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An Excerpt From: A TASTE OF HONEY
Copyright ©
MICHELE BARDSLEY, 2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
“Does it say ‘I’m a slutty snowflake’?” asked Honey.
“Short and stout,” sang Margo, her pink head popping up
next to Honey’s shoulder. “Here is your handle…and whoa, look at that
spout!”
“You’re a pervert.” Honey assessed her barely-there
negligee in the floor-length mirror attached to her closet door. Hmmm. She
could live with the way her breasts were showcased, held up by the
flimsiest of lace bras. And the thong was okay, too. Hell, she didn’t even
mind wearing the mask.
The thigh-high white boots were the real problem.
“Maybe I should switch to high heels.”
“No way!” said Margo. “The boots scream ‘Fuck me, big
boy’.”
Honey grinned. “I like what they’re saying. I just don’t
think I’m tall enough to do ‘em justice. Do you think dressing in all white
suggests ‘virgin bride’? Because marriage is so not what I’m looking for.”
Margo cackled, nearly falling over on Honey’s bed as her
laughter pealed. “Anyone who knows you wouldn’t use virgin or bride
to describe you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Honey grabbed a fringed pillow and threw
it at Margo, who dodged it easily.
“Do you have a decent jacket?” asked Margo. “Otherwise
you’ll freeze to death on the way there. On the up side you’ll be the
sexiest dead body ever found.”
Honey rolled her eyes. “Yes, mommy dearest, I have a
coat. What I don’t have is a friend going with me. I can’t believe you’re
gonna stay home with your new boyfriend and drink champagne.”
“Don’t forget the part where we fuck like bunnies all
night.”
“TMI, Margo.”
She grinned unrepentantly. “Stop worrying, doll.”
“I’m not worried.” I’m freaking the fuck out.
Panic fluttered in Honey’s stomach. I’m going to a party so I can have
hot sex with Jarod McClure. Wait a minute. What was the bad part again?
Honey stared at the sexy image reflected in the mirror.
Yeah. She’d dressed for the dark-haired man with the blue, blue eyes, who
called her an angel and kissed until she forgot her own name.
Jarod had made her knees quake and her body sing. With
his lips and his words, he’d made her want, made her need…
And she couldn’t wait to finish what they’d started.
* * * * *
Jarod McClure sat at the long black-and-chrome bar
sipping a beer and looking over the crowd.
The Sex Club was Clement Falls best kept secret—that
everybody knew about. Sure, he’d heard about it and had friends who
frequented it, but this was the first time Jarod had stepped foot into the
place—and only been able to do so because of H’s little card. The
invitation-only club partied in a converted barn located on a member-owned
farm more than twenty-five miles out of town, away from the prying eyes and
wagging tongues of local gossips.
Roger and Cindy, long-time members, had gleefully
imparted Club guidelines when he’d dropped by their house and admitted he’d
been invited to “play”. The rules were simple and based on anonymity and
safety. Wear a mask and never take it off. Always use a condom. Bring your
own toys. Use initials, not names. Establish a safe word or gesture and if
used, stop immediately.
The bar was located in the Meet-and-Greet Room.
According to Cindy, this area was the only sex-free zone in the building.
Some participants liked to watch, others like to go at it in front anyone
willing to watch, but quite a few liked the private rooms.
Jarod was an open-minded guy, but he wanted a private
room. He just hoped H felt the same way. He wasn’t sure he could drop his
pants and do her against a convenient wall while other Club members
watched. Hell, he’d passed two such couples on the way into the bar.
Kind of a turn-on. Huh.
A tall, lithe woman, dressed in head-to-toe black
leather, approached him. Her mask was a black leather cat, complete with
ears and whiskers. She held a whip in one hand and a champagne flute in the
other. “My, my, my…aren’t you yummy? Wanna play?”
Jarod’s lips lifted into a regretful smile. “I’m not
your guy, hon.”
“Gay?”
“Not a sub…or a dom, for that matter.”
“You didn’t smell like vanilla. Too bad, so sad.” She
toasted him with her glass and moved on to other prospects.
“What are you into?”
Jarod turned and found a short, stacked blonde sitting
next to him. Her brown eyes twinkled behind her simple white mask. Her
white-lace teddy offered a view of mouthwatering cleavage and the hem
showed the luscious curve of her ass. But it was the white thigh-high boots
with three-inch heels that caught his attention. An image of this little
morsel naked underneath him, those boots wrapped around his waist as he
fucked her…his heart stuttered as desire roared through him. Jesus, God.
Please, please, please let this woman be H.
“The strong, silent type, huh?”
He blinked. Then grinned. His mask was a simple and
black, his outfit merely a black T-shirt with well-worn jeans and his most
comfortable black boots. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“What are you into?”
“I’d like to be in you.”
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