Hot to Trot

Hot to Trot

5.0 1
by Barrie Abalard
     
 

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Exes Patti North and Dylan Decker adore each other. Her problem? He cheated. His problem? Her temper. Fixing things will take more than spankings and hot sex, though that's a good start.

Patti's afraid to let Dylan back in her life, but, broke and desperate, she takes a job at the company he co-founded. Still lusting for him, she also yearns for some old-fashioned

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Overview

Exes Patti North and Dylan Decker adore each other. Her problem? He cheated. His problem? Her temper. Fixing things will take more than spankings and hot sex, though that's a good start.

Patti's afraid to let Dylan back in her life, but, broke and desperate, she takes a job at the company he co-founded. Still lusting for him, she also yearns for some old-fashioned attitude adjustment-that is, a good spanking-over Dylan's lap. Being childhood friends, they share memories and values, as well as a passion for horses. But Patti feels she can't trust Dylan, and that pisses her off, which leads her to act rashly-and that pisses him off.

Dylan works at convincing Patti that he's really changed and ready for monogamy. Hot spanking and sizzling sex erupts between them repeatedly, only for something to break them apart. A climactic scene in "Hot'lanta" that has Dylan spanking Patti for her temper leads to his satisfying both of them with back-door sex.

HOT TO TROT, set in the sometimes funny, sometimes weird world of Boston high-tech, tells the story of two exes who still adore each other-and still annoy each other-more than any other twosome on the planet.

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781453700945
Publisher:
CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date:
07/26/2010
Pages:
156
Product dimensions:
5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.33(d)

Read an Excerpt

When he brought his head closer to hers, he whispered, "Do you know what I'm going to do to you later?"

He noted the goose bumps on her bare arms. His erection strained against his pants. Damn, he was hard. He reached for her hand.

"What?" she said, lowering her gaze.

When she met his again, he said, "First, you'll strip for me."

"Umm," she said, eyes wide.

"After you're naked, I'll use those black stockings of yours to tie your wrists to the bed. Face up. I'll do the same with your ankles. You'll be spread-eagled, helpless, and waiting for me to--"

He stopped, drank a little wine. So did she. He wondered if she was getting just as turned on. He continued.

"I plan to suck your nipples until they're so hard, they ache. Then I'll move my mouth lower. You'll be under strict orders not to come."

He leaned forward, their faces now only inches apart. "Though I'll make it damned difficult for you to obey."

"Suppose I can't help it?" she whispered.

They each took another sip before he replied. "In that case, I'll be forced to punish you."

His wife shivered. "How?"

"You know my flat-backed wooden hairbrush?"

Her mouth formed an "O" for a moment before she swallowed visibly. "The brush. Damn, that'll smart."

He wanted to throw down cash for the meal they wouldn't eat and carry her home so that he could ravish her. Screw the striptease. His cock was about to burst.

"Of course, and because it will hurt, I'll have to tie you down to use the brush. And once I've reddened your bottom sufficiently--" He stopped, waiting for her to ask. He didn't have to wait long.

"Yes?" she said, panting a little.

"Let's just sayI'm going to enjoy a part of you that I've never taken before. You've been hinting you'd like to be ... possessed back there. Or am I wrong?"

She quickly drained her glass, then said, "You're absolutely correct, sir."

"I like the 'sir.' Keep it." He poured a fresh glass of burgundy, touched his glass to hers. "To a fresh start, 'Cakes. Happy third anniversary."

"Right back at you, Dyl," she said. Leaning toward him again, she murmured, "I'm almost ready to come, just hearing about your plans for my backside. You know how much spanking turns me on. And the thought of you slipping into my back door--well, my panties are soaked."

He caressed her palm with a finger, knowing that doing so heightened her arousal. She bit her lip, whimpering.

"Of course, I'll take plenty of time to ensure that you are ready for me. I want you to enjoy being possessed," he said.

Her eyes became cloudy. "This is it, Dyl? No more fooling around on your part? A real fresh start?"

"Sugar," he said, "there's only one woman's back door I want to open, and it's yours."

Her cheeks lit with fire. She bit her lip again before speaking. "Do we have to stay for dinner?"

"My thoughts exactly." He looked around for the waiter in order to get the bill, only to see Tiffany instead.

Tiffany? Whatthefuck?

She was standing at the entrance to the dining room, and she was frowning at him.

He shook his head once, slightly, hoping she'd take the hint. Instead, she slapped her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows at him.

I told her it was over. Why is she here?

He looked at his wife. Her face was red, but not from lust. He watched the full glass of ruby liquid fly through the air, splashing his face, his shirt, his brand-new suit.

"So much for a fresh start," she spat, emptying the wine bottle as well over his head. "Don't bother coming home tonight. I'll have the doors barricaded. And don't call me. My lawyer will call your lawyer. Anything you have to say to me can be filtered through her."

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Meet the Author

Barrie Abalard has worked as a radio personality, technical writer, taxi driver, bank clerk, and ad copy writer, but she has always returned to her first love, fiction writing. Since 1995, she has written short stories, novellas, and novels that explore various aspects of kink in both romances and non-romances (erotica), and in both straight and gay relationships.

She writes for DisciplineAndDesire.com as "Belle," and has also written in the past as "Miss Lee." Barrie is married with a grown child and lives in the Middle Atlantic area, along with their persnickety cat. You can learn more about Barrie and her stories of politically-incorrect love by visiting her website: barrieabalard.com.

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