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About the author:
Are you looking for a story that would burn your cheeks red for shame if your friends, family, coworkers knew you had read it? I write that. Short erotica and erotic fantasies: you want ’em, I’ve got ’em! Have a look at my titles, beginning with my current series, A Fresh Touch. I hope you find them a thoroughly scandalizing good time! Disclaimer: all Janet Lynn erotic titles contain explicit material suitable for mature audiences only.
What inspired you to write your book?
I’ve always loved short, punchy sex-stories that capture the emotional and psychological as well as physical pleasure of tension and release. And who doesn’t love a good massage-parlour fantasy, right? That’s how ‘A Fresh Touch’ got started. Then, as I fell in love with the characters, it grew into a really extended tale of Hannah Tyler’s own personal sexual explorations, and all the pleasure and pain that comes with them (or cums with them…). This first installment introduces the premise, but you’ll have to read more to get full satisfaction 😉
Here is a short sample from the book:
“Somebody feeling a little ticklish?” he asked, the playful tone back in his voice.
“Sorry,” I said, chuckling. “My feet, yeah, they get ticklish.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Hannah.” Something about the way he said my name. There was no point denying it to myself anymore. By the time he had finished my right foot I was finally as wet on the inside as I had been outside.
A thought crept into my mind, and before I could think better of it, I asked, “Will you do my front, too?”
“Absolutely,” he said, moving back to get more oil. I took the opportunity to flip over, not bothering to cover my breasts. Let him see me for who I was. Anyway, they were holding up pretty damn well. I was only twenty-nine.
When he turned back, his gaze smoldered over my body, up my legs, over my belly and lingering a moment on my tits before coming up to meet my own. “Do you carry tension in the front of your shoulders, too?”
“Probably,” I answered. Come and see.
In an instant he was at the head of the table, fingers probing my shoulders, pressing in, brushing the sides of my neck, lingering gently when they dipped down to the tops of my breasts. “You smell wonderful,” he mumbled. Then it was his turn to clear his throat. I glanced up and saw that he wasn’t smiling anymore, though his eyes had widened a little. My oh my, did I have him nervous? I chanced a glance to the side and got a noticeable confirmation from the bulge in his shorts, which had grown and lengthened quite a bit. Laying there, not even moving, seeing him want me and seeing him nervous while trying not to show it—I felt powerful. And it made me even more wet. A gentle ache began to throb in the warmth between my legs. If I’d thought I had wanted him before, I hadn’t seen anything yet.
Again his fingers dipped down from my shoulders, making smooth, gentle circles, arching over just the top of where my breasts began to rise from my body. “You can go lower,” I murmured, doing nothing to hide the pure lust in my eyes.
“Can I?” His hands arched down a little lower, then lower, rising again and dipping again, moving toward the fullness of my breasts in tentative circles. My nipples hardened in anticipation and I bit my lip, willing him to feel them with his magic hands. His eyes looked nervous. Really? He’d seemed so confident before.
“Jackson,” I whispered. “I want you to.”