Bought Synopsis:
One taste of Jerricho Black, Dom for hire, and Scarlet Bailey knows she’s made a big mistake. It's not the sting of his crop but the intimacy that makes her come undone. The threat made all the more real when her husband hires his services for the next forty days.
Wrongly suspected of a crime he didn’t commit, on the run and in trouble, Jerricho needs the money Killian Bailey offers him. Sleeping with another man’s wife is nothing personal, but every day Scarlet slips deeper into his blood.
Killian tells himself he is not worthy of his wife, not after she got hurt on his watch, and not until he gets his revenge. Now he’s hired a man to give Scarlet what he can’t. So why does he want to hit the man?
Sometimes home feels strange and a stranger feels like home … sometimes the only redemption you find is the one you bought.
Wrongly suspected of a crime he didn’t commit, on the run and in trouble, Jerricho needs the money Killian Bailey offers him. Sleeping with another man’s wife is nothing personal, but every day Scarlet slips deeper into his blood.
Killian tells himself he is not worthy of his wife, not after she got hurt on his watch, and not until he gets his revenge. Now he’s hired a man to give Scarlet what he can’t. So why does he want to hit the man?
Sometimes home feels strange and a stranger feels like home … sometimes the only redemption you find is the one you bought.
EXCERPT
She sat on the edge of the bed as he opened his bag and reached in for a crop.
Her eyes fixed on the leather toy as he moved toward her. Moving between her thighs, invading her space, his position forced her to spread her legs wide to accommodate him.
“Scarlet.” He called her attention away from his hand, away from the crop.
This close, she was forced to look up at him.
He raised his free hand to lightly trace across her collarbone, his finger drawing a line from one shoulder to the other.
Her eyes closed as her body trembled with an erotic shudder.
He’d always found the defined line of bone innately sexy. The hollow dips of the shoulders, the frame it made below her throat, such a rigid thing with such a fragile beauty.
Still drawing, he traced a line down her sternum, stopping to lightly rest one finger just above the valley of her breasts.
Her lids fluttered open while he paused, looking up at him as she leaned in to push against his finger, increasing the contact.
Wanting.
Nicolette Hugo Bio:
If love is the drug, sex is the pusher….
Nicolette writes erotic fiction with strong elements of kink. She loves exploring characters that move between light and dark in stories that bruise.
Residing in cosmopolitan Sydney, she lives on a love of indulgence, cats and corsets.
Always happy to talk books you can catch her on Facebook and Twitter.
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