Showing posts with label Real Men series. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Real Men series. Show all posts
Alpha Male by Jenika Snow
Layla
For the last two years Lachlan has been my personal bodyguard. Although I don’t feel in danger and don’t need someone constantly watching me, because it’s Lachlan, I can’t help but feel safe.
I love him.
He is big and strong, with training that makes him deadly. Anyone who is stupid enough to cross him learns that swiftly.
But I’m too afraid to tell him how much I want him. I’m too afraid to tell him that I crave him.
Lachlan
I was hired to be her bodyguard, to make sure she was safe because her father is a senator. But even if her father hadn’t hired me, I wouldn’t have been able to leave her alone.
I love her, want her as mine, and I need to show Layla that she was meant for me.
I need to show her that if anyone looks at her, speaks to her, or thinks they have a right to touch her, I’ll lay them out and not think twice.
She is my world, and no one but me will have her.
I’m done waiting. It’s time I make Layla mine.
Warning: Have a neck brace on hand because this story will give you whiplash. It’s short and to the point, but that’s how we like them. It’s not lacking in the heat department, has an over-the-top alpha hero, and a sweet virgin heroine. No worries, though; you get a safe read with a Happily Ever After and some baby making in the process.
Lachlan
I watched Layla. Always. But it wasn't just because that was my job. It was because I wanted her, fucking badly. I wanted her to be mine, to never know the touch of another man, to look into my eyes and know I’d take care of her.
“Lachlan, location check-in.” Rocco’s voice came through in my earpiece.
“South building of Pearson Hall. Layla should be heading back to the estate within the next ten minutes. I’ll check in once en route.”
“Copy that.”
I leaned against a tree and watched as Layla spoke to some little asshole that I knew was in her economics class. The possessive side of me wanted to come out and stake its claim right then and there. Hell, I didn’t want anyone looking at her, let alone speaking with her.
I clenched my jaw as I watched him reach out and brush a strand of her hair from her shoulder. I wanted to go over there and beat the little fucker to the ground, but I had self-control, was trained to only make a move if absolutely necessary.
Me going over there and being a caveman, throwing her over my shoulder and stalking away to make my claim, was a bad fucking idea.
But even that small touch the asshole gives her pissed me the fuck off.
She was my job, or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself to make it easier to be around her. But being her bodyguard for the last two years made that an impossible task.
Her father, Jonathan Lancaster, was a senator. Even before that, his connections and social standings had made the wealthy tycoon take extra precautions to protect his family, which resulted in him hiring bodyguards twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
I’d been Layla Lancaster’s—Jonathan’s daughter—personal bodyguard for the last two years, before her father took office. I’d already deemed her as mine, even if I hadn’t been a man and told her.
I watched Layla. Always. But it wasn't just because that was my job. It was because I wanted her, fucking badly. I wanted her to be mine, to never know the touch of another man, to look into my eyes and know I’d take care of her.
“Lachlan, location check-in.” Rocco’s voice came through in my earpiece.
“South building of Pearson Hall. Layla should be heading back to the estate within the next ten minutes. I’ll check in once en route.”
“Copy that.”
I leaned against a tree and watched as Layla spoke to some little asshole that I knew was in her economics class. The possessive side of me wanted to come out and stake its claim right then and there. Hell, I didn’t want anyone looking at her, let alone speaking with her.
I clenched my jaw as I watched him reach out and brush a strand of her hair from her shoulder. I wanted to go over there and beat the little fucker to the ground, but I had self-control, was trained to only make a move if absolutely necessary.
Me going over there and being a caveman, throwing her over my shoulder and stalking away to make my claim, was a bad fucking idea.
But even that small touch the asshole gives her pissed me the fuck off.
She was my job, or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself to make it easier to be around her. But being her bodyguard for the last two years made that an impossible task.
Her father, Jonathan Lancaster, was a senator. Even before that, his connections and social standings had made the wealthy tycoon take extra precautions to protect his family, which resulted in him hiring bodyguards twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
I’d been Layla Lancaster’s—Jonathan’s daughter—personal bodyguard for the last two years, before her father took office. I’d already deemed her as mine, even if I hadn’t been a man and told her.
She’d been eighteen at the time I was assigned to her, freshly graduated from high school and starting her first year of college. And from the moment I saw her, she was all I wanted.
From the moment I saw her, I knew she would be mine.
And I’d made sure during that whole time that she was always my priority, my permanent station. The very thought of somebody else protecting her, didn't sit well with me. I wanted to be the one that looked after her.
She ended up walking away from the douche and heading to her car. Layla was stubborn, but I fucking loved that about her. She was independent, which drove her father insane. That included her refusing to have a driver, which was what Jonathan Lancaster wanted. Instead she drove herself wherever she felt like going.
She could be a force to be reckoned with, and it made me want her more.
But the one thing her father would not budge on was her having a bodyguard.
And I was always here, because fuck all to hell if anything happened to her on my watch.
From the moment I saw her, I knew she would be mine.
And I’d made sure during that whole time that she was always my priority, my permanent station. The very thought of somebody else protecting her, didn't sit well with me. I wanted to be the one that looked after her.
She ended up walking away from the douche and heading to her car. Layla was stubborn, but I fucking loved that about her. She was independent, which drove her father insane. That included her refusing to have a driver, which was what Jonathan Lancaster wanted. Instead she drove herself wherever she felt like going.
She could be a force to be reckoned with, and it made me want her more.
But the one thing her father would not budge on was her having a bodyguard.
And I was always here, because fuck all to hell if anything happened to her on my watch.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
Author Links
Mine by Jenika Snow
That one word has never meant so much.
JANA
Ballet was my life, but after getting injured that dream faded. I still needed fast money, so I sucked up my pride and decided to strip.
All clubs could use a virgin stripper, right?
But from the moment I saw Cole Savage, owner of the strip club I was trying to get into, all rational thought left me.
He was dark and dangerous, and his personality screamed arrogance.
I wanted him, and by the way he looked at me I knew he wanted me as well.
But I should keep it strictly business, right?
COLE
From the moment I first saw Jana I wanted her. She needed a job at my club, but the possessive side of me rose up demanding she was only mine. I might have just met her, but I was already so damn territorial of her.
If she wanted a job I’d give her one, but she’d be keeping her clothes on.
I’ve been celibate for years, but it’s time to change that with her.
Jana would soon realize what it meant to be mine.
*Warning: This is a short story featuring an over-the-top possessive hero who makes no secret that the heroine his. It’s got dirty dancing, raunchy scenes, but is safe and has a Happily Ever After that comes with reading a Real Man story.
My cock was harder than I ever remembered it being, and the images of pushing her panties aside and shoving my dick inside of her played through my mind on repeat.
“I need you,” I said harshly, my voice nothing more than this guttural sound.
She didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t try to get out of my arms. In fact, she had her hands in my shirt at my back, holding on to me, keeping me close.
Once I was off the stage and standing back where my chair was, I put her on the ground and immediately cupped her cheek. “I could watch you all fucking night, baby, but I’m so hard for you.”
And before I knew what the hell she was doing, she slipped her hand down the front of my pants and pressed her open palm over my cock.
The arousal in me was so intense I nearly came.
She was breathing hard, fast, and I knew she was right here with me, knew she was ready for me. But I wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to tell me the words.
I tipped her chin back, made her look in my eyes, and said, “Tell me what you want.”
“I need you,” I said harshly, my voice nothing more than this guttural sound.
She didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t try to get out of my arms. In fact, she had her hands in my shirt at my back, holding on to me, keeping me close.
Once I was off the stage and standing back where my chair was, I put her on the ground and immediately cupped her cheek. “I could watch you all fucking night, baby, but I’m so hard for you.”
And before I knew what the hell she was doing, she slipped her hand down the front of my pants and pressed her open palm over my cock.
The arousal in me was so intense I nearly came.
She was breathing hard, fast, and I knew she was right here with me, knew she was ready for me. But I wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to tell me the words.
I tipped her chin back, made her look in my eyes, and said, “Tell me what you want.”
My cock was harder than I ever remembered it being, and the images of pushing her panties aside and shoving my dick inside of her played through my mind on repeat.
“I need you,” I said harshly, my voice nothing more than this guttural sound.
She didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t try to get out of my arms. In fact, she had her hands in my shirt at my back, holding on to me, keeping me close.
Once I was off the stage and standing back where my chair was, I put her on the ground and immediately cupped her cheek. “I could watch you all fucking night, baby, but I’m so hard for you.”
And before I knew what the hell she was doing, she slipped her hand down the front of my pants and pressed her open palm over my cock.
The arousal in me was so intense I nearly came.
She was breathing hard, fast, and I knew she was right here with me, knew she was ready for me. But I wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to tell me the words.
I tipped her chin back, made her look in my eyes, and said, “Tell me what you want.”
She took long seconds to answer, but when she did, I saw her pupils dilate and smelled her desire saturate the air. “I want you to be my first. I want you to own my virginity, Cole.”
I groaned, not able to help it, not able to even try and stop myself.
“I need to fuck you.” I couldn’t help but stare at her chest, at the way her breasts rose and fell, her cleavage showing over the hem of her bra.
“Take off the bra, baby. Let me see you. Let me make you feel even better.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, and before I had to tell her again, she was removing the bra, showing me how hard her nipples were and how flushed her skin was.
“The panties, Jana. Get rid of the fucking panties.” And like a good girl, she was pushing her panties down her thighs.
“I need you,” I said harshly, my voice nothing more than this guttural sound.
She didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t try to get out of my arms. In fact, she had her hands in my shirt at my back, holding on to me, keeping me close.
Once I was off the stage and standing back where my chair was, I put her on the ground and immediately cupped her cheek. “I could watch you all fucking night, baby, but I’m so hard for you.”
And before I knew what the hell she was doing, she slipped her hand down the front of my pants and pressed her open palm over my cock.
The arousal in me was so intense I nearly came.
She was breathing hard, fast, and I knew she was right here with me, knew she was ready for me. But I wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to tell me the words.
I tipped her chin back, made her look in my eyes, and said, “Tell me what you want.”
She took long seconds to answer, but when she did, I saw her pupils dilate and smelled her desire saturate the air. “I want you to be my first. I want you to own my virginity, Cole.”
I groaned, not able to help it, not able to even try and stop myself.
“I need to fuck you.” I couldn’t help but stare at her chest, at the way her breasts rose and fell, her cleavage showing over the hem of her bra.
“Take off the bra, baby. Let me see you. Let me make you feel even better.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, and before I had to tell her again, she was removing the bra, showing me how hard her nipples were and how flushed her skin was.
“The panties, Jana. Get rid of the fucking panties.” And like a good girl, she was pushing her panties down her thighs.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
Author Links
Kilt Me by Jenika Snow
He’ll show her exactly what’s under his kilt.
Molly
The first time I saw Mr. McGowan, he was walking into our class wearing a kilt. Our substitute professor, he was big and brooding, masculine, and had a sexy Scottish brogue going on.
Maybe I didn’t need that extra tutoring, but I sure as hell wanted it.
Alastair
I noticed Molly the moment I stepped into the classroom. She was the wee lass with the fire-colored hair, the intense green eyes, and a body that had me burning alive. I didn’t want to look away from her because I knew she was mine.
Maybe there was a rule about staff not fraternizing with students. But given that I’m just the substitute professor, and that I wanted her like a fiend, I was about to cross some lines and break some rules.
Warning: You ever wonder what’s under a man’s kilt? Well, this story won’t leave you in the dark. It’s short, of course filthy, and has a Scottish hero with a sexy brogue. He only has eyes for his heroine, and will teach her a thing or two about how good it can feel to get dirty.
Molly
It was a hot May day, hotter than I ever remembered it being before. My hair was sticking to the back of my neck, and I grabbed a hair tie and lifted the long, heavy locks off my nape. After tying it in a messy bun, I glanced around the room. Everyone seemed miserable.
I was tempted to just leave, to skip this class and head back to my apartment to take a cold shower, but before I could do anything, the door opened. I expected to see Mrs. Lane walk in, her big belly rounded, her expression annoyed. She was due next month, but she looked miserable every time I saw her.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Lane who stepped through the door.
The air seemed to get hotter, thicker, and the room grew silent as everyone stared at the man who was like no one I had ever seen before. And I didn’t mean that in the literal sense.
“Good morning, class. I’m Alastair McGowan, your substitute professor as Mrs. Lane is no’ able tae be here.”
He had this thick Scottish brogue going on, but then again he was wearing a kilt. God, and does he look good wearing it.
He set his briefcase on the desk, turned to face us, and my breath stalled. The substitute professor was over six feet tall, heavily muscled, and had this commanding persona that surrounded him.
I shifted on the seat, my dress sticking to my legs, my body heating, which had nothing to do with the fact it was hot as hell in this room. I’d been attracted to plenty of guys, but this was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
It was a desire that was intense, consuming, and had my brain in this fog.
And the one dirty thought that kept slamming into my head, over and over again, was … what’s under that kilt?
It was a hot May day, hotter than I ever remembered it being before. My hair was sticking to the back of my neck, and I grabbed a hair tie and lifted the long, heavy locks off my nape. After tying it in a messy bun, I glanced around the room. Everyone seemed miserable.
I was tempted to just leave, to skip this class and head back to my apartment to take a cold shower, but before I could do anything, the door opened. I expected to see Mrs. Lane walk in, her big belly rounded, her expression annoyed. She was due next month, but she looked miserable every time I saw her.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Lane who stepped through the door.
The air seemed to get hotter, thicker, and the room grew silent as everyone stared at the man who was like no one I had ever seen before. And I didn’t mean that in the literal sense.
“Good morning, class. I’m Alastair McGowan, your substitute professor as Mrs. Lane is no’ able tae be here.”
He had this thick Scottish brogue going on, but then again he was wearing a kilt. God, and does he look good wearing it.
He set his briefcase on the desk, turned to face us, and my breath stalled. The substitute professor was over six feet tall, heavily muscled, and had this commanding persona that surrounded him.
I shifted on the seat, my dress sticking to my legs, my body heating, which had nothing to do with the fact it was hot as hell in this room. I’d been attracted to plenty of guys, but this was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
It was a desire that was intense, consuming, and had my brain in this fog.
And the one dirty thought that kept slamming into my head, over and over again, was … what’s under that kilt?
* * *
Alastair
I saw her sitting in the back, her red hair this fiery mass atop her head. The room was stuffy, hot, and even from the distance I could see the light droplets of perspiration dotting her temples.
If I dinna have self-control, I would have gotten hard right then. Just thinking about leaning in and licking away those droplets, and tasting the saltiness of her, could have made me so fooking hard.
I saw her sitting in the back, her red hair this fiery mass atop her head. The room was stuffy, hot, and even from the distance I could see the light droplets of perspiration dotting her temples.
If I dinna have self-control, I would have gotten hard right then. Just thinking about leaning in and licking away those droplets, and tasting the saltiness of her, could have made me so fooking hard.
But control was key.
She shifted on the seat, her dress riding up her thighs. Good God.
I moved behind the desk and took a seat. The battle with keeping my self-control was a losing one, and I felt myself start to get hard. Fook. I cleared my throat and looked at the wee lass that would be mine.
Fook the rules. I dinna care if she was a student and I was her professor for the foreseeable future. I dinna kno’ what had gotten into me, but hell, I was no’ about tae let this feeling go.
I kne’ what I wanted … her.
She’ll be mine.
She shifted on the seat, her dress riding up her thighs. Good God.
I moved behind the desk and took a seat. The battle with keeping my self-control was a losing one, and I felt myself start to get hard. Fook. I cleared my throat and looked at the wee lass that would be mine.
Fook the rules. I dinna care if she was a student and I was her professor for the foreseeable future. I dinna kno’ what had gotten into me, but hell, I was no’ about tae let this feeling go.
I kne’ what I wanted … her.
She’ll be mine.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
Author Links
Subscribe to:
Comments
(
Atom
)