Smex Scene Sunday


Hero: Hugh Langston. A wolfen half-shifter. A little surly, very sexy.

Heroine: Tess Damon. She kills non-humans and guess who her next target is?


“What are you—”

He planted her on top of the desk, her bottom on the solid surface while her legs dangled down. His gaze raked over her thighs before he tugged the jeans from her with one easy swoop, shoes and all.

“Oh,” she said, turned on by his strength and impatience. “Is it hot in here?” The ten-second kissing reprieve didn’t squelch the heat coursing through her blood. Nor did the way he contemplated every teensy tiny bit of her exposed flesh as if he were trying to figure out where to conquer first.

“Very,” he mused back, dropping his mouth to the inside of her thigh.

That’s a good place to start.

An involuntary shudder swept through her as his lips caressed her thigh with so much care the clamp on her heart weakened. She didn’t have to like him, didn’t have to think him the best thing since red velvet cupcakes, to have sex with him.

But she did—she did both those things.

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away, hopped off the desk, and proceeded to unbutton his jeans. “We need to even the playing field.”

He kicked off his shoes so that by the time she had him undone, sliding the jeans down took all of three seconds. She skimmed her hands up his legs, his muscles taut beneath her palms. His skin was hot and delicious and she’d be perfectly okay with the night lasting forever. She reached his boxer briefs and gulped.

His erection molded against the black cotton, huge, thick and…She wrapped her hand around the base and slowly stroked upward.…hard enough to hammer nails.

Tess bit her lip. She glanced up at the sexiest man alive and then grabbed the waistband of his briefs with her teeth, ready to slide them down and take his entire length into her mouth until pleasure unraveled inside him.

He growled and pulled her up. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He slammed a kiss to her lips, then lifted her shirt over her head. Tess grabbed the bottom of his tee and pulled it off. His eyes darted to her tattoo and swept over her midriff. She returned the look by eyeing his ink and taking in all his smooth, delicious muscles. The man should be on the cover of GQ. Without any clothes.

Something raw and real—a must-have-you-now urgency—overcame her. She raked her nails over his shoulders, pressed her breasts against his chest and wrapped one leg around his thigh. His erection hit her center just right. Sensations spiraled through her like a meteor. She moved against him and felt her wetness increase. One big, strong hand molded to her ass. The other cupped the back of her head.

And then they were kissing again. She got all her air from him, from some invisible yet powerful force deep inside him that he shared with every sweep of his tongue. His fingers unclasped her bra and she shimmied her upper body until the straps fell down her arms. A moment later, the lingerie hit the floor. He groaned and gently forced her against the desk. His mouth moved to the delicate part of her neck where soft, gentle caresses tickled and burned at the same time. Involuntarily, she dropped her head to the side to give him easier access. She’d lost all control over herself. Would die if he stopped. His heart beat against her own and for the first time in her life, her heart wasn’t ticking like a time bomb. Instead, it hummed.


Veiled Target releases Tuesday. I’ll post a review that day too.

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