Melted
and Whipped
Cleo
Peitsche
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic Romance
Publisher: ARe Books
Date of Publication: December 1, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-943576-47-0
ASIN: TBA
Word Count: 28,000
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
Book
Description:
She’ll need more than a safe word to survive Porter
Loughton.
Too broke to fly home for the holidays, ski
instructor Emily is stuck on the slopes, giving lessons to the rich and the
privileged. She doesn’t expect to see Porter Loughton, a former friend who
broke her heart in college, ten years later and half a continent away. The
mesmerizing billionaire suggests dinner, and Emily soon discovers how it feels
to be bent across his knee, to be dominated by him. Their chemistry is hotter
than in her dirtiest fantasies.
Emily knows it would be foolish to let him get too
close after what happened before. She’s broke, her career nonexistent. The last
thing she needs is to be in love with a man who doesn’t feel the same way. But
when she receives distressing news, Porter is there to soothe her, and he won’t
leave her side. Soon she has no control over her feelings.
Excerpt:
I’m so stunned that I don’t even realize what’s
happening at first, but then Porter’s tongue traces the closed seam of my
mouth.
My lips soften, opening to him.
In response, his large palms cup my face even
tighter, and his body rocks a little, inching closer.
A moan of longing rises in my throat. Embarrassed, I
try to pull away.
Porter releases me. “Are you okay?”
All I can do is nod.
“Good.” He steps in close. His warm breath caresses
my lips. “Because I’ve been thinking about doing this ever since…” He shakes
his head and the next thing I know, his tongue is sliding over mine.
He tastes like the wine. Strong. Powerful. I’ll
never be able to drink red wine again without remembering this, without getting
turned on.
Because I am turned on. Pulsing heat throbs in my
core, and I feel my pussy getting slick with desire.
I’m about to reach for him, to finally feel his
perfect body under my fingertips, when he breaks our kiss.
Eyes closed like he’s savoring the moment, he
continues to hold my face, then brushes his lips over mine, which are throbbing
like the rest of my body. They feel swollen, lightly bruised.
“I think dinner is ready.” His voice is husky and
raw.
Dinner is the last thing on my mind, but I think it
would be rude to suggest we skip it in favor of doing more of the kissing
thing.
When he releases me and turns his attention to the
pan on the stove, I flee to my glass of wine. I don’t bother with the polite
dance of asking if I can have more; it’s not like he’s going to say no.
I fill my glass and take a long swallow. Heaven help
me—the wine tastes like his kiss.
“Can you carry these?” He slides two plates, two red
cloth napkins, and two sets of silverware onto the counter. “It’ll save me a
trip. This way.”
I follow him out the open side of the kitchen,
toward the window. We enter a dining room with a table long enough to
comfortably seat the entire U.S. Olympic alpine ski team.
A fancy centerpiece of candlesticks surrounded by
holly adorns the end closest to us. Porter lays down two red cloth placemats
and a trivet, on which he places a glass bowl of stir-fry.
I begin to distribute the place settings while
Porter returns to the kitchen. He makes about six trips in all, and even though
he tells me to sit, I hover uncomfortably to the side, my mind still buzzing
from that kiss. Why did he do it?
The answer seems obvious: because he wanted to.
He’s not the same as he was in college. He’s even
more self-assured, which I hadn’t thought was possible. It makes me unsure of
myself, like there’s a predetermined amount of confidence that can exist
between two people, and Porter has taken it all.
I learned a lot about men through my twenties, and
while a big part of me only wants to know what Porter is like in bed, another
part of me already knows I’ll be disappointed with just a one-night fling.
After all these years, it’s possible that the
fantasy is better than the reality could ever be. I never thought of it in
these terms before, but Porter is the perfect man in my memory, an unattainable
ideal that no one could possibly live up to. What if he’s bad in bed? What if
he’s a selfish lover?
Worse, what if he’s amazing, but then he disappears?
He’s successful, rich, powerful. It’s insane to think his interest in me is
anything more but casual. Really, with so many tourists in town with their
families, and so many of the transplanted locals out of town, it’s not like
there’s much choice for a man looking for fun between the sheets.
The wine isn’t helping me sort through my jumbled
thoughts. As soon as I reassure myself on one front, the assault starts again
from another angle.
If only this weren’t Porter, but some other gorgeous
millionaire. No, billionaire. He was already a multimillionaire before college,
thanks to the family fortune.
I snort. There aren’t many gorgeous billionaires to
be found, and why can’t I enjoy the evening? I wish I weren’t buzzed.
About
the Author:
If Cleo Peitsche isn't writing (or reading) erotica,
she's probably sitting on her balcony, watching the wind blow through the
trees. She loves horses, snowstorms, and piña coladas. If she won the lottery,
she would hire an assistant to take care of the technical side of e-publishing
so that she could write all day.
Some random facts about Cleo: 1. Thinks life's too
short to forgo HEAs and HFNs; 2. Sprained an ankle joining the mile-high club.
(Never again!); 3. Favorite writers include Cormac McCarthy, Junot Diaz, and
Rachel Caine.; 4. Gets weak-kneed for bookish guys who know how to fix things
with their hands. *swoons*
For more information on other books by Cleo, visit
her website: www.cleopeitsche.wordpress.com
Tour
Giveaway
2 winners to receive two eBooks from ARe Books.
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba112ffc1241/
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