouth. Maybe he could smell it. But then he realized what I’d done and frowned at me.
“You’ll be back,” he said. “I’m here all the time.”
I woke up.


Buy Links




Coming to other vendors soon!




Thursday, 24 January 2013

Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse by Lily Harlem


Out Now!




What is it about nurses that men find so sexy? Is it because they cross into personal space as part of their daily routine when performing intimate procedures? Maybe it's the hat, or the possibility of lace-topped stockings beneath their uniforms. It could be guys just want a bed bath!




Image from LoveHoney

Whatever the reasons Mr Harlem had to cope with the real thing for years. Before I picked up a pen, or rather opened a laptop and started writing, I worked as a trauma nurse in London, England.


University College Hospital

The work was adrenaline-inducing, the long shifts exhausting and the never ending stream of patients have proven to be an endless well of characters for me to draw on in recent years. And that includes my latest release Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, out today at Mischief, Harper Collins. 




Blurb

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for Mischief …


I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.


Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.


Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.

                                                          * * * * *

I have to say this book was enormous fun to write and I realised, as I wrote, how much I missed my nursing days - not that I'm about to jump back into it, I don't miss it that much! But what really tugged my heartstrings was realising how much I missed being part of a team - working and playing with a group of women (mainly) who all know each other well, have a Carpe Diem attitude (you get that in trauma) and a terribly wicked sense of humour! 


Nurses have this wonderful way of supporting each other too and it's very rare to come across a lazy nurse (well it was in a London A&E anyway) and that was what gelled everyone. When the going got tough the tough got going, if you couldn't cope, then you didn't hang around. Things could get pretty high octane, the pace was fast, things happened most people never witness or are part of, again that cements a team - the shared experience of the highs and the lows. The hospital social club was were debriefs happened over a few alcoholic beverages!


Naturally there are always a whole pile of real-life love stories going on, between doctors and nurses (obviously) nurses and patients, patients and doctors, cleaners and consultants - I kid you not - radiographers and secretaries, porters (the biggest players in my opinion - lol) and well, anyone!! Whatever combination works seemed to occur, and in fact I met Mr Harlem at work!


The night duties could be gruelling and not my favourite shifts at all - my body just doesn't cope without sleep - but when I sat down to write Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, it was this blanket of night, the privacy from the prying eyes of the day that meant I could really let Sharon run riot. She doesn't mean too, well maybe a little bit, but things just seem to happen to her  and before she knows it she's in deeper than she thought, not just with the studly Italian hunk Javier but also sweet doctor Carl and the cold-hearter witch they call Iceberg!


Sharon has a higher libido than most, she also has a history of a broken heart, and when a patient - a gorgeous fireman with burnt hands needs a hand with er, something, she can't resist helping him out, it's her caring nature you see, even if it is above and beyond her job description! Oh, yes, this book was fun, some of the things in it are drawn from real experiences but most are made up. Mmm, I suppose you want me to tell you which are real, well you'll just have to read it and see if you can guess :-)


Here is a sexy snippet from Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, taken from the first chapter...

* * * * 


I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.

 You coming?

I typed back quickly.

 Yes, so will you soon!

The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand.

‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.

‘Yes, sideward six.’

Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.

‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’

‘Right you are.’

The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.

If only I could see into his mind.

I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical senior house officer since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.

I thought better of it. My asking alone could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.

Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking at the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their boughs strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.

The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.

Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.

We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.

‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’

Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into its ponytail.

‘Yeah, good job the VIPs in here don’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.

‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’

‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’

He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’

‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’

‘Bloody hell, thanks . . .’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.

‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’

‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.

Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.

‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’

‘They all do to start with.’

Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.

He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.

‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky-blue eyes twinkling.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’

‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’

‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform – dark-navy trousers and shirt – Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.

My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopaedic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.

I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretence for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skilful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’

He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’

Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’

He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.

I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.

‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’

‘No, please, no,’ I said with a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.

He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.

I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.

Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.

‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.

‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.

But it was futile; he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.

He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom, I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.

‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’

‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’

He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.

He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lie back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.

‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’

‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.

‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh –’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.

‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek.










Buy Links

Amazon US - $1.60

Amazon UK - £0.99

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

Mischief - find links to other retailers here.