Clutch – verb: to grasp and hold tightly; to seize; snatch.
Flighty. Stupid. That’s what my sisters think of me.
I’m tired of being misunderstood.
With a suitcase in hand and the ocean as my beacon, I’m charting my own path.
Yet, barely a day on the road, I almost crash and burn.
Running into Silas Palmer, a sexy-as-sin rock star, changes my life.
Silas makes me feel … Exceptional. Aimless.
He’s always known his course.
And even now, when he’s abandoning fame and fortune, he knows what he wants.
But life is never that simple.
📆 November 3rd
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Since Pansy’s come into my life, I’m brimming with song ideas, scraps of paper everywhere. So much so, half of me is eager to get in that studio and write, but the other half is reluctant to lose the limited time I have with Pansy, getting to know her.
“I love that. Is it new?” Pansy surveys me from the doorway in a faded black one-piece swimsuit that’s seen better days. All I see is her toned bronze skin, calling to me.
Crooking my finger, I beckon her, and she obeys. With each step to me, streams of sunlight flit across the crown of her head, deepening the warm, red tones of her long locks.
I pull her onto my lap, and her delicious bow-shaped lips curl up as her eyes widen, darkening to moss green. Her warm, almost bare back leans against my chest, and I swear our heartbeats are synchronized.
“Silas.” My name is almost a tremble on her lips.
“Hey,” I whisper, and she smiles.
I place her hands on the keyboard, my larger ones shadowing hers, and we play a few bars of the song I just wrote. The one she just overheard. It’s about her.
“Hypnotizing.” She sways with the beat.
“Very hypnotizing.” She sure is.
Lightly kissing her shoulder, my tongue licks at her salty skin, and she shudders and sighs, sinking into me. With her surrender, my hands have a mind of their own, gripping her waist and lifting her to sit on the piano with her legs bent, her bare feet grazing the keys.
“Silas,” she exhales, her hands latching onto my shoulders.
Seated at eye level with her sex, I glance at her, seeking permission. The tiny nod and nibble on her bottom lip is all the go-ahead I need. My fingers gently knead her thighs before pulling her legs wide apart.
She gasps as my hands glide up the inside of her legs. Eager to taste and touch, my tongue kisses, nips, and licks at the soft, silky skin of her thighs, the sea salt mingling with a flavor that is undeniably Pansy. She tastes like fucking freedom.
I continue to rub my palms along her thighs, to the juncture of her legs and pelvis. I’m overwhelmed with desire, burning inside as my thumb slowly swipes her mound through the already-damp bathing suit. I’m not sure if it’s wet from the ocean or her excitement.
She releases a breathy moan, dropping her head forward, her hair falling around us like curtains. Licking my lips, I plant a wet, open-mouthed kiss at the apex of her thighs and groan at her musky, intoxicating scent. She sucks in a jagged breath and curls her fingers and toes.
Meet The Author: S.M. West
S.M. West is an indie author who writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, erotica and whatever her heart desires.
She spends her time juggling ay day job, being a mom and wife, and writing. On top of that, she's a self-professed junkie of many things including a voracious fan of music, a born wanderer, a wine aficionado and chocolate connoisseur.
Find S.M. West Here: smwestauthor.com | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Bookbub | Amazon | Goodreads | Pinterest