The hopeless Romantics Book blog are pleased to be a part of the Excerpt Reveal for Ella Jame's "Sloth (A Sinful Secrets Novel)."
Release: 25th February 2015
I whirl around, because I need to go now. Need to run.
He grabs my arms, snatching me around to face him, holding me in front of him. Holding me still as he tries to tell me things I never want to hear.
"Stop it! Shut up! Shut up, Kellan! Fuck you!" He pulls me closer, and I slap his face.
The sound echoes through the foyer. His smooth, tanned check stains brilliant crimson.
He doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't even blink as I look at him for what I know will be the last time.
I'm sorry. His lips move silently. I don't care. I can't. His secrets ruined my life. He ruined my life!
If I live to be hundred, my heart will never be the same.
Note: Sloth is the first in my new Sinful Secrets series. Each intense, erotic story is inspired by a sin, and centered around a life-altering secret. Each "sin" stands on its own, so they don't have to be read in order. After Sloth, I'm writing Murder.
I feel his arm weave underneath my shawl, the weight of his wide palm as his hand spreads over my thigh. His fingers burn through the cotton of my leggings, then drift to the crease between my legs.
I grip his shoulder. “Kellan…”
I clench my teeth as he settles his fingertips on me, tracing my most intimate curves as if he’s learning braille.
His mouth strokes toward the collar of my shirt.
I grip the solid muscle of his shoulder. “I can’t.”
His thumb strokes the line of my lips. His fingers part them; he’s working his way inside, teasing against the fabric of my leggings.
With the hand still between my legs, he wraps his other arm around me and he pulls me onto his lap. The arm that’s not across my belly, reaching down between my legs, is holding onto my waist. He shifts his hips, spreading his legs, and tightens the arm around my chest, holding me against him as his hard length presses against my backside.
The cotton of my leggings is wet and pliant. The pressure of his fingers is just right, making me want to lift my hips, making me bite back screams.
“Tell me ‘no,’ Cleo.”
He rocks himself against my backside, peeling down the waist of my leggings so he can reach inside. His palm brushes my mound. His fingers find their mark. He parts and strokes once, down toward my center. His finger smears my slickness, and I start to quiver.
“It’s okay…” he rumbles. “Focus on my fingers.”
I remind myself to think on his words later: whether it would ever be possible to relax around him. Then I’m trembling again. Lost.
He rolls his fingers through my moisture, spreads my lips, and glides down me, skating…skating. Then he’s dipping down and curving. His fingertip is pushing into me. He adds another, shoves them deep.
I groan and buck against him.
He shifts his hips, so his huge cock pushes harder against my backside.
“Cleo… You’re so warm inside…so tight.” His fingers wriggle deeper. I let my legs fall open. I can’t help it. Every muscle in my body trembles as his lips caress my ear.
With his fingers pushed deep into me, he glides his thumb over my clit.
I can feel the outline of him pressed against my ass: the long, thick shaft; the plump, round head.
I can feel his fingers curl inside me.
“Ahhhhh.” I don’t mean to make a sound, but there it is. A moan spills out, turning the air around us into honey.
“You like getting finger-fucked,” he growls. “You love it.”
His thumb glides up and down my slit, then rolls around my swollen clit. I rock my hips, taking his fingers deeper into me; pushing my ass back against his hardness.
“What if I rub a little faster here?” His thumb drags, heavy and slick, over my swollen nub. “What if I quit teasing you,” his low voice whispers, “and try something like this?”
He bends his wrist a little, and I can feel another finger stretch me. “You’re so full…” He pushes slowly in. “Your pussy’s stuffed.”
“I can feel how tight you are,” he whispers in my ear. “How much I’m stretching you.”
He’s right. I’m full. So full. I feel both paralyzed and shocked. Like I’m gripping a live wire.
His thick fingers have begun to pump: shoving in, then dragging slowly out.
I arch my back. “Oh Jesus. Please…”
His thumb, encircling my clit, is deft and slick. I rock mindlessly against him.
He pulls his fingers almost out, the tips of them only just inside…teasing. I clench, wanting him deeper.
“Say my name,” he orders.
“Kellan,” I pant.
All three fingers thrust at once. My pleasure squirts against his expert hand.
“Deeper.” My voice cracks.
He slides out a little. Strokes back in.
His thumb is playing in my moisture, painting my clit. My throbbing clit.
His fingers stroke against my walls, making me dizzy.
“You want my cock inside you. You can’t take much more. You’re so tight, Cleo. So greedy. When I stroke over your clit, I can feel how slick and swollen you are. Your cunt is so tight around my fingers, I can barely move them.”
As if to demonstrate, his fingers surge and writhe.
I groan and arch my back. I’m gripping his arms. Wrapping my feet around his calves. I throw my head back, panting.