Eight Ways to Ecstasy by Jeanette Grey
Date of Publication: April 5, 2016
Kate Reid’s whirlwind romance with billionaire playboy Rylan Bellamy complicated her life in ways she’d worked to avoid. She’d fallen hard for his flirtatious charm and given him the one thing no other man had: her trust. Just as Kate began to imagine a future with Rylan, everything fell apart.
Now she’s starting over in New York…but even the glittering streets of Manhattan can’t erase the memory of Rylan knocking her off her feet and sweeping her into the most erotic, unforgettable week of her life.
It’s been months, and Rylan still can’t forget Kate. Months since he bared his soul at her feet. Months since he drove away the only woman to ever make him feel. Kate changed his world and now Rylan is determined to win her back-no matter what it takes. After crossing an ocean to reach her, he makes a deal with Kate: One more week, for one more chance. Now it’s up to Rylan to show Kate all the ways they fit together . . . and prove that this player has met his perfect match.
Grabbing for her, he pulled her in. She didn’t melt into him so much as climb him, and he could have cried with the sweetness of it as he lifted her up. Got his hands on the curve of her ass through her skirt. Hoisting her onto the edge of the trunk, he devoured her mouth, all sharp, biting kisses, the faint taste of wine on her tongue and the rough tug of her fingers as they threaded through his hair. Their hips met, and he groaned aloud at the pressure against his cock. He’d been hard inside his jeans since the moment he’d gotten her pressed against the brick outside the gallery, and at this point he was ready to explode.
Smoothing his hand down her thigh, he cupped her knee, urging it higher. He wanted her legs wrapped around him, her body open for him. She sounded as caught up in it as he was, her breath coming fast, mouth hot and her kisses tinged with the same desperation searing his veins.
Fuck, he could pull himself out right now. Ruck her skirt up and shove her panties to the side and be right there, pushing in. Taking her here in the open air, where anyone could see, on the damn trunk of this fucking car.
The way she said his name had him one step closer to doing it.
But then there was the sound of laughter. Someone in the street, or hell, maybe in one of the apartments looking down over this alley, and he tore himself away. He was better than this. She deserved better.
Their gazes met as his hands froze on her skin, hers going still on the back of his neck and in his hair. His throat bobbed, arousal turning his blood to molten need.
He shifted his glance to the car behind them before connecting with hers again. He raised one brow. One beat passed and then another, every line of him tense with the strain of holding on. Of not getting himself inside her right now.
She took a shuddering inhalation. And then, in the tightest of motions, she nodded.
Oh, thank God.
Reclaiming her mouth, he picked her up again, all fumbling motions as he got them around to the side of the car. He’d never been so grateful in his life for keyless entry as he was when he wrenched the back door open with one hand. He all but threw her down onto the leather seat. Chase’s whole car was going to smell like sex by the time they were done, like the sweetness of her pussy and the tang of their shared sweat, and he couldn’t wait.
Tumbling in after her, it struck him—was this what it was like to be a normal teenager? Making out in a borrowed car and hoping no one walked by? The desperate rush, like there was nothing in the entire world more important than getting your hand up under a girl’s skirt? This need?
His head thunked hard on the roof of the car as he twisted to pull the door shut behind them, and he swore aloud. She squeaked, barely managing to draw her foot back in time before it closed. Double-checking the doors were locked, he turned, and Jesus.
It was so cramped in here. He had one knee on the seat between the splay of her thighs, the other leg braced against the floor, his whole spine bent so he could fit, and she was scrunched up even worse. But it didn’t matter.
She was gorgeous. And for now at least, she was his.
Jeanette Grey started out with degrees in physics and painting, which she dutifully applied to stunted careers in teaching, technical support, and advertising. When she isn’t writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery, playing board games, and spending time with her husband and her pet frog. She lives, loves, and writes in upstate New York.