On Sale for Christmas Page 7

  Ben's head snapped in my direction. "I'm all those guys, okay? The guy who got down and dirty with you? Yeah. That's me. Part of me anyway. An authentic part. But there's another part, too. The part you don't like. A guy who hates risk. So let's not take the risk of being together because it obviously is a risk."

  "Wow," I said, letting everything sink in. Understanding—really understanding—that whatever he did was only to protect me. That if I'd really cared who it was, maybe I shouldn't have told him to surprise me. He'd done the best he knew how to live up to the trust I gave him, and that I ought to be grateful. And maybe I would be grateful if he wasn't breaking up with me. "Everything is a risk, Ben. It took you how many years to get up the nerve to take your shot with me? And now that you've scored, you're just walking away without even asking me what I want?"

  "I'm clearly not what you want, Becca. I am a nice guy. I'm the kind of guy who can pimp you out, but not without a twenty page checklist of contingencies."

  My stomach bottomed out. "You wrote it down?"

  "No! I'm saying that I want to fucking protect you and romance you. I want to treat you like a sex toy, make you come like a freight train, and then make you pancakes for breakfast the next morning. I want to exchange Christmas presents, and kiss you under the mistletoe, and go to see your plays in the city, and take you to swanky parties, and then push you up against the wall in an alley and fuck you so hard you feel it for days. But mostly? You're right. I'm a happily-ever-after kind of guy. And that's not going to change."

  He stood there, fists clenched, as miserable as I'd ever seen him. And I just wanted to reach out and shake him. Instead, I asked, "What kind of pancakes?"

  Ben sputtered as his eyes met mine. "What?"

  "What kind of pancakes do you want to make me?"

  Gawping as if he thought I was crazy, Ben finally crossed his arms over himself. "Blueberry. Because blueberries have antioxidants. Because they're good for you. Think you can fucking handle that, Becca?"

  "I happen to be crazy about blueberries," I said, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. "…and you."

  Ben eyed me, sullenly. Totally disbelieving.

  I gave a shaky little laugh. "You actually made being with good guy Ben White a little dangerous, you know. A little risky. That's pretty much catnip for a girl like me."

  That coaxed a tiny smirk from him.

  I took a deep breath. "I don't know what comes next, Ben, but whatever we did last night cracked me open and my insides got all mixed up with yours, too. So, yeah, I'm crazy about you. I'll even use the L word first if you want. And I'll be your date for New Year's Eve. Think you can fucking handle that?"

  Ben's eyes slowly filled with a hopeful emotion. "If you're screwing with me…"

  "I'm not screwing with you," I said, my heart filling up with such warmth that I flushed with it. "But if you're my guy, then I have to go shopping for a Christmas present for you."

  His eyes sparkled, and he reached for me. "You're everything I ever wanted for Christmas."

  I grinned, tugging him into a lustful kiss. "Then you should start learning to open up your presents on Christmas Eve…"

  DEAR READERS

  Thank you for reading On Sale for Christmas!

  FREE BOOK OFFER: I hope you enjoyed this story and if you did, please consider helping other readers by writing an honest review and publishing it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, etc. I will give you a free book of your choice from my backlist if you email me a link to your review at: laureladamsauthor@gmail.com

  DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story engage in some risky behavior and make some questionable decisions; it should go without saying that this behavior is not to be encouraged in real life. But that's the beauty of fiction; they can do this, and we can enjoy thinking about them doing it, without anyone getting hurt.

  Also, please keep an eye out for the next story in the series, so you can enjoy the continued adventures. In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt from Stranger Danger.

  EXCERPT

  STRANGER DANGER

  Laurel Adams

  ~~~

  Semen seeped into the crotch of my panties as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep on the midnight bus back to college. On that dark and chilly fall morning, my wetness was my naughty secret, a reminder of my marathon orgasm session with my boyfriend and our mad-dash fucking session before leaving to catch the last bus out. It'd been risky. I'd just barely pulled my jeans on when my parents came upstairs to help me with my bags.

  But I loved risky sex. Going down on him in a movie theatre. Sexting in the middle of class. It made my boyfriend nervous, but I couldn't help myself. He was my high school sweetheart—a really nice guy—and I really tried to be a nice girl.

  But it took effort.

  As the nearly empty bus rumbled out of town, I could still feel my boyfriend's hands on me. I tried to ignore the buzz of arousal, but my mind kept replaying pictures in my head. Sex on the floor. Sex over the bathroom counter. Sex with me on top. Sex fully clothed, my jeans barely pulled down. The more the memories flickered in my mind the more intense the fluttering between my legs.

  I wanted to come again. Needed to.

  Biting my lower lip, I looked around me. The bus was quiet; I was one of only a handful of passengers and none of them were seated near me. The only ones I could see were sleeping. It seemed safe enough to bring myself off.

  I knew what I was about to do was lewd, risky and highly inappropriate, but, that only made me want it more. With my wool coat draped over me, I carefully unbuttoned my jeans and slid my hand into my panties. I was so hot and sticky that I let out a soft hiss of relief at my own touch—too soft to be heard, I hoped. My clit was engorged and slippery, and I shifted in my seat to allow my hand more room. I smeared the slickness of my boyfriend's cum all over my pussy lips and let my fingers circle and pinch at the hood.

  I was close, so close. Just a little bit more and I'd go over the edge.

  It felt so good that when the bus pulled into the next station, I didn't stop. I felt the lurch of the brakes, but didn't stop. Heard the hiss of the door, and stifled a moan. It wasn't until a shadow fell across my seat that I grew still.

  Fuck. A new passenger had gotten on the bus. Peeking through my lowered eyelashes, I could see that it was a man, older than I was. He had a backpack and a philosophy book in one hand. And though there were plenty of empty seats the bastard just had to take the seat across the aisle from me.

  He'd ruined my naughty adventure. I hated him. And his stupid philosophy book, too.

  He threw his bag into the seat, took off a pair of black rimmed glasses, then closed his eyes. He wasn't bad looking for a killjoy and an older guy. You just think so because you're horny. And I was impossibly horny.

  I'd been so close to coming that every part of me was throbbing with need. The temptation to finger myself was more than I could stand. I was eighteen—that age you think you can get away with everything—and once the bus was on the road again, quiet and dark, I decided to risk it.

  I admit, there was an added thrill to my fingers trailing lazy circles over my clit with a stranger so close. But hidden by my coat and rubbing ever so slowly, I began to relax into the knowledge I was going to get away with it. The stranger across the aisle would never know. It would be my filthy little secret. And I was loving every moment. It felt so good, and yet, it was torture. My pulse was quickening, and I tried to steady my breathing. But with only the slightest of movements on my part, I might hover here in arousal indefinitely.

  Then the stranger's eyes opened, and in the shadows, he looked over my way. My heart stopped. I saw him through half-lidded eyes, and I thought his gaze lingered just a moment too long. I grew perfectly still, and pretended to be asleep. I listened to the whir of the wheels of the bus, the coughs of an old man from the back, and the cries of a baby from somewhere toward the front of the bus while we traveled.

  Finally, he looked away.


  We were on the highway now, and the streetlights flashed by at regular intervals. I still wanted desperately to come, and that was evidenced by the fact that my slickness, combined with my boyfriend's semen, had now soaked through my jeans, leaving a wet spot between my legs. It made me desperate.

  Maybe it was this desperation that clouded my already shaky judgment.

  I started rubbing faster, harder, needing more intense contact. I could hear my heartbeat racing, but I was purposefully keeping my breathing steady, or trying to. The bus was now abnormally quiet, and though a light mist of perspiration dotted the back of my neck under the strain of trying to come so perfectly still and quiet. I was close, oh, so close again.

  But so was the stranger. I don't know what made me open my eyes. But when I did, the stranger was staring right at me through the semi-darkness. I froze. I casually closed my eyes again for a moment or two, and then opened them just in case it had been a mistake.

  It wasn't.

  He had the most intense stare I'd ever seen. Not vacant. No, it spoke volumes.

  He knew I was masturbating.

  I was caught!

  And before I could even turn away, he was out of his seat and slid into the one next to me. I actually yelped with surprise, not knowing what he was going to do. I made all the blatantly prejudiced evaluations one makes about strangers in times of crisis. I came up with the fact that he was a clean cut guy who read philosophy books, so I didn't think he would attack me. Instead of screaming, I just froze in shock and embarrassment.

  "Don't stop." His voice was rich and urgent in my ear even as the waft of warm breath from his whisper caressed my neck. He smelled of some sort of clean cologne and his manly cheek pressed against mine.

  My heart was in my throat, and I was so embarrassed I thought I could just shrink up and die in that seat. A lump rose in my throat. The pain of embarrassment was palpable, and I felt tears well up to sting my eyes. "Leave me alone!" The vehemence in my whisper should have driven him away. And for a moment—just for a moment—he looked like he might apologize for scaring me and return to his seat.

  But then something seemed to snap in him. He grabbed my left hand, the one that wasn't inside my panties hidden beneath my coat, and gripped it so tightly that I yelped with pain.

  Then he silenced my yelp by putting a finger over my lips.

  Now I was more than embarrassed; I was afraid. Desperately afraid. I was terrified. I violently tried to yank my hand back from his, but impossibly—he kissed it. "Don't fight me."

  That's what psychos and creepers always said. But then he put my fingers on his throat. I felt under my fingertips that his pulse was racing. I didn't expect that, and the moment was so surreal that I let my hand relax with surprise.

  "Can you feel what you're doing to me?" he whispered. "You're a gorgeous girl and watching you is making me crazy. Crazy enough that I had to get a closer look. So don't stop."

  My fingers on his pulse point combined with the kiss he'd given my hand confused my thoughts. I was also mortified. All I could whisper back was, "I'm sorry! Please leave me alone."

  He shook his head. "Don't be sorry and don't stop." This time, it came out like a command, and he still had my hand tight in his grasp. "You don't want to stop," he added, as if I weren't humiliated enough.

  Like a trapped animal with nowhere to run, I pressed my hot cheek against the glass of the window. The cool of the glass was a welcome relief to the heat of my face. It was as if I was burning up with fever. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that could make all of this go away.

  "Leave me alone," I murmured again.

  That's when he threw my coat off me and grabbed for my other hand—the one trapped in my panties. Without the cover of my coat, there was no hiding what I was doing now. My jeans were undone, and the panties beneath them seeming to glow white in the darkness.

  He had both my arms in his grasp, but I didn't scream. I'll never know why.

  I think it's because as afraid as I was, I was too aroused by him to struggle. Besides, he was so strong it wouldn't have mattered. He stared at me for a moment as if steeling his nerve then let my hand go and whispered, "Don't stop. And don't make me tell you again."

  My mind reeled with various emotions. The nerve of him! Who the hell was he to tell me what to do, and to make it sound as if there were consequences to my not doing it? Was he a criminal? I was so frightened I couldn't obey him if I wanted to.

  And some part of me, impossibly, did want to obey him. Wanted to do everything he said. Wanted to masturbate for a complete stranger on a bus, just because I could. The streetlights we passed would light up his intense and handsome face every so often, but I was in stasis, like a snake to a snake charmer, just staring at him in my abased condition.

  "Do it," he urged. "Rub your pussy. Finger yourself. I want to watch you bring yourself off."

  I felt more exposed than if I were naked before this stranger and I wanted to get away, but his voice was so enticing, his excitement was doubling my own. My mouth went dry. Then I could feel it. The lump forming in my throat. I was going to cry. I couldn't help it. "I can't," I whispered back, a tear flowing off the side of my cheek. I was barely able to force the words out over the lump of shame in my throat. "Someone will see!"

  It was a bit too late for that, and he didn't accept my refusal. Instead, he pushed my hand back onto my stomach and then down, following my fingers into my panties. I felt his warm, urgent whisper rumble by my ear. "I won't let anyone else see you do it, but you have to do it for me," he said, and shifted in his seat so that his broad back blocked the aisle. "You want to put on a show for me, don't you, baby? Fuck yourself."

  Oh, god. Had I agreed to this? Somehow I felt as if I had, but I didn't remember saying yes. Still, my whole body was screaming yes. It's not cheating, I told myself. Not to let someone watch. Not a stranger. I'll never see him again; no one will have to know.

  In spite of everything, I was more excited now than before. And there the stranger was, watching, coaxing me with his hand over mine. If I just closed my eyes, it might get easier, and so I did. Then my fingers disappeared into the warm folds of my pussy and immediately found the throbbing nub of my clit. It felt so good to touch it now that I sucked in air through my teeth. I was going to come right away.

  The stranger's voice came coaxingly from the dark. "Yes. That's it, you sweet little slut."

  Slut. I couldn't deny it. I was masturbating on a bus for a stranger. He was watching me get myself off. I was turning him on, and I liked it. I liked it a lot. And though he must have known how embarrassing it was, he liked it, too. Maybe he liked it because he knew it was embarrassing me.

  I rubbed small circles with my fingers and it made me crazy. My hips started to rock. And at the very moment I was too enraptured to stop, he took my free hand and put it on his cock. He was so rigid underneath his slacks that I couldn't help but grip it. I shouldn't have gripped it, but I did. I was too close. The extra arousal that having a hard cock in my hand made me buck my hips. Stroking a stranger's shaft in one hand and my own cunt with the other, the orgasm broke over me. My eyes rolled back. My hips jerked up three times. His cock jumped in my hand in tandem with my own jerking. I saw stars behind my eyelids as I strained to keep quiet, but I know my face scrunched with the effort, and I nearly drew blood biting my lip to hold back the scream.

  That's when he leaned over and started kissing me. I knew it was wrong. I knew all of this was wrong. But that kiss kept me from screaming. And, it was also electric. He kissed differently than any guy I'd ever kissed before. His lips were firm and demanding and completely assured. And I knew I should stop him; I had a boyfriend. I shouldn't be kissing anyone, much less a stranger. But considering that I'd already stroked his cock and let him watch me masturbate, it seemed like a pointless technicality now...

  In any case I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. He didn't let me. I was recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm and this man was devouring me in his
kiss. His hands went up under my shirt, and I didn't stop him. I didn't even stop him when his fingers slipped under my bra and his thumbs flicked at my nipples. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and when he finally broke apart for a breath, I was shaking all over. I was letting this stranger kiss me and touch me, and I couldn't stop...

  "God that was so fucking hot," he said, nipping at my earlobe. "You're fucking hot. You're beautiful."

  I was shy and soft now as I was never shy and soft.

  "You liked doing that for me didn't you?" he whispered.

  I nodded dumbly, and could not disagree.

  "But you want more," he said. "You want to do more for me."

  I shook my head no, but he didn't believe me. "Yes you do. You don't want to say so, but you do, and that's okay. I don't need you to say it. All you have to do is nod and I'll make you do more. Much more."

  And as if I was dreaming, I nodded.

  Read More…

  LAUREL ADAMS writes hot, dark, sexually transgressive tales. With her bite-sized stories, she likes to push boundaries and leave her readers tingling and titillated.

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  When her father is to be hanged by the laird, young Heather pleads for mercy. As a poor crofter's daughter, Heather doesn't have anything to offer the but her maidenhead—a payment Laird John Macrae is willing to take in exchange for her father's life.

  The laird intends to ruin her, to shame her father as punishment for his crimes. But when Heather returns to the castle to be debauched by the laird and his men, she finds that the laird is unexpectedly kind and protective.