Cover of the new book "The Naughty List" by Susan Fox and Cynthia Eden

Tattoos and Mistletoe in The Naughty List



From "Tatoos and Mistletoe" (in The Naughty List)

Warning: This excerpt contains adult content. 18 and over only, please.


LJ unlocked the front door and they went into a mud room with ski equipment, a snowboard, and a collection of outdoor clothing.

As they took off their coats and boots, Charlie asked, “What’s in the turret?” She imagined a sanctuary where a person could curl up, shut out the world, paint, and dream.

“Me, right now. It was my aunt’s reading room. I’ve loved it since I was a kid so I’ve taken it over.”

“I want to see it.”

“Now? I thought we’d—”

“Now.” She ran winter-chilled fingers over the front of his sweater, appreciating the fine, soft wool and the firm muscles beneath. Dipping under the hem, she brushed his bare six-pack, her cool skin rapidly warming. Anticipation trembled through her. It had been a few months since she’d had sex, and that guy’d been nowhere near as appealing. “Now.”

“Want a drink?”

“I want you.” In case her words weren’t clear enough, she cupped his erection.

“Feeling’s mutual.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then caught her hand.

As he guided her down a hallway, the dog Romeo padding behind, she saw warm light through an open doorway and smelled something fresh as a winter forest. In the hall, a blue runner ran down the hardwood floor and flower photographs decorated the walls. The decor wasn’t her style, yet she felt a whisper of longing at the homey touches, so unlike the dump where she’d grown up.

They climbed a wooden staircase, up two flights, then LJ ushered her into a dark room and flicked a switch. Expecting light, she was surprised when a gas fire flared to life, illuminating the room with flickering golden flames.

She pivoted in a circle, taking in round walls and a high, pointed ceiling, a duvet-covered double bed, a dresser, two window seats, and bookcases full of scientific tomes and colorful sci-fi paperbacks. LJ was still a science geek.

The wooden furniture was simple and attractive, colorful rugs warmed the wooden floor, and several watercolor nature scenes were amateur but bright and cheery. The numerous windows would let in lots of natural light. This would make a perfect art studio. “I love it.”

Romeo flopped contentedly in front of the fire. She’d have done the same if it wasn’t for the very tempting man who watched her, leaning against the wall by the fire, hip-cocked and noticeably aroused. His black hair, jeans, and rugged masculinity somehow fit perfectly here.

“Me, too. Aunt Fran used to let me come up here and read or do homework.”

“My aunt didn’t want us at her home or the B&B. We weren’t good enough.”

“I bet she regretted it. That’s why she left you the B&B.”

“Maybe. Better late than never, I guess.” She shrugged away the thought. “We’re not hear to talk about family. In fact . . .” She stepped closer until their fronts almost brushed. “Let’s not talk at all. Show me what you’ve got, tool-belt guy.”

“In exchange for that secret tattoo.” He wove his fingers through her hair at the temples and held her head firmly as he bent to kiss her.

She surged into him, gripping his shoulders, and captured that kiss greedily. Since she’d first seen him, he’d turned her on, and now, being here in his arms with a bed only a few feet away, passion and need fused in a fire that thickened her blood.

His lips were gentle and slow despite the erection that lodged firmly against her belly. A man with self-control.

Maybe she’d like him to lose control. She was hot for him, quivering with arousal, melting with need. He didn’t need to seduce her; she was already there. She wanted him to be as hungry for her as she was for him. Once, he’d had a crush on her. She could make him lose control.



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[con't from bottom left column]

Sex, plain and simple. Sex, hot and hard. Sex that wiped your mind clear of everything but this moment, this experience.

She deepened the kiss, taking his mouth with her tongue while she wriggled her hips to rub his erection in an erotic rhythm.

He groaned. “Shit, Charlie, I can’t believe—” He didn’t finish and she couldn’t ask because his tongue dueled with hers and his hands grabbed her butt, squeezing, lifting, pulling her tight while he thrust against her almost desperately.

She moaned and wormed her hands between them, trying to pull off his sweater and undo his jeans all at once.

He broke away, gasping for breath, and hauled his sweater over his head.

She froze, breathless too, and stared. Male perfection. Skin golden in the firelight, muscles strong and defined, a scattering of black hair, cocoa brown nipples. A perfect canvas for a tattoo, yet a great work of art—erotic art—just the way he was.

Her hands itched to touch him, itched so badly they fumbled with the button of his jeans.

He pushed her hands away and quickly undid his jeans and shoved them down, pulling his underwear and socks with them.

She sucked in a breath, taking him in. A lovely, hard cock, springing from a nest of black curls. Slim hips, lean, muscular legs. Her gazed drifted back. An amazingly lovely cock.

Everything inside her turned liquid with arousal.

Before she could touch him, he tugged her sweater up and pulled it over her head. Then he began to pull the tight, stretchy leggings down her hips.

His hands stilled and she knew he’d glimpsed her tattoo. It wrapped around one hip and down the top of her thigh, extending halfway onto one buttock and partway onto her abdomen. Exotic, sensual flowers—rather like Georgia O’Keefe paintings—bloomed amid twining vines. The blossoms were in shades of peach and apricot, of violet and indigo, and the vines were every green imaginable.

He peeled her leggings slowly, his eyes wide. Men’s reactions differed—from shock to disgust to arousal. LJ’s looked like wonder. When she was down to a coral cami and a black thong, he stepped back and studied her. “Charlie, that’s incredible.” He ran a gentle finger over the petals that decorated her hip. “Beautiful. Sensual.” Huskily, he added, “Sexy.”

It was her symbol, her celebration, of owning her own sexuality. She would choose to whom she gave her body, and what she’d do in bed.

Right now, she chose LJ, and she wanted to do everything with him.

When he raised his eyes to her face, she saw the fiery glitter of sexual need. He took her by the shoulders and backed her toward the bed, then they tumbled onto the duvet, kissing hungrily. Hands and legs grasped, twined, then her camisole was off and her breasts smushed against the hard heat of his chest as he came down on top of her. Her hands dug into his butt, feeling firm muscles bunch and shift.

The head of his cock pressed insistently against the soaking wet crotch of her thong, rubbing her clit. She pulsed, she throbbed, she needed more. Whimpering, she squirmed against him. “God, yes, keep doing that.”

Instead, he pulled away. “I want to be inside you.”

She groaned with frustration, then yanked off her thong as he reached into the drawer of the bedside table.

In seconds he was sheathed and back between her legs. She lifted herself to him, body quivering. His cock brushed her damp, sensitive flesh and she whimpered again. “Please.”