THE SINNERS ARE BACK -
Reissue of the first in a sizzling rock-star romance series from
USA Today bestselling author Olivia Cunning
It’s been months since Brian Sinclair, lead
guitarist for the famous rock band, The Sinners, composed anything.
Unable to write the music that once flowed so naturally, Brian is lost
without his musical mo-jo. But when sexy psychology professor
Myrna Evans comes on tour to study groupie mentality, Brian may have
found the spark he needs to re-ignite his musical genius. When lust
turns to love, will Brian be able to convince Myrna that what they have
is more than just a fling, and that now that he’s
found his heart’s muse, he doesn’t want to live without her?
He handed her a bottle of juice and searched the take-out bag for a breakfast sandwich. “Why are you still dressed?” he asked. “I thought you were going to be my plate.”
She held up one finger, stuffing the last bite of her sausage and biscuit into her mouth, and then opened her juice to take a long drink.
She fished the money he’d given her out of her pocket and handed it to him. “I owe you a hundred and twenty bucks,” she said. He tossed the money onto the dresser.
“Myr, you really don’t have to pay me back.”
“Why not? You don’t think I can afford to?”
He’d never seen her angry before. He liked the way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.
“I don’t know,” he teased. “You’re a teacher. You don’t make much money, do you?”
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Are you going to hit me?” he asked hopefully.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, naughty boy.”
His eyes dropped to her waist. “Will you use your belt?”
“I thought Jace was the one with the masochism fetish.”
He glanced up at her, surprised. “How do you know that?”
“Groupies talk.”
“Do they? And what do they say about me?”
She chuckled. “That you’re a boring, one-woman man.”
He winced.
“I only agree with that second part,” she added.
“So I’m not boring?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve always been the skeptical type and I can be hard to convince without lots of evidence.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I see. So I need to prove I’m exciting.”
“I think that would be for the best.”
He looked down at the sandwich in his hand. “Can I eat first?”
“Please do.” She took another long drink of her juice and set it down on the dresser.
She removed her shoes and belt. Jace’s jeans slid down low on her hips. She unbuttoned the fly and let them fall to the floor. She tugged off Brian’s borrowed T-shirt. He should wear that one on stage tonight to keep her close.
“Do I need to be completely naked to be your plate?” she asked.
He realized he was holding his sandwich in front of his open mouth, but hadn’t taken a bite.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen a plate in underwear before.”
She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. She pushed her breasts up with her hands. “You know these things used to be perkier.” She looked down at the twin globes of flesh spilling from her palms.
He didn’t understand why, but by not trying to act seductive, she was actually turning him on more. “They’re perfect.”
Her panties joined her jeans on the floor. She glanced over her shoulder, straining her neck to try to see her butt. “I think my ass used to be perkier, too.”
Brian bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly.
“Gravity is a woman’s worst enemy.” She looked up at him uncertainly.
He swallowed. “You’re beautiful, Myrna.”
“Does it bother you that I’m older than you are?”
“Yeah, like, what, six months older?”
“I’m thirty-five.”
He hadn’t expected her to be seven years older than him, but frankly, he didn’t care how old she was. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. “You’re in your sexual prime, Myrna. And trust me, that doesn’t bother me at all.”
“You could have any hot young woman you want—”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s Master Sinclair!” Myrna squealed and trembled from head to foot with excitement. “Oh my God! Will you sign my tits? Please. Please. You’re soooo hot!”
He tossed his sandwich aside, grabbed a handful of ketchup packets from the take-out bag, and tackled her to the bed. He straddled her hips to hold her down.
“Certainly, I’ll sign your tits, miss. Anything for a fan.” He opened a ketchup packet with his teeth. She laughed uncontrollably, squirming beneath him. “Hold still.”
She stopped squirming and looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide. He began to write across her chest in ketchup.
“P-R,” he spelled aloud. “O-P.” He tossed the empty packet on the floor and reached for another.
“Prop?”
“I’m not finished.”
“That tickles.” She giggled.
“E-R-T-Y.”
“What are you writing?”
He opened another packet and wrote in the middle of her belly. “O-F.” He moved to her lower belly. “B-R.”
“Property of brrrrrrr?”
“Yeah, property of brrrrr. Exactly.” He opened another packet of ketchup and finished his name on her belly. “Perfect. Property of Brian. I just need to dot this i.”
He dabbed a dot of ketchup in the center of her nipple. “Damn, I missed.”
He lowered his head and licked the misplaced ketchup off. She laughed, her fingers stealing into his hair.
“Let me try that again.” He dripped ketchup on her other nipple. “Damn my terrible aim.”
He sucked the tangy ketchup from her nipple, loving the way the rosy peak hardened against his tongue. He stroked the bud vigorously with the center of his tongue until she shuddered and made that maddeningly sexy sound in the back of her throat. His cock hardened instantly.
He was done for. Again.
He lifted his head and dribbled ketchup on her lower lip. Her tongue darted out between her lips.
“Hold it. It’s my mess. Only fair that I clean it up.” He leaned over her and kissed her deeply.
Her lips tasted spicy, like sausage. Which reminded him. He hadn’t finished his breakfast. He broke away from her hungry kiss and looked down at her. “Do you want some hash browns?”
She chuckled. “You know what I want, Brian.”
“Hash browns.” He climbed from the bed and retrieved the bag of food from the surface of the dresser.
“I think maybe you are boring,” she teased, watching him from the bed.
He glanced at her, liking the way “Property of Brian” looked written across her body. He wondered if he could talk her into getting a tattoo to make his claim permanent. Climbing back onto the bed with her, he covered the ketchup with chains of small potato rounds. When he had them spread to his satisfaction, he lowered his head and licked one off her body.
“Yeah, hash browns are definitely boring,” he said.
She grinned at him. “I think I like being your plate.”
He chewed and swallowed his ketchup-coated hash brown. “You don’t mind the mess?”
“I assume you’re going to clean up after yourself.”
“You have a lot of faith in my self-control.”
She traced the angle of his jaw with her finger. “I do. I bet you can resist making love to me for at least ten minutes.”
He licked another hash brown off her chest. “You have a lot more faith in me than I do.” He plucked a hash brown from her chest and popped it in her mouth before slurping several more into his mouth. Ten minutes? He wished he was buried inside her right now. He fed her several hash browns in quick succession and made a pig of himself by eating as fast as he could. Eagerness had gotten the better of him.
She giggled as he licked the food off her belly. “I guess you are hungry.”
“Starving!”
After they finished the hash browns, Brian lapped the remaining ketchup from her silky skin with broad strokes of his tongue. She shuddered beneath him and tugged at his hair.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she gasped, her head tossed back, her back arched.
He handed her a bottle of juice and searched the take-out bag for a breakfast sandwich. “Why are you still dressed?” he asked. “I thought you were going to be my plate.”
She held up one finger, stuffing the last bite of her sausage and biscuit into her mouth, and then opened her juice to take a long drink.
She fished the money he’d given her out of her pocket and handed it to him. “I owe you a hundred and twenty bucks,” she said. He tossed the money onto the dresser.
“Myr, you really don’t have to pay me back.”
“Why not? You don’t think I can afford to?”
He’d never seen her angry before. He liked the way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.
“I don’t know,” he teased. “You’re a teacher. You don’t make much money, do you?”
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Are you going to hit me?” he asked hopefully.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, naughty boy.”
His eyes dropped to her waist. “Will you use your belt?”
“I thought Jace was the one with the masochism fetish.”
He glanced up at her, surprised. “How do you know that?”
“Groupies talk.”
“Do they? And what do they say about me?”
She chuckled. “That you’re a boring, one-woman man.”
He winced.
“I only agree with that second part,” she added.
“So I’m not boring?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve always been the skeptical type and I can be hard to convince without lots of evidence.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I see. So I need to prove I’m exciting.”
“I think that would be for the best.”
He looked down at the sandwich in his hand. “Can I eat first?”
“Please do.” She took another long drink of her juice and set it down on the dresser.
She removed her shoes and belt. Jace’s jeans slid down low on her hips. She unbuttoned the fly and let them fall to the floor. She tugged off Brian’s borrowed T-shirt. He should wear that one on stage tonight to keep her close.
“Do I need to be completely naked to be your plate?” she asked.
He realized he was holding his sandwich in front of his open mouth, but hadn’t taken a bite.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen a plate in underwear before.”
She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. She pushed her breasts up with her hands. “You know these things used to be perkier.” She looked down at the twin globes of flesh spilling from her palms.
He didn’t understand why, but by not trying to act seductive, she was actually turning him on more. “They’re perfect.”
Her panties joined her jeans on the floor. She glanced over her shoulder, straining her neck to try to see her butt. “I think my ass used to be perkier, too.”
Brian bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly.
“Gravity is a woman’s worst enemy.” She looked up at him uncertainly.
He swallowed. “You’re beautiful, Myrna.”
“Does it bother you that I’m older than you are?”
“Yeah, like, what, six months older?”
“I’m thirty-five.”
He hadn’t expected her to be seven years older than him, but frankly, he didn’t care how old she was. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. “You’re in your sexual prime, Myrna. And trust me, that doesn’t bother me at all.”
“You could have any hot young woman you want—”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s Master Sinclair!” Myrna squealed and trembled from head to foot with excitement. “Oh my God! Will you sign my tits? Please. Please. You’re soooo hot!”
He tossed his sandwich aside, grabbed a handful of ketchup packets from the take-out bag, and tackled her to the bed. He straddled her hips to hold her down.
“Certainly, I’ll sign your tits, miss. Anything for a fan.” He opened a ketchup packet with his teeth. She laughed uncontrollably, squirming beneath him. “Hold still.”
She stopped squirming and looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide. He began to write across her chest in ketchup.
“P-R,” he spelled aloud. “O-P.” He tossed the empty packet on the floor and reached for another.
“Prop?”
“I’m not finished.”
“That tickles.” She giggled.
“E-R-T-Y.”
“What are you writing?”
He opened another packet and wrote in the middle of her belly. “O-F.” He moved to her lower belly. “B-R.”
“Property of brrrrrrr?”
“Yeah, property of brrrrr. Exactly.” He opened another packet of ketchup and finished his name on her belly. “Perfect. Property of Brian. I just need to dot this i.”
He dabbed a dot of ketchup in the center of her nipple. “Damn, I missed.”
He lowered his head and licked the misplaced ketchup off. She laughed, her fingers stealing into his hair.
“Let me try that again.” He dripped ketchup on her other nipple. “Damn my terrible aim.”
He sucked the tangy ketchup from her nipple, loving the way the rosy peak hardened against his tongue. He stroked the bud vigorously with the center of his tongue until she shuddered and made that maddeningly sexy sound in the back of her throat. His cock hardened instantly.
He was done for. Again.
He lifted his head and dribbled ketchup on her lower lip. Her tongue darted out between her lips.
“Hold it. It’s my mess. Only fair that I clean it up.” He leaned over her and kissed her deeply.
Her lips tasted spicy, like sausage. Which reminded him. He hadn’t finished his breakfast. He broke away from her hungry kiss and looked down at her. “Do you want some hash browns?”
She chuckled. “You know what I want, Brian.”
“Hash browns.” He climbed from the bed and retrieved the bag of food from the surface of the dresser.
“I think maybe you are boring,” she teased, watching him from the bed.
He glanced at her, liking the way “Property of Brian” looked written across her body. He wondered if he could talk her into getting a tattoo to make his claim permanent. Climbing back onto the bed with her, he covered the ketchup with chains of small potato rounds. When he had them spread to his satisfaction, he lowered his head and licked one off her body.
“Yeah, hash browns are definitely boring,” he said.
She grinned at him. “I think I like being your plate.”
He chewed and swallowed his ketchup-coated hash brown. “You don’t mind the mess?”
“I assume you’re going to clean up after yourself.”
“You have a lot of faith in my self-control.”
She traced the angle of his jaw with her finger. “I do. I bet you can resist making love to me for at least ten minutes.”
He licked another hash brown off her chest. “You have a lot more faith in me than I do.” He plucked a hash brown from her chest and popped it in her mouth before slurping several more into his mouth. Ten minutes? He wished he was buried inside her right now. He fed her several hash browns in quick succession and made a pig of himself by eating as fast as he could. Eagerness had gotten the better of him.
She giggled as he licked the food off her belly. “I guess you are hungry.”
“Starving!”
After they finished the hash browns, Brian lapped the remaining ketchup from her silky skin with broad strokes of his tongue. She shuddered beneath him and tugged at his hair.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she gasped, her head tossed back, her back arched.
Raised on hard rock music, award-winning author
Olivia Cunning has been known to travel over a thousand miles to see a
favorite band in concert. She lives in Quincy, Illinois, where she
enjoys sitting on the beach with her feet in the surf
and penning naughty books about rock stars.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/27rIdo7
iBooks: http://apple.co/27rJtHT
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