From the Publisher that brought you popular short story romances Witching Call, Hostile Hearts, Earthbound Angels, January Morrison Psychic Files, Ralph's Gift, Eve Snow Psychic P.I., In the Blood, Sex Demons, The Halloween Awakening, The Whispering, Seasons of Love and Friend Zone. Now, here is Ms. Bookworm and Mr. Sex Symbol...
HE IS THE MAN OF EVERY CHEERLEADER'S WET DREAMS, BUT SHE IS HIS SECRET FANTASY
BUT WHEN HE TURNS INTO HER KNIGHT...
Sam is a handsome athlete who doesn't mind female companionship but doesn't want a girlfriend. Rachel is a sweet, innocent, kind of nerdy girl who thinks Sam is sweet, and have heard the rumors that he is a cocksman, but doesn't know what to believe.
They bump into each other at the library, where Sam suggests that Rachel come to his party that night to take a break from studying for the upcoming midterm exam. At the party it, turns out that the two share a deep and involved love for poetry. Rachel gets flustered at this unexpected part of his personality, and leaves the party. But Sam is soon on her heels after he finds she's left her phone.
What happens in the sculpture garden outside the library changes everything. And what happens after that is earth shattering.
***Warning: This story contains adult themed graphical descriptions that a small number of readers might find offensive, including sexual acts and suggestive themes.
�Do you need anything to drink?� Sam asked. �I've got water and a few other things in the fridge if you want anything.�
�No, I'm okay,� Rachel said. �Sam, I just want to thank you for being there for me, is all. You have no idea how much it means that you rescued me from that creep. Who knows what would have happened if you wouldn't have been there?�
Sam crossed the room and sat down next to Rachel on his couch. �Rachel, there�s no need to thank me, really,� Sam said. �I know that you would have done the same thing for me if our roles were reversed.�
They embraced in a tight hug. Rachel was so glad that Sam was in her life, that he had been there to save her from an awful date, that he had talked to her at the party, that he had saved her in the garden, and now, that he was here to console her in the aftermath of the sexual assault.
Rachel took a deep breath and smelled Sam's cologne and sweat. His masculine scent of spice and earth swam through her head and drugged her senses. His smell enveloped her, was all over her. All she could do was revel in his heady, masculine scent.
She hugged him even tighter and Sam hugged back. She could feel his breath on her neck. God, she was getting turned on. She shifted her weight forward and almost fell off the couch. Sam had a hold of her though, and instead of flopping off the couch, she toppled onto him.
As she pushed herself off of him in embarrassment, she felt something hard in Sam's pants.
�Oh, Sam,� Rachel said.
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About the Author
C.J. McLane was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to a family that runs a business in the music industry.
He grew up listening to demos of aspiring musicians which molded him into a man with a great passion for art. It was a different kind of art, however, that C.J. wanted to pursue academically.
C.J. fell in love with photography because he was constantly amazed by the fact that one picture could tell a lifetime�s story. He did an excellent story-telling job behind the lens. But when he purposefully acquainted himself with photo descriptions, he found a new love � words. He always dreaded writing, mostly because his cursive was so incomprehensible that his essays in middle school received low grades. �But he�s got a keyboard now, and a pool of writing ideas backed by his journeys and experiences � which he likes to call the rocking party life of a college guy.
Young as he is, C.J. aspires to tell stories that involve his most favorite photography model � a half-naked woman � and the healthy night sweats that come with it.
Author and his Genre
I wasn�t born with lustful thoughts and desires. Just like every newborn baby, I came from pure innocence. But early on, I discovered the excitement of the female body.
My first crush was on my nanny. I was five, fifteen years younger than she was. Despite the age difference, I can honestly say I did a darned good job of trying to get close to her. I would sob over a horror movie, a small bruise on my knee, and even a lost penny! Sobbing is not a manly thing to do, but I was a man on a mission. And I did not mind being a crybaby because my darling nanny Isabel would hug me so tight that I could feel her breasts hard against me. That was heaven for a little boy. Decades later, I discovered heaven of a more intense sort. (Mind you, heaven does get better when you get older!)
I�m a man with needs. And my books feature most of my favorite forms of satisfaction. I could not find a better story to tell than that.
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