Sobriety is in vogue this season when Debauchery magazine founder Vive Farnworth trades in her Park Avenue mansion for a halfway house. Enjoying “therapy” on a tomato farm, she relearns how to live. Her focus on fruit soon ripens when a new roommate moves in. He’s dominant and challenging, and she swears his orgasm-inducing body looks familiar. Then again, her memory is one gin martini blur.
Stripped of his Olympic gold medal, Roddick “The Grunt” Beckstrong was the #1 professional tennis player in the world until a certain news outlet exposed him for doping to enhance his performance. After losing custody of his son to his ex-wife, along with sixty-five million dollars, he’s out for revenge against the owner of the tabloid that ruined his life—Debauchery.
To destroy his nemesis, he’ll entice her mind, seduce her soul, and satiate her body’s lust. Then he’ll publicly humiliate her! Falling in all-consuming love along the way wasn’t part of his plan, but it happens. When Vive learns of Roddick’s motives, she ups the ante with the one thing he hasn’t obliterated, her heart. It’s a vengeance that he never saw coming. Whoever stays sober the longest may win something their fame and fortunes never gave them before—a chance at happiness.
“Do you know what I hate about this detox thing the most?”
“Not having sex. I miss it. Don’t you?”
I nod. “I’ll admit it’s been a while for me too.”
She reaches forward, then gently grazes her long nails over my forearm, causing every hair on my body to stand upright. I shift my legs, trying to get comfortable.
“I can see that.” She lines her mouth up with mine.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask, somewhat in shock.
Licking her full lips, she glares at me as if waiting for me to make the first move.
After a few tense moments of silence, she blurts out, “Do you masturbate?”
“Not usually.” Over the years, my coaches and managers didn’t like it when their players would jerk off before a match. They said it would kill our stamina and drive to win. Over time you just get used to not getting yourself off, saving it for when you’re with someone special and having sex in person. “What about you?”
“All the time,” she confesses breathlessly.
Unable to hold back any longer, I cup her cheek, press my lips against hers, and shove my tongue down her throat.
Her nipples tighten as I pinch them through the blouse. Our tongues dance together, first with shallow breaths and then deep ones.
She spreads her legs for me, guiding my hand between her legs.
“You want me to….”
“Get me off… please…,” she begs.
“We can’t have sex. Those are the house rules.”
“Fingering me isn’t sex.” She pushes my hand in the direction of her zipper.
“That’s the funny thing about fingering.” I unzip her pants, shimmy her shorts down to her knees, and admire her panties. Thin nude fabric with a shimmer sparkle over her privates. “It won’t stop with just my fingers.” I slide my right hand between her thighs, feeling her warmness, and sudden wetness.
“Yes, right there.”
With my middle and ring finger deep inside the well of her cunt, I pant in her ear, “My tongue is getting jealous. I have to taste you.”
Her eyes widen as she lies back on the sofa. Hedda, her dog, hops off the coffee table and takes a place on the kitchen floor to nap.
I slide off the sofa onto my knees and bury my face between her legs.
Her pink flesh stares back at me. I lick once. She shudders. Lick twice. She moans.
“Tongue-fuck me,” she bosses.
“We’re not allowed to fuck. Can I eat you out without you coming?”
She laughs. “No.”
“Let’s see.” I kiss the flesh of her inner thigh. “So soft.”
“Keep going.” She glares down at me. “Yesss.”
Licking my lips, I trace my tongue around her clit, edging her to come.
“Fuck. Yes. Rod.” She fists my hairline as her thumbs press against my forehead.
I slide two fingers back and forth, in and out, while my tongue laps up her wetness.
“Yesss. Roddie. Like that. Fuck. Don’t stop. Keep going.” Her legs tighten around the back of my head as I fully submerse myself in her.
“Come for me.”
“Dammit, woman. Right now.”
I curl my left index finger inside her while rubbing two fingers against her clit with my right. She cries out and squirts a steady stream up at my face.
Like a cat in heat, Vive’s moans turn me on to the point where I want to give my tongue a break and fuck her with my cock. But it’s too soon for that. I know it is. This woman hasn’t been touched in so long. I can see that now.
As she comes I frantically lick and lick. I fucking love the way she tastes.
Just as she finishes and pulls her shorts up, there’s a knock on the door.
New York Times bestselling author Avery Aster pens The Manhattanites, a contemporary erotic romance series of full-length, stand-alone novels, and the naughty new adult prequel companion series The Undergrad Years. Join Avery’s newsletter eepurl.com/CQ665 and get a FREE ebook!