Sex Stings

( 1 )


Snooping is one helluva dirty business, and no one knows that any better than down-on-his-luck P.I. Daniel Murphy. But with baseball bat-wielding loan sharks after him and his kneecaps on the line, this South Boston tough has no choice but to deliver the goods on a high-stakes sex sting operation. To collect the endgame bonus, all Dan has to do is covertly videotape his target Therese Walsh cheating on her boyfriend.

With him.

That's right. ...

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Snooping is one helluva dirty business, and no one knows that any better than down-on-his-luck P.I. Daniel Murphy. But with baseball bat-wielding loan sharks after him and his kneecaps on the line, this South Boston tough has no choice but to deliver the goods on a high-stakes sex sting operation. To collect the endgame bonus, all Dan has to do is covertly videotape his target Therese Walsh cheating on her boyfriend.

With him.

That's right. Dan's supposed to make like a porn star on camera with a woman he doesn't even know and then deliver the evidence of her two-timing to his client. Can he do it?

When Dan Murphy walks into her little knitting shop, Terry Walsh is immediately and overwhelmingly attracted to him and she understands exactly why. This is a new experience for her. Although she's a psychic, Terry rarely understands her own hidden motivations. But, this time, she actually gets why she'd want to go to bed with Dan Murphy -- any woman would. He's one caring and protective guy.

That's a problem.

Dan's a little too caring, a little too protective...a little too vanilla. And she's a lot BDSM. Going to bed with Terry always means the SEX STINGS.

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Editorial Reviews

Amber JERR

Daniel is a coarse, jaded man who handles Terry with loving care, something he has never wanted to do and she has never allowed herself to experience. Terry is hot, wild and wants Daniel for nothing but fun, but he will have none of it. This job forces Daniel to make a choice, his knees... or Terry. When they finally come together sparks fly and pages burn. The sex is HOT yet not what you expect.
Indy Joyfully Reviewed
A Joyfully Reviewed Recommended Read

This is a story I recommend for anyone who loves it when a book calls to them and provides them with a turbulent experience. This isn't sweet, the lovemaking wasn't pretty. To be honest at times it was downright raw, but in the end these two peas fit just as they were meant, magnificently
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781463590864
  • Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
  • Publication date: 6/12/2011
  • Pages: 168
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.50 (h) x 0.39 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Her bodyguard-by-association placed two hands on her shawl-covered shoulders, and pressed her down into a chair. "Let's see that sprain."

"My ankle is fine." And it was fine. The sprain served as a smoke screen to get his mind off what had happened.

"I'm checking out the foot, anyway. Lose the pantyhose." He looked away.


"Now we're talking." His gaze returned to her, only now his eyes contained a comical leer.

She swallowed her laughter. "That is not what I meant. I meant, I am not removing my stockings because you are not examining my foot. Your concern is kind but unnecessary."

"In light of your refusal to go to the hospital, checking out your ankle is damn necessary. Considering what almost happened, Mr. Forrester will expect a full account of tonight, all the pertinent details. Look, Miss Walsh, I need this job. I can't afford to lose another position."

She believed him.

However, what she knew, and he did not, was that she would soon be a moot point in the life of William Forrester IV.

Tell him. Now, Terry! Right now. Tell Daniel Murphy he won't get in trouble because you're no longer dating his boss.

"Turn your back," she said instead.

Her reluctance to tell Daniel Murphy the truth had nothing at all to do with craving his big, inelegant, Southie hands on her flesh. Nothing to do with her overactive sex drive. Nothing to do with wanting to keep Daniel around so she could satisfy her curiosity about how his toughness would translate in bed. It was only that, protocol demanded telling Bill first that they were through before blabbing the breakup to anyone else.

"Turn my back?" Daniel snortedthrough his broken nose. "You gotta be kiddin'."

She attempted to mollify the stubborn set of his chin. "Mr. Murphy--I'm not removing my stockings while you look on. I'm no prude..." Was that ever the truth! "...but really, we're strangers."

Her turn to snort. To herself. Like she had never taken it all off in front of a strange male before...

Daniel Murphy blew out a breath. "Fine," he said, sounding cranky, and presented her with the back of his faded and worn, and unbelievably wet, Army Navy store pea coat.

Terry reached under her dress. While admiring the breadth of his shoulders, she heard herself say, "Besides, the stocking are not pantyhose." She undid one suspender strap, the released snap sounding seductive in the quiet shop, and then the other. The ribbons of the garter belt hung free. She adored vintage lingerie.

But why broadcast her private preference to Daniel Murphy?

Now, he'd assume she'd worn sexy underwear to augment her night out with his boss. A nightcap, followed by sex, at Bill's luxury waterfront condo.

And his assumption would've been dead wrong. She had planned to breakup with Bill at the restaurant. And, not in a million years, would she ever have returned with him to his condo. She hadn't worn the sexy lingerie for Bill.

In her promiscuous past, without question, she had been an easy lay. No foreplay, no clit stimulation whatsoever, she could still get off. Just the way nature made her, she guessed. She didn't even need a man. An itsy-bitsy sneeze could trigger an orgasm of Richter scale proportions, which explained why her one-night stand Romeos always strutted like cocky roosters, fully convinced they were the best lovers in the world. None of them realized, they'd left no lasting impression on her. No matter what they did or didn't do, during the act itself, the sex always satisfied.

It was afterwards that sucked.

Terry sighed. The stockings dispensed with, she surveyed her leg.

No swelling.

The lie she'd told Daniel Murphy had served its purpose, had allowed her to leave the scene of an almost accident before the police arrived and asked her a million and one questions. But now what was she supposed to do? How to explain a perfectly okay ankle?

"Mr. Murphy, you may turn around now."

When he did, she pointed to her wiggling toes. "See? Full motility." Useless to continue the con when the proof of her ankle's fitness was right there in front of his nose.

A different sort of proof teased the front of her own nose.

Heat rose off Daniel Murphy's body. He smelled so good, she could have writhed in orgasm right there in front of him. And wouldn't that have gone over well?

To reduce her awareness of his scent, Terry took only shallow breaths.

But then he knelt on the floor before the chair and reached for her leg.

Don't do this. Don't touch me. Leave right now, Daniel Murphy. Please leave right now before it's too late for me.

But, noooOOOO. Without speaking, the pigheaded man began probing her foot.

His touch was cool and clinical, as impersonal as a doctor's examination, and still the light brush of his fingers against her bare skin rendered her pre-climactic.

On a surge of lust, she closed her eyes. Against him. Against her own rising fever.

Her sexual appetite had always been the bane of her existence, the thorn in her side--her terrible weakness. Since puberty, she'd experienced strong physical hungers, dark urges she'd tried to ignore. The night she turned eighteen, she'd finally given in.

A college kid picked up at a Kenmore Square club had ended her misery. She couldn't remember his face, they hadn't bothered exchanging names. He was just someone with a penis. And he had made her scream with pleasure. Then again, so did a head cold. Viruses did have their compensations...

After that first furtive foray, she'd binged. Her selection hadn't mattered. The anonymous men were just partners in sex. When the light dawned that meaningless sex only brought a meaningless release, she'd stopped going to the clubs. Withdrawing into herself, she'd lived like a nun. For years. What was the point of having sex if afterwards she felt worse, not better, about herself?

Daniel Murphy observed, "You're wincing. Hurts like hell, huh?"

No, it hurt like the truth often hurt.

What lousy timing! She wanted Daniel Murphy. Lusted after his big body, the wide span of his thick-fingered hands. Her features had tightened with rapture, not pain. Although, with this man, only a thin line would separate the two, she predicted, her fingers stroking the nubs and knots of her shawl.

Caught in the act of arousal, almost moaning in ecstasy, she pretended stoicism. "I'm fine. Absolutely fine."

His thumb stroked over her skin. "Got any ice?"

Caught off-guard, her libido zinging, she pointed through the rear door of her shop. "Cubes in the freezer."

Now she'd done it! He had to leave, not hunt down the ice tray in her kitchen!

"I'll wrap some up in a towel. How's that?" he offered.

Too late to say, no, she nodded mutely.

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