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Normal relationships just never seemed to satisfy Elizabeth Crenshaw. She'd rather do without than muddle through attached to someone who just doesn't get her. In her efforts to find the 'missing element,' she ventures into the deviant world of BDSM. And her first lesson is one she'll never forget: Don't Judge.
Warning: Mature audiences. Contains explicit sexual situations and language.
Excerpt - His fingers wrapped across my forearm; the grasp firm but gentle. As I spun around I gazed directly into his bright blue eyes his unspoken request was both intriguing and satisfying. I froze, and for just a split second wanted to crawl into his eyes and rest. Finally I was face to face with my ‘admirer.’ His request was simple, and honestly required no effort on my part. Little did I know I was mere moments away from the most intense experience of my life.
“Wait. I want to show you something.”
I would have normally treated a statement like that a cheesy attempt to gain my confidence, yet his stare was mesmerizing and I felt myself falling, incapable of standing on my own. With his other hand he grabbed my elbow, steadying me as I tipped on my heels. The look in his eye was raw lust, and regardless of my feeble attempts to keep my desires at bay and maintain my wits I felt my control fading away. He pulled me towards him, and feeling my nipples ache as they’re now mere inches from his expansive chest, the inside of his thigh touched the bare skin peeking just below the hem of my skirt. I mumbled incoherently, “I... uh...”
The next few moments were literally a blur as he pulled into the dark hallway that led to the bathrooms. With skill and precision he had me against the wall, and the heat from his thighs split my legs as he pushed my wrists apart and above my head. His beard scraped the nape of my neck, and his warm soft lips were like fire upon my skin as I felt him press against me. I’m trapped, and the hard lump of flesh cleverly disguised within his pants pressed against the sensitive skin of my exposed inner thigh. It was hot, and my skin felt alive and open for him. My nipples hardened with haste, and I felt the sense of urgency throbbing between my thighs. Take me, I thought to myself. Take me now!
The distinctive smell of Quorum cologne mixed with his personal scent was delicious, and the hint of it permeated my nostrils as I soaked him up. His curly brown hair brushed my cheek, and I inhaled deeply as his continued assault on my senses rendered me helpless. Goosebumps shot down my spine as his tongue flashed out and left a cool trail up my neck and under my jaw. Instinctively I opened myself to him, both physically and emotionally, and anxiety gave way to excitement as I wanted to feel him merge with me. Beads of perspiration formed on my temples, a mere byproduct of fanning the flames of desire I now held for him.
And just as quickly he released me, shoving another small blue card into my hand as he disappeared back into the crowd. It was at that moment I realized I was panting; rapid shallow breaths that brought no relief. I held the card to my nose, checking for remnants of his presence. My eyes closed instinctively as I inhaled him once again.
Born in Savannah but raised on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina, Laura Cooper is a true southern woman. She believes that iced tea should always be sweet and has an entire Pinterest Board with over a hundred different ways to cook shrimp.
Via an AOL chat room she met her husband of sixteen years, Chris Cooper. Together they have two children, (both in college at the same time) and fifteen, yes count ‘em, fifteen dogs.
Prior to writing novels, Laura ran a large pure breed rescue organization for homeless animals. She, Chris and the kids found homes for over six thousand homeless dogs until they retired three years ago.
Between calls begging for money (from her children) and squeaky toys, she somehow manages to embolden other southern women to explore their sexuality through reading. Claiming that fifty is the new thirty, Laura encourages her readers to examine themselves, crawl out from beneath the soccer mom status and live a little.
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