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So, as many of you know, life took over and made me its slave in 2015. I think I released two novels? Really? That’s pathetic, for me anyway. While I may not be that author who gives you a book a month, I do like to provide y’all with several stories per year–at least three!
For 2016, I’ve made it my goal to get you at least three of the most requested; Never Shattered, Fatal Knockout (which will re-release with the prequel and second novel in one), Finding Grace… And, who knows, maybe I’ll get you a bit more Ryder and Piper. I know how my readers love their BDSM with a side of dirty, sexy Spanish 😉
Anyway, I want to thank you for sticking with me throughout a rough and rowdy year. The only way to go is up, right? So, my release dates are as follows:
March 21, 2016- Never Shattered
June 20, 2016- Fatal Knockout (re-release)
August 15, 2016- Finding Grace
October 17, 2016- IT’S A SURPRISE!
For those of you who’ve been following me, you know I’ve been on the search for my dad’s family for years. My father passed away when I was 3 ½ years old. I didn’t know him. When I was younger, I was angry with him. Why? For dying on me. Sounds crazy, right? I mean, he didn’t have control over his death no more than we have control over Mother Nature. God was ready for him, even though no one else was ready to say goodbye.
For all my life, I thought his mother and father—my own grandparents—despised me. I wasn’t wanted. No one cared if I had lived or died. No one wanted anything to do with me…
True or false? Then, as a child, I believed it all to be true. I spent eighteen years angry with my father’s side of the family for “not wanting me”. So, as I got older, I got over it, or so I thought.
First year of adulthood, I got pregnant with my twins and forgot about them. Well, I tried. What I really did all those months I was in a hospital bed, in preterm labor, was research my father’s name. I looked for any information I could find, but I always came up empty handed. So, I gave up.
Then, on October 12th, my dad and his family came to mind. I mean, after I finished panicking that I was going to deliver two babies in the matter of hours. It was my daddy’s birthday. The man whose birthday I celebrated each year. After all, he is and always will be my dad. I remember lying on the operation table, numb from my chin down to my toes, and whispering, “Happy birthday, Daddy.” Lame? Maybe to some. But, I constantly wondered if anyone still celebrated his birthday. If no one did, I would. Because even though I didn’t get the chance to know him, he was still worth remembering.
I remember looking into the eyes of one of my baby boys and saying, “Oh, my, God… He looks just like my daddy.” My mom nodded and cried, my Granny smiled and said, “Yes, he sure does.” My husband had said, “Nah, he looks just like you.” But, who did I look like? Was it my strawberry blonde haired and blue eyed mother? My ginger aunts and uncles? My hair is so dark it’s almost raven (my natural color that is). My eyes are big and brown, my face round and lips plump. Greg, my father, is who I resembled most.
Nineteen, new mom of twin boys, full-time college courses, and I didn’t even think of looking for my family. Heck, it took all the energy I had to take a shower and brush my teeth at the end of each day. There was no way I was going to read through article after article of nothingness, articles that gave me absolutely no information as to who my father’s mother and father were. Besides, it was pointless, right? I mean, both of my grandparents were dead and the only other name I had to go off of was one of his sisters. Of course, she had married and I couldn’t find her either.
One night, I was lying in bed and thinking about my dad. What was he like? Did he want me? Did he love me? Did he think if me often? How did he die? I had been going through cancer screenings for months, testing for medical issues, and thankfully all came back negative. But, I wanted to be able to answer the doctors when they asked me “And, your father’s medical history?” I didn’t know. My answer had always been, “I don’t know. He passed when I was very young.” I was tired of repeating the same answer!
So, I typed in my father’s name once more. Ancestry. It’s the same site I got every time I looked for him. I thought, “Seriously? If I can’t find his obituary through the library database in Crawfordsville that keeps record of all the papers, why the heck would I pay you to tell me what I’ve already found? Absolutely nothing!” But, I did. I paid for a subscription. And, nothing… So, what did I do next? I typed in my grandfather’s name, and BAM! There it was. His obituary. Listed was my grandmother, who by the way, is ALIVE! Each of his siblings, along with their spouses, were noted. Immediately, I thought of Facebook. Seriously, who doesn’t have Facebook?
I stayed up most of that night and typed each of their names into the search bar, and thankfully, they all had a Facebook. Terrified of rejection, of their response to me, I messaged them. I was desperate for answers. Days passed and no one acknowledged me. I felt like giving up, again. I mean, how can one miss something or someone they never had? I still don’t have the answer to this, but, you do. I decided to become a ‘stalker’ and search their friends list for anyone with the same last name as my dad. Some weren’t related at all and wished me the best. Others saw my messages and ignored them. But one man, my cousin Eddie, was the first to reach out to me. What a blessing that man is! I spoke with him several times, I still do, and he got in touch with another cousin who then reached out to one of my aunts. A few weeks later, I got the message from my cousin that my aunt Gwen wanted me to give her a call.
Nervous, terrified, all types of emotions ran through me at once. I was excited, though I had no idea what to expect. I think I was expecting no one to know who I was or of my existence. But, Gwen, she knew about me. I cannot explain how good that made me feel. I wasn’t some secret child of my father’s. There wasn’t anger in her voice, no hate. Shock, yes. Who wouldn’t be baffled by their deceased brother’s 28yr old daughter reaching out to them for the first time, EVER?
It wasn’t long after that conversation that my aunt got in touch with my grandma and other aunts to let them know I’d tried to reach out. But, thanks to Facebook and its craziness, no one saw my messages because we weren’t ‘friends.’ I won’t lie and say everything was all lollipops and rainbows after that. It wasn’t. I was an emotional wreck! I cried. I never cry, unless I’m livid or hurt. Was I hurt? Yes. But, I didn’t know why I cared so much.
My grandmother denied my friend request. She did a bye Felicia on me quickly. Then, I didn’t know why. But, she only knew my maiden name and that I lived in Nashville. She told me she saw that I was an author out of West Virginia, and thought, “Now, why in the hell would someone want to write a story about my life?” LOL!
My other aunts didn’t know what to think about me, and my grandma needed time. I wanted to understand. My God, I tried to understand why they weren’t opening their arms and welcoming me—a piece of their son, brother, etc.—into their lives… Then, I couldn’t grasp what everyone’s deal was. Now, I know. They had been hurt, lied to…
Skip ahead a few months, because this post is extremely long, we’re at Thanksgiving…
I met my auntie G for the first time on Wednesday afternoon on November 25, 2015. It took everything within me to keep my tears at bay and my voice strong and even. Come on, y’all, I cried as soon as I crossed the Indiana state line. I mean, I was driving though the state my dad grew up in. Had he traveled this same interstate before? Again, I was crazy emotional.
That night, my family and I had dinner with Gwen, and I can’t tell you how natural it was. It wasn’t awkward, intimidating, or forced. Though 28yrs have passed, it didn’t feel like I’d never met her before that day.
Thanksgiving morning, I met my grandma for the first time at Bob Evans. I cannot tell you how excitingly nervous I was. Would she cry when she saw me? Would I cry when I saw her? Would we force an awkward hug because it’s what we’re supposed to do or because that’s what we think is supposed to happen? Would we talk about a DNA test?
The answer is no. Did we hug? Absolutely. Did we cry? Not in front of each other. Meeting Grandma wasn’t weird at all. Again, all natural. We sat in a booth for hours and talked; about her, about me, about dad, about everyone. I wasn’t hated by her my entire life. I was never not wanted. And, that felt great.
Now, a situation happened just before I left that affected me, but I won’t go into details. I went to dinner with my auntie G and her family that night, and met with my dad’s family—my family—Friday night for dinner. I met my uncle and his amazingly sweet and awesome children. My cousins and their fabulous children. I met one of my other aunts, Gail, who is crazy awesome! Again, everything felt natural.
It’s like there was this piece missing from my heart that I didn’t know was missing, like a missing puzzle piece you forgot about losing until you stumble upon it one day. I discovered a lot about myself; my personality, my joking nature, my bluntness… Yes, I have a lot of personality traits from my mom’s side of the family. After all, they are who raised me. But, in certain areas where I don’t fit in, I do with my dad’s.
It was hard for me to hug everyone and say goodbye. I blinked back my tears, because I’ve taught myself to never let anyone see me cry. Well, I may have cried a bit in the car on the way back to the hotel. When would I see everyone again? Was this a one-time thing? Did they want us back?
Why did I ask myself those questions? Because of how I was brought up. I know that I will see them again, that I am wanted, and I am loved. My meeting everyone wasn’t just a onetime deal. Oh, no! I’m in this for the long haul, y’all. I gained a family. I have my grandma! I have my aunts, possibly my uncle, and cousins… Oh, and a new friend from Hawaii!
Meeting my family has my heart swelling with joy. But, with joy comes pain. I’m learning who my dad was, and that… that hurts more than words can explain. Now, 25yrs after his death, I’m mourning a man I didn’t get to know. I’m saddened for what could have been. I’m angry that I’ll never get the chance to know him, personally. I’m depressed that I don’t have the memories everyone else has of him. I hate that I can’t ask myself what he would do or say in certain situations. But, most of all, I’m broken because I’ll never get to know what it feels like to be wrapped in my father’s arms.
All I can do is pray and ask God that when it comes my time to meet Him face-to-face, that he’ll grant me the gift of hugging my dad just once. So, to you who have told me about you wanting to reach out to your father or father’s family, but you’re scared. Do it! Yes, it’s scary. The thought of rejection is always at the front of your mind. Rejections burns like a hornet’s sting, but it’s worth it. After all, if you aren’t accepted it’s their loss—not yours. Will you be an emotional mess? Abso-friggin-lutely! Your emotions will be all over the darn place. Mine have. They still are. And, this is why I haven’t been able to write. My emotions affect my writing. If I were to write now, I’d kill everyone. There would be no happily ever after. Oh, no, everyone would die—a painful death at that. So, yeah, it’s best that I keep away from my computer and mourn with the deliciousness that is my homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Take your journey. Live big. Be strong. And, never forget who YOU are. Some will accept you, some will not. But, tis is life…
I wanted to do something to thank each of you for being so friggin’ awesome and supportive. So, what better way to do that than to say, “Thank you, Rockstars!”
Honestly, y’all, you are my rockstars. Your support, interactions with me on social media, your reviews– they are more than appreciated. Just for you… Now until Saturday, get:
#FREE ~Shattered & Shaken http://amzn.to/1XsRMLE
#99pennies All for Allie
1.99 Shattered & Mended
1.99 Sexed into Submission
Feel free to share the love. Blessings to you all.
Several times over the past two year, many have asked me about my views on Christians writing erotic and romance novels. The more my audience grew, the more I learned to keep my opinions to myself. Why, you ask? Well, because no one’s opinion about me or my heart matters. There is only one lawyer, one judge, and He is the only one who knows my heart.
The Bible clearly states that EVERYONE is guilty of sin. *Gasps* Yes, it’s true. Romans 3; 23 (NLTV) states, “For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standards.”
Wait, what’s that? Oh, another gasp? I AM A SINNER! But, guess what? So are YOU. So is everyone else around you. Want to know something else? It’s okay! Some may ask, ‘What? How can you say such a thing?’
Are you ready for another jaw-dropping answer? It’s simple, really… JESUS! Jesus, my Lord and Savior. Jesus, the man who shed his blood for me—for you—so that we can be forgiven for our sins. Because, like it or not, you’re a sinner. Say you’re not, and you’re calling God a liar. And, well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sin too.
Another question I’ve been asked is, “You say you’re a Christian, that you love God, but how can you write about sex, especially between unmarried couples?”
I’ll let y’all in on a little secret. Are you ready?
God is the creator of sex! It’s true, He is…
Know what He isn’t the creator of? Sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires… Don’t believe me? Feel free to pick up a Bible, turn to the book of Colossians chapter 3, and read verses 5 and 6. It’s there, I promise. I don’t know about you, but when I read, it’s for entertainment. Reading doesn’t effect the way I have sex with my husband, it doesn’t cause my heart to become lustful, and it doesn’t make me want to have painful intercourse or drink my husband’s blood…
God created sex for our pleasure. Sex is NOT a sin, yet, sex outside of marriage is. So, why do I write about characters having sex outside of marriage? Because people do it. If you’ve read any of my novels, mostly my Shaken series, you’ll see the effect of sin. The wages of sin is death. Well, my characters experience some pretty intense heartache and trials. Why? Because they’re living outside of God’s will. There are consequences for having pre-marital sex, fornication, etc. There’s a price to pay for having multiple partners. And, no, this isn’t me judging anyone. It’s simply me stating my beliefs and God’s word. If you’re offended by the last few sentences, that’s between you and Him.
On to something else… Judgement. Judgmental Christians. These are the Christians you see who walk around with their noses in the air, walking with a stick up their butt, and pointing out everyone’s flaws but their own.
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye,” Matthew 7; 1-5
Did your mouth drop? If so, pick it up and get ready for another round of His WORD that tells us not to judge another. I’ll give you a few seconds…
Ready? Here we go!
“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven;” Luke 6; 37
“There is only one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?” James 4; 12
“Therefore you have no excuse, O man, every one of you who judges. For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things. We know that the judgment of God rightly falls on those who practice such things. Do you suppose, O man—you who judge those who practice such things and yet do them yourself—that you will escape the judgment of God?” Romans 2; 1-3
Need I continue? I’m sure you get the jest that judging is an actual sin. And, I’m almost positive that my writing is NOT the one thing that will condemn me to an everlasting, fiery pit in Hell. You see, my books are a small part of who I am.
For so many years, I’ve let what everyone else thought of me affect my attitude. I was ashamed of what I’d written. Not because I felt God was upset or ashamed of me, but because I faced judgment from those at my church and even in my family. I let their judgment on my heart affect my writing. But then, I heard God say, “Beloved, only I know your heart.” Yes, God! Yes, you are the one and ONLY.
You see, I pray about each book before I write it. Each of my stories serve a purpose. I wasn’t made to fit in, but to stand out. I was made to be salt and light to the world, not to sit in the corner and let others tell me what I should or shouldn’t do based on “their” standards.
I’ve reached thousands of people, from all around the world. God has worked through me to help those who battle depression, question their self-worth, and were on the verge of committing suicide. One thing many seem to forget about Jesus is, he loved the sinners. He ate dinner with them, showed them love. What point would it serve if I only tried to reach those who are saved, have been delivered and redeemed?
I am here to spread God’s love, because he is love.
Want to know who I am, the real me?
I am not Jewel Nicole, author of the steamy romance novels that make up the Shaken series.
I am not Jewel Nicole, the erotic author.
I am, however, the 9 fruits of the Holy Spirit.
He has given me love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Though, the last one seems to be a bit more challenging than the others.
All in all, don’t let anyone quench the fire within your heart, because they aren’t who set it. If you have dreams, and you have His approval, chase and capture them. Make those dreams a reality. Be kind, don’t have evil desires. Don’t let your writing affect your Faith. God is, and always should be, first. And, always remember, no one can see your heart. No matter who your friends and family are, who your pastor is, how many times you change churches… someone will always judge you. Don’t question yourself or who you are based off what others think of you. Instead, put a smile across your face and bless them.
That is all. I hope this helps someone as much as it has helped me. Much love to you all!
Title: Sexed Into Submission
Author: Julie Bailes
Cover Design: MG Bookcovers
Release Date: August 14, 2014
***Contains BDSM material. Intended for mature audience only. NOT for the easily offended.***
The daughter of a house wife whore, and a screw-all-his-clients attorney, I learned early on that trust can’t be given and love doesn’t truly exist. Sure, maybe it exists in fairytales, but this is real life and it’s ugly. Love, lust, anger, and joy, emotions, in general, are for the weak and I don’t do them.
I’m a hell-on-heels heartbreaker who can’t be tamed, or so I thought. This dominating, possessive, and sinfully sexy piece of man storms into my life and his only mission is to break me down like a house of cards caught in the middle of a windstorm. Ryder is shaking my world, flipping it upside down, and stirring my emotions like a hurricane. I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before and doing things I normally don’t do. His touch, his presence, they leave me drunk on sin and thirsty for more.
This man, Ryder, he’s the type of man who once you’ve met, there’s no forgetting him. He’s the antidote that gets me by. We have a fatal attraction, and nothing good can come from it. All good things must come to an end, and it’s only a matter of time before we discover if what we’re sharing is a blessing or curse.
About the Author:
Julie resides in a small town in southern West Virginia with her high school sweetheart, and their three rowdy children. She has a passion for writing and helping others meet their maximum potential. With an unhealthy addiction to coffee and all things chocolate, she has developed a love for fitness. Even though she has city in her blood, Julie enjoys mudding, four wheeling, and hunting with her husband. On days she isn’t busy playing chauffeur or writing, you will most likely find her cuddled into her husband’s side reading a naughty book.
Other Books by Julie Bailes:
Sexed Into Submission
Love, it isn’t for me. Emotions, they’re for the weak. Me? I’m strong and independent, a woman who doesn’t need a man to make her feel secure. I make my own rules, and break those made by others. I’m rebellious and I don’t submit to anyone, except Dean. But, that’s only because he’s my boss. The daughter of a housewife whore and fuck-all-his-clients lawyer, I depend on no one but myself. My father was never home, always at a bar fucking any broad with a tan and fake tits. And my mother, well, she screwed anything with a third leg, muscles, and tattoos. I have both of them to thank for passing along the ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’ gene to me. Always fucking, never loving.
At sixteen my mother said to me, “Your body’s a Goddamn weapon, Piper. Flaunt it; use it to your advantage, and you’ll never want for anything.” Truer words have never been spoken. She fucking nailed it. I sat back and took notes as I watched her use her body to manipulate men, watched as each one gave her anything her slutty little heart desired.
“You’re up in ten, Piper,” Dean yells. Turning to examine myself in the mirror, I reach for the hairspray and sprits my hair. Using my fingers I ruffle it to give that messy, yet sexy, just fucked appearance. It drives these rich bastards crazy. I take the tube of lipstick and coat my full, fuck-me-now lips a bright whore red. Bending over to strap my hooker heels tight, I hear a snap, followed by a deliciously familiar sting to my left ass cheek. “You’re up, beautiful,” Candice winks. “Hey! How many times do I have to tell you… no foreplay before my show! Geez, Candy, you know how hard it is to keep grip on the pole when your thighs are all wet and slippery,” I joke.
The lights go out and my heels clink against the hardwood stage as I make my way front and center, ready to give these lucky son-of-a-bitches the show of their life. As I get into position, I gaze out into the crowd to see if it’s a full house, but all I’m able to see are dark shadows and the twinkling eyes of twelve or so men surrounding the edge of the stage. The red light above my head brightens, putting me in the spotlight right where I belong. I line my spine with the cool steel and reach my hands behind me to grip it securely. As I wait for my music to begin, I hear hoots and whistles, along with an impatient member who’s ready to get his dick up, bellow, “Come on, sweetheart, l want to see your sexy ass work that pole!” Ha! I assure you, there’s nothing sweet about me. My body, face, and smile… they’re tools to lure you cheating fucks into my trap. Build you up, fuck your brains out, and milk you for all you’re worth. That’s what I do. My pussy’s sweet as molasses, but my heart pumps vicious venom, or so I’ve been told.
The music begins to play, and red and white lights flash along with the beat. When the artist’s voice fills the room, the lights stop and black lights surround the stage, illuminating my white two-piece and shimmering bronzed skin. I snake myself down the pole and grind my hands along my body as I go. Whipping my hair around several times, I snake my way back up and climb the pole. I do my flips and spins, then slide to the floor and go into a side split. I use one hand to lift my hair up off my neck and the other to untie my top, remove it from my body, and place it between my teeth. Then, just like a cougar searching for her prey, I skim the crowd for the wealthiest prick to claim tonight. See, this isn’t your typical strip club. Dean’s strict about who he lets in here. Each persons a member, none of them accumulating less than six figures a year. Most of the men are in business suits, so it can be difficult to tell which one’s willing to make it rain. Fuck making it rain; I’m on the prowl for someone who’s willing to flood me with Benjamin’s.
Straight-ahead, dead center of the stage, I catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar face. He’s not a regular, and he’s not the typical type of man you’d see in here on a Thursday night. He’s dressed casually in a white button down shirt, no tie or jacket. And from here, he appears to be in his late twenties, not fifties like the rest of the crowd. Now, most of the men here are fairly handsome, but this man, he’s panty drenching sexy. His dark hair, broad muscular frame, and twinkling eyes are completely erotic.
As I dance around and own the stage, he nods his head for me to make my way to him. His eyes roam my body, almost as if he’s evaluating my moves instead of enjoying them. Since he’s new, and clearly the only man that doesn’t seem to appreciate my performance, I go over to show him some special attention. I get on my hands and knees and crawl to him, slowly and seductively.
When I’m to the edge of the stage I drop my top into his lap. I sit up and lean back onto my ankles. Then, I take my breasts into my hands and pull on my nipples as I roll my hips and stomach. The next time I look into his face, his teeth are latched onto his bottom lip, his arms are crossed, and he’s looking at me as if he’s challenging me to up my game. I’m not used to this sort of reaction. The men in this club drool over me, fall on their knees and worship me. What I should do is move along to the next man waving money toward me, but for some fucked up reason, I’m hungry for this assholes satisfaction.
Fuck it, I’m breaking the rules, but that’s nothing new. We’re not supposed to touch the members with your tits, ass, or pussy- unless they pay for a private show. But, desperate times call for desperate measures. Rolling onto my back, I scoot my ass to the edge of the stage, as close as I can get without falling off. I pull my legs together and point them to the ceiling, arch my back, and then I let them fall open to the side. We’re so close I feel his breath brush the inside of my thigh as he breathes. He wants a show, and dammit, I’m gonna give it to him.
When he least expects it, I take my long tan legs and wrap them around his neck, crossing my ankles behind his head. I use my arms to support my weight, and his shoulders as leg rests. I roll my body and thrust my hips while other members fill my bottoms with bills. My mystery man’s arms fall to his lap. His shoulders rise and fall rapidly as his breathing increases, and I can tell he’s biting his tongue, resisting the urge to lean up and taste my sweetness.
His glistening eyes are filled with lust and anticipation. And now that he’s finally enjoying the show, I can move along to give my faithful paying men and women the attention they deserve. Before I go, I tighten my legs and pull his face into my drenched middle, thrust my pelvis, and glide my pussy up his face before releasing him.
Finally, the music’s over and I can go back to shower and wait for Dean to hand over my money. He lets us keep everything we earn; the members pay more than enough in fees to keep this place up and running, not to mention Dean’s mansion and Ferrari. Some of the girls are in college and Dean wants them to be able to pay their tuition without taking out student loans, but most are like me, working with what we have while we have it. Our bodies won’t always be this glorious. One day, our ass will sag and our tits will drag the floor. Besides, why would anyone want to pay thousands of dollars for someone to have control over what they do, when to do it, and how it should be done? Fuck that, I don’t do well with authority. Plus, I’ve made enough money over the last three years that it’ll last me the rest of my life; more than most people will make working their entire life, even those who possess a fancy ass college degree.
I don’t have to worry about anything. I don’t have a house or car note, and my utilities are paid for by my father. All I’m responsible for are luxuries; coach purses, clothes, jewelry, and my biggest obsession- shoes. I don’t have to worry about buying attire for work, Dean takes care of us. He’s sort of our Hugh Heffner. He makes sure we’re taken care of. If we need anything, all we have to do is ask and we’ll receive. Surprisingly, we don’t have to fuck him for any of it. However, I’m sure any woman would be more than happy to do so if he asked. Hell, I believe I’m the only woman who’s refused him. Don’t get me wrong, Dean’s very attractive. He’s a successful, domineering male with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and sun kissed skin. He’s solid muscle, and has a smile that will melt any woman’s panties within a ten mile radius. I’ve had my chances, and God knows Dean can pleasure a woman, but he’s the only man I can’t toy with. If I fuck him and leave him, that’ll be the end of my career.
“Piper, baby, come here for a minute,” Dean instructs as I’m drying myself. I remove the towel from my body and hair, and toss the soiled linens into the hamper and strut across the room toward Dean, completely naked. I’m not modest in the least. Hell, why should I be? Dean’s seen all of me before, and so have all the girls. When I’m at Dean’s side, I freeze when my eyes land on my mystery man. Dean lifts his arm and I cuddle into his side. He drapes his arm across my shoulder and leans down for a kiss. I give him a quick peck and turn my attention back to the glorious piece man before us.
“Piper, I’d like for you to meet my brother, Ryder.” Ryder, huh? Perfect name for what I want to do to him. Ride. Him. Hard. Ryder’s eyes follow the water droplets dripping down my body from my freshly washed hair. Dean clears his throat to grab Ryder’s attention, uncomfortable with another man ogling the woman he wishes were his. Dean pulls me closer into his side and kisses the top of my head. “As you know, the requests for people wanting a membership into Delectable Desire is getting longer, and we can’t continue to turn people away. Ryder has decided to hop on board and help us out. Now, I’m still your boss, but so is Ryder. He’s agreed to keep an eye on you girls while I attend to members out on the floor. If I’m not around and you need something, don’t hesitate to ask him.” I nod. “Of course. Welcome, Ryder.” I extend my hand to him and he eyes it questionably. “O-kay,” I mumble, retrieving my hand, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“After the show you gave me out there, I believe I deserve something more personal than a fucking handshake. I mean, you did rub your pussy along my face,” he smirks. Before I say another word, I look up to Dean. He smiles down at me and nods, giving me approval to be my smart-ass self. “Something more personal?” I ask, taking a step closer to Ryder. “Um-hum,” he replies, flashing a cocky grin. “I’m going to go lock up. Piper, be nice,” Dean warns, leaving the two of us alone.
I take two more steps and close the gap between us. I feel his hardness protruding through his slacks. “Let’s see,” I ponder. I take a small step back and trail my acrylic nail down the center of his chest. I slide my hand down his bumpy abs and land on his hard, thick, and long cock. I massage his length over his pants. His eyes close and a low growl rumbles from the back of his throat. I lean up on my tiptoes, run my tongue up the side of his neck, and squeeze his dick. “That personal enough, boss man?” I whisper, nibbling his ear lobe. Suddenly, his hands are at the back of my head. Roughly, he yanks my hair and tilts my face up to his. Suddenly, my vindictive motives are jumbled together, and all I can think about is placing my hands on his shoulders, lifting myself off the ground, wrapping my legs around his waist, taking his throbbing cock deep into my pussy, and fucking him until my name’s the only name in his vocabulary.
Abruptly, he spins me around and presses me against the wall, positioning us so his front rests against my back. He pulls one of my arms behind my back and the other above my head, pressing it into the wall. Instinctively, I push my ass out and grind against him, and he pushes his hardness against me. “You like what you feel, Piper? You like feeling my response to you?” he asks, his voice cold, yet seductive. With the side of my face resting against the wall, I nod. He presses deeper into me and begins to nip at my neck, causing the heat between my legs to rise to combustible levels. He’s reversed our roles. I’m the one who is always in control. Remembering this, I fight to pull away.
He bites down on my neck, and what should’ve been a scream comes out a moan. “You like pain, Piper?” He pulls his hips back and thrust his hard dick against my ass once more, taking my breath away. “You will not tease me and get my dick hard in front of group of men, ever again. Understand, Piper?” Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m not his fucking puppet or property. “No. Actually, I don’t understand. You see, boss, I don’t take orders from anyone; especially from a cocky prick, such as yourself. And I’m sorry, but if a whiff of pussy was all it took to get your dick stiff, clearly you need to get laid more often,” I spit, frustrated by the way he’s affecting me. An evil chuckle escapes his lips. “Oh, Piper. You have a lot to learn, sweetheart. This,” he says, grinding into me even deeper, “it will not happen again, not without consequences.” He releases my arms and spins me around to face him, then he takes my chin between his strong fingers and lift my face. “See you soon, Piper,” he says against my lips. Then, he pulls his face away from mine, traces my bottom lip with his thumb, and disappears through the curtain that leads out to the stage. I don’t know who Ryder thinks I am, but I refuse to let him threaten me. I may have a pussy, but I refuse to be treated like one.