Confessions of a Sex Kitten
She walked into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and removed her earrings before starting to take off her dress. As she contorted every way possible to reach the zipper in the back, her eyes locked on her neighbor watching TV in the dark. She continued fiddling with her dress, not thinking much of James lounging in his chair, seemingly absorbed in whatever show or movie he was watching, when the light from his television illuminated his bare chest and abs, rising and falling in rapid succession.
She forgot about her dress now hanging down to her hips, and squinted in concentration, trying to get a better look. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned and hung loosely at his sides, while his rolled-up sleeves revealed those forearms she always stared at. What really got her attention though, was the fact that he seemed to be panting.
What in heaven’s name is he doing?
Except for one bare leg, the rest of him was hidden by the television. And then it hit her. He was masturbating, probably to porn. Her pulse started to race and her palms got sweaty as she watched the dark fuzz on his chest and abs move up and down in perfect rhythm. Not even a fire alarm going off could have chased her away from the window, but what could, was James turning his head and locking eyes with her across the distance.
She had a split second to give him the courtesy of a blush before she tried to bolt from the window, tripped over her cat, and crashed to the floor with much humiliating noise as her flailing hands knocked over the night lamp. For the next couple of minutes, she remained spread out on the floor like a flattened pancake. The throbbing in her ears turned out to be her heartbeat and her lungs seemed devoid of air as she inhaled deeply, wincing at the pain in her ribs. Roger thankfully seemed unfazed by the fiasco and sat in the corner, licking his tiny jewels.
A knock at the door made her head snap around so quickly, she almost caused further injury to herself.
“Who is it?” she shouted in the most casual voice she could pull off.
“It’s me,” a deep, husky voice replied.
Great, first he catches me spying on him and now this.
“Are you alright? I heard a loud noise.”
“No shit,” she mumbled to herself, staring at the ceiling. “I’m fine, thanks!”
“Can you open the door?”
Her eyes darted in his direction.
“Um, I’m getting ready to go to bed.”
“I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, James. Go back to your…apartment.” She’d almost told him to go back to jerking off.
“Open up, Avery, so I can have a look for myself. You looked like you crashed pretty hard.”
Great, so he’d seen her. Good grief.
She shifted with a groan, but managed to pick herself up and head for the door. She stuck her arms through the sleeves of her dress, but didn’t bother with the zipper in the back.
“All fine,” she said, opening the door just a crack to smile at him. Her expression froze as she gaped at his body still displayed in all its glory, except now he wore pants. She had to summon all her control not to run her hands over the hair covering his chest, leading down into his pants.
“Avery,” James said, getting her attention.
She blinked rapidly and looked up at him. “Hm?”
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“What are you doing?” she asked alarmed.
“Making sure you’re still in one piece.”
He closed the door and turned her every which way to see if she was bleeding, at least that’s what she assumed he was doing. She winced when his hand ran over her left side and he looked at her concerned.
“No, I’m not. Nothing a drink or some medicine won’t cure. Maybe both together,” she grumbled as an afterthought.
He looked like he didn’t believe her.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, doing a mini-dance. “See? All good. Now go back home and let me get some sleep.”
He touched her side again and she winced once more.
“What the hell are you doing?” she gritted.
“Proving that you’re a liar.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the sofa. “Sit.”
She gave him an annoyed look.
“Sit, Avery, before I’ll make you.”
“Fine.” She plopped down.
He knelt before her and touched her ribs gingerly, watching for her reaction. “Can you lift your arm?”
She did so and gave him an I-told-you-so look.
“Can you bend side to side?”
She did and felt a tug. “It hurts a little, but not much. I can manage.”
“Good. Then nothing’s broken.”
Her eyes lowered to his hands wrapped around her waist. Her skin was on fire at his touch, even through the fabric of her dress. If this was how her body responded now, she wondered what it’d feel like without any barriers.
His hand slid along her side in what felt decidedly like a caress. “Be more careful next time.”
Confused she stared into his eyes, mere inches from her. “With what?”
“Your choice of entertainment.”
She felt herself blush to the very roots of her hair and cleared her throat. “I didn’t see anything.”
He held her gaze and tightened his grip on her, causing her breath to hitch. “Yes, you did. And you liked it.”
We are beyond excited to be sharing this release from Rachel Van Dyken with you today by participating in the blog tour. ABANDON is part of her Seaside Pictures series and it is releasing as part of 1001 Dark Nights. It just went live! Check out the buy links and book trailer from the title below. Click here to grab your copy now.
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From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken comes a new story in her Seaside Pictures series…
It’s not every day you're slapped on stage by two different women you've been dating for the last year.
I know what you're thinking. What sort of ballsy woman gets on stage and slaps a rockstar? Does nobody have self-control anymore? It may have been the talk of the Grammy's.
Oh, yeah, forgot to mention that. I, Ty Cuban, was taken down by two psychotic women in front of the entire world. Lucky for us the audience thought it was part of the breakup song my band and I had just finished performing. I was thirty-three, hardly ready to settle down.
Except now it's getting forced on me. Seaside, Oregon. My band mates were more than happy to settle down, dig their roots into the sand, and start popping out kids. Meanwhile I was still enjoying life.
Until now. Until my forced hiatus teaching freaking guitar lessons at the local studio for the next two months. Part of my punishment, do something for the community while I think deep thoughts about all my life choices.
Sixty days of hell.
It doesn't help that the other volunteer is a past flame that literally looks at me as if I've sold my soul to the devil. She has the voice of an angel and looks to kill—I would know, because she looks ready to kill me every second of every day. I broke her heart when we were on tour together a decade ago.
I'm ready to put the past behind us. She's ready to run me over with her car then stand on top of it and strum her guitar with glee.
Sixty days. I can do anything for sixty days. Including making the sexy Von Abigail fall for me all over again. This time for good.
Damn, maybe there’s something in the water.
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Purchase your copy of ABANDON today!
Amazon Universal: mybook.to/AbandonRVD
Call it the science of breakups.
Not even time. Because the memories were always there, and it was incredible how easy it was for your brain to conjure up smells, tastes, and feelings.
And since both Abigail’s and my career had erupted at the same time? Everything related to music was also tethered to her.
I put a pillow over my head and yelled into it.
She was desperate. But I felt like a weak piece of shit for letting her stay with me. I hated those guys: the ones that just wanted one morsel of the girl that got away and were willing to do anything, even exchange their dicks, for a pussy. Just so they could have one last look, taste, fill, call it whatever you wanted. I hated those guys.
The last thing I needed was to become that guy. Because I knew if she hurt me again, I would literally have nothing left.
And it was a terrifying thought, to say the least.
I put the pillow back behind my head and turned to my side, touching the wall with my fingertips like the biggest loser on the planet. I wondered how many inches separated the space between us. If I pressed my ear to the wall, would I hear her crying because of the storm? Or was she just dreaming about stabbing me in my sleep?
It was a toss-up. I mean, it always had been with us.
The thunder cracked again, scaring the shit out of me as I jumped out of bed and shut the guest bedroom window.
This was ridiculous.
At least I wouldn’t have to see her at the music camp since Drew had gone to bat for me. I was headed to Trevor’s studio to help with his music students. He was so thankful that he could have more time with the kids and his new fiancée that I actually felt relief that I was finally helping and not making a mess of things.
It hadn’t always been that way.
You knew there was something terrifyingly wrong when Drew, the f-up of the group, told you to put your big boy pants on.
Thunder cracked again.
Yeah, I was getting zero sleep tonight.
I grabbed my guitar on my way out to the living room, then snatched up one of my sharp number-two pencils from my satchel, along with my old, ratty, blue music notebook and sat on the couch. The front cover of the journal was almost completely torn off and had stickers from places I’d visited covering it. No matter how many times I tried to buy a new one, I still kept this one and just stapled more pages into it. Maybe it was stupid, but it was a comfort to me.
The room was dark.
Just the way I liked it.
I loved the power behind the drums, but there was something so intimate about playing the acoustic—just me, my Gibson Les Paul, and my voice.
I strummed a few chords, switched to G, and kept strumming as my mind decided to torture me by way of memories.
So many damn memories.