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About the author:
Everly Bloom is an erotic romance and contemporary romance author from Los Angeles.
Here is a short sample from the book:
It’s Sunday, the day when I put away the sweat pants and let down my messy hair bun. The day when I put on my Sunday best to go spend hours worshiping the fashion gods.
I’ve squeezed my ass into a curve-hugging knee length black leather skirt, my boobs are draped in a racy lacy black silk camisole, and I’ve topped it off with a cropped leather motorcycle jacket that gives the whole ensemble an edge of adventure. I’ve spent all morning fussing over my outfit and I’m finally ready to go.
I smoke out my eyes, paint my lips cherry red, and I order an uber. I don’t know how anyone functioned in Los Angeles before uber became a thing, it has seriously become my transportation lifeline.
As soon as my phone pings it’s arrival, I pop on my heels – black leather stilettos with those signature red soles to match my cherry lips. The shoes cost me a small fortune, and I’ll wear them every chance I get.
I’m out the door with my purse on my arm and my sunglasses covering my eyes. My outfit is overkill but I love it. Plus it’s Los Angeles, you can never be too overdressed or underdressed in this town. The rich and famous love their luxury name brands as much as they love their faded jeans and old t-shirts.
Today’s plan is to attack the vintage rock shop that a friend recommended I try. They have old punk rock shirts, bondage clothes, fetish wear, and I’m sure thousands of accessories covered with spikes and anarchy patches. I’m hoping to find a good pair of killer ‘fuck me’ shoes while I’m there. I love clothes, but my true weakness is shoes. My poor closet is stacked full of shoes I’ve never worn, but I don’t have the heart to sell them. I’ve hand picked and adore each and every pair.
The uber drops me off right in front of the shop, the sign slashed in bold red letters was easy to spot. The window display is barely decent, an orgy of mannequins dressed in fetish clothes and posing seductively. The central glass door is covered in band posters for upcoming shows at The Roxy and a stand full of free flyers sits inside the alcove. I take one from the top as I open the door, the motion jingling with silver bells to announce my arrival.
The smell of the air is musty – that familiar smell of vintage clothing. There are rows of leather pants and leather jackets. More rows of old band shirts, punk propaganda shirts, bondage pants, and various garments in a wide variety of tartan colors. The walls are stacked with leather shoes, rubber soled creepers, motorcycle boots, and spiked stiletto heels. Perfect!
I work my way farther in, finding the section of women’s clothes. Everything is trashy and absolutely scandalous. I’m glad I dressed in black leather, as it seems that leather, vinyl, latex, and lace is a running theme for the women’s side of the shop. I grab a few items in my size to try on. There is no way I’m leaving this shop without playing a bit of dress-up.
There is only one person working, an aging punk man full of faded tattoos, old piercing holes, and a face lined with the wrinkles of a life-long smoker. With an arm full of clothes to try on, I approach him as he sits behind the counter.
“Hi! May I try these on please?”
He’s clicking around on his computer, not even bothering to look up at me when he waves his hand toward the back of the store, “Sure. Dressing rooms are in the back. Knock yourself out.”
I try not to squeal my delight as I run-walk to the back of the shop, taking my stash into the changing room and quickly lock the door.
Dumping my stash on the bench seat, I quickly shimmy out of my ass tight skirt, shrug off my jacket, and pull my camisole up and over my head, stripping down to my underwear. I stack my clothes on my purse so they don’t get jumbled together with the shop clothes.
I sift through my scandalous pile, picking out a tight studded brazier. I unhook my black lace bra, adding it to my purse stack, and put on the brazier. It’s tight, the cups lifting and pushing my breasts up. I giggle at how high they rack my girls, my cleavage rounding practically up to my neck.
I pull all of my hair up and hold it messily with my hands above my head so I can get a better look at the top, but the mirror in the room is small and warped like a fun house mirror.
I drop my hands and let my hair fall back down again with my disappointment. I was totally going to take a selfie, but the mirror makes me look like an Oompa Loompa.
There is a bigger mirror in the hall, but that means I’ll have to risk being seen in these clothes if I go out there. Maybe if I change fast and step out, I can get a quick photo. I’m the only one here and the shop guy didn’t seem to care about looking anywhere other than his computer monitor.
I gather up my courage and slip my hips into a black vinyl mini skirt that ends just above the bottom of my butt cheeks. The thing is practically a glorified belt. I wouldn’t dare bend over, except that I have to put the boots on.
The door bells jingle as more people come into the shop.
My hand stills on the zipper of the thigh high spiked stiletto fuck me boots, trying to listen to see how many people have come inside. If I move fast while the new people are still browsing, hopefully, they won’t see me.
I check myself in the fun mirror once more. So much of my skin is exposed, my thighs, my stomach, my ribs, and the top of my breasts. I tug down my skirt, but it makes it even worse, exposing my thong underwear and the top of my ass cleavage instead of just a little bit of under-cheek. I’ll just have to make sure not to take a picture of the back.
I fluff my hair, grab my phone, and check to make sure all of my front lady-parts are covered one last time before I step out of the dressing room.
Swinging the door open, I stall in the doorway. Standing just two feet in front of me is a man. A very handsome man. A very familiar looking man. With my hand on the door handle, my brain tries to place where I’ve seen him before.
Then suddenly it clicks. Holy shit. It’s Jimmy Sharp.
Standing in front of me with his signature bad boy glare is Jimmy Fucking Sharp, his finger curled around several hanger hooks, the clothing tossed back over his shoulder.
I must be dreaming. Maybe it’s just a fan who looks like him? I mean, surely his fans must shop here to try to emulate his style. A man as famous as Jimmy Sharp wouldn’t be shopping by himself. Don’t rich people hire stylists to do that job for them?
But that stare is so spot on. It must be him.
His eyes narrow further, his brows furrowed and his lips press together in annoyance. His posture straightens and his muscles tighten, taking a step toward the now open changing room.
Oh god, he’s probably waiting to try his clothes on. There is only one room and I’ve been hogging it for ages.
I’m frozen to the spot. My legs are locked, and I’m caught like a deer in headlights, still standing like a dumbass and blocking the doorway. He looks angry, but even with a snarl upon his face, he is still the most handsome man I have ever seen in my entire life.
The perfect angry arch of his black brows would make a makeup artist jealous. His silky black hair is long and brushes his shoulders. His dark blue eyes practically glow in contrast with his dark hair, alarming and direct beneath thick black eyelashes. His lips are in a frown, but look so full and soft. His skin is flawless, lightly tanned and recently shaved. A silver piercing dots below the center of his lower lip. He looks like danger and candy.
Oh. My. God. It’s definitely him.
I’m lost in his glaring eyes. Is this really happening? Jimmy Sharp, the guitarist for the world famous rock band, Infernal Machines, is here. I’m surely hallucinating.
I can’t breathe. All of the air has been sucked out of the room and my heart is beating like a drum against my ribcage, my head feeling fuzzy, floating away.
He shifts, taking another step towards me, his scowl softening. He probably thinks he’s scaring me. He’s right. I’m frozen with fear.
I must still be breathing because suddenly I can smell him everywhere. He smells like musk, and leather, and aftershave, a smell so delicious it practically drops me to my knees.
Suddenly I want to get closer, to inspect those perfect lips, and to inhale his concentrated flavor. My eyes drop to his mouth. His tongue slowly rolls over the fullness of his lips, wetting them as I watch, his frown slowly curving up into a knowing grin. Oh, I’m definitely breathing now, my lungs drawing in rapid bursts of air, and I realize I’m panting.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Billy’s half laughing deep voice shatters the moment. With one eyebrow cocked, his cool blue gaze slides down my body as his words wash over me with a much-needed dose of reality.
What the fuck am I wearing? Oh, my god. My phone is clasped tight to my breast. I was about to take a photo of myself in this erotic rock bimbo outfit, and now… I can’t. It’s one thing to be caught dressed this way by a random stranger, but getting caught by Jimmy? I’m mortified. I can feel the flush of my embarrassment spreading up my chest into my cheeks. I’m turning scarlet red all over, I know it.
“Clothes?” I squeak out. Oh, Jesus, my brain is failing me. Clothes? Really? That’s my reply?
“Those aren’t clothes, babe.” Babe?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m wearing fuck me boots, a belt as a skirt, and a bra as a shirt. He’s right, these aren’t clothes, they’re more like glorified lingerie. I’m doing myself no favors in this outfit at preventing sexist comments like that, so I’ll let that one ‘babe’ slide.
I automatically cover my breasts with my arms as I cringe, making him laugh even harder.
Crap. I need to change, but… I still want to get my photo. Maybe if I let him use the changing room first, I can take a selfie without him seeing me.
Jesus Christ, I’m shivering. What is this man doing to me? I’m not even a big fan of his, I mean, I know of him and have seen his picture on gossip blogs, and I do like his music, but I have never been to any of his concerts. I’ve met other hot men without them bringing me to my knees.
I have to get a grip.
I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to clear the raging hormones coursing through me. Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and re-open them.
“You can use the room if you like. It’ll take me a while to get undressed.” I cringe again slightly. Somehow that statement sounded much more suggestive than I intended it to be.
I stepped aside into the hallway and look down at my toes, my blush escalating from red to fuchsia. Now all I can think about is getting undressed, slowly, in front of Jimmy Sharp. Could I be more obvious of the affect he is having on me?
He doesn’t respond as he walks into the dressing room and shuts the door behind him with a loud thud.
I blink rapidly as my brain regains its ability to function. Think Jenna! Selfie! Instagram! Move your ass, guys change fast!
I dash over to the mirror and quickly take a few photos of my outfit. I’m flushed and wide-eyed in the photos, but they came out otherwise perfect. I stand there smiling while look through them on my phone.
A tickle of warm breath hits the bare skin of my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine that curls my toes.
“Jenna… that’s a pretty name.”
I look up at him in the mirror, finding him standing over and behind me.
How did he know that? Did he? He did not just…
“You went through my purse?”
He’s so close, the bass vibrations of his voice roll through me. I’m falling again.
I gasp as one guitar-calloused finger trails a feather light touch up my spine. Goosebumps spread in the wake of the electrical shocks sparking across my skin, instantly pacifying my rage, turning me to putty in his fingers. What is happening to me?
“Take a photo with me?” he whispers, his body heat getting closer. His scent that I caught hints of earlier is now enveloping me. He could ask me to fly to the moon with him and I’d probably say yes.
“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” I curve my neck back to look up at him, giving him a cheeky smile. I wonder how often he’s been the one to ask that question.
He winks in reply, sending a deep throb to pulse through my core.
I hold up my phone to take a picture of us together. Looking at him through the mirror, he’s standing behind me, towering and leaning his upper body over me, like my big bad punk bodyguard. He must be at least six feet tall. It’s hard to tell. I’m only 5’3”. Everyone is tall compared to me.
His left arm snakes its way around my bare midriff, gripping the side of my hip. His right arm comes around the front of my shoulders, covering my breasts with his muscled arm. I’m wrapped in his embrace as he pulls me flush against him. I feel like I’m being claimed.
I’ve gone rigid at the sensory overload. I can feel him all over me, his skin touching my skin. I can’t move.
“Relax,” he whispers, dipping his luscious mouth down to my ear.
My body instantly obeys his command, softening to him. My back fits perfectly into the front of him. My head coming to a rest on his pectoral. I can feel his muscles, shifting with each pull of his deep breaths, flexing and tensing.
I gasp. I can even feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing against my ass. It feels… huge, and hard, and hot. I’m suddenly overwhelmingly aroused. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my core and moisture pooling with my arousal. I want him. It’s taking all of my self-control to not grind back against his hard cock. This skirt is so thin and so short, I can feel it, all of it.
In an attempt to distract myself, I hold my phone up and snap the photo.
The resulting picture is intense, the lust clearly apparent on my face. The combination of these clothes, our pose, and my wanton expression, the photo is practically pornographic.
Before I have a chance to delete it, Jimmy reaches down and tugs the phone from my hands, letting me go.
“Hey! Give that back!”
He holds my phone above my head, rapidly pressing numbers into it before finally handing it back.
“There, now we both have a copy, and you have my number.”
What? He gave me his number? I spin around to look up at him directly, but he’s too close. My body bends back to look up at him, causing my nipples to brush along his chest. My every nerve is already on high alert, and I’m stalled by the sensation, quakes of pleasure roll through me and my eyes shut as I inhale sharply.
His hands slide up my hip and back to hold the nape of my neck, the only warning I get before his lips crash down on mine. All control is lost. His mouth is hungry, searching, demanding, wet heat against wet heat. One moment we’re in the hallway, the next I’m being pulled into the dressing room with the door kicked shut behind us.
Frantic hands are searching, pulling, grasping at my skin. Our tongues dance together, feeling each other. His hands come down to grasp my ass and lift me up, fitting me to his hips, wrapping my legs around him. He presses me against the wall. My phone is long gone, dropped somewhere in the heat of the moment, my hands now buried in his soft long hair.
I rock my hips against him. I can’t help it. The pressure in my core and the driving need has taken over my body. I need to come.
Trapped by the fly of his pants, his cock creates the most delicious ridge as I grind my clit against him. My skirt is now bunched up at my waist, exposing my thin black lace thong.
My excited pants between our kisses turn into moans with each hard roll of our hips. My vision has gone, my body can only feel. Feel his mouth, soft and wet. His tongue, caressing and sweet. His body, impressive and powerful as it holds me up. His cock, rock hard as I glide over him.
“Fuck,” he curses against my open mouth. “I need to be inside you.” He pants between kisses. His voice is strained with lust. I’m not the only one affected.
“Please…” I beg on a gasp. I’m so close already. The idea of him pounding deep into me sends a thrill of pleasure that spreads from my throbbing core to the hairs on my head.
His hand reaches down between us, unzipping his jeans and unbuttoning the fly, he pulls his cock free. I watch as the moist tip greets me. I can feel the soft skin of his shaft between my thighs as the heavy weight nestles into my folds, pressing into the lace of my panties.
I groan at the near contact, my head rolling back against the wall as I experimentally roll my hips up and down him, the soft hardness of him pressing right against my clit. I’m so close.
“Jenna! Look at me.”
I lift my head and his deep blue eyes hold my gaze.
He reaches for his back pocket, pulling out a condom, and holds the foiled packet up to my mouth.
“Bite,” he demands, and I bite down on the edge of the wrapper as instructed. He pulls it, tearing an opening.
“Put it on me. Now!” His eyes widen with his impatience, his nostrils flaring with his rapid inhales.
My hands buried in his hair let go to grab the condom out of the packet, the lubricated latex safely pinched between my fingers. He tosses the foil on the floor, his arm returning back to my hips, holding me aloft as he shifts his hips back, giving me access to the full length of his cock. I pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down over the broad head and shaft.
Before I can revel in the feel of him in my palm, his hips rear back and my hands are slapped away. He pushes my panties to the side, ramming into me all the way to the hilt in one powerful thrust. He’s massive and he’s going to break me in half.
A desperate gasping moan escapes me, my pussy spasming around him as it adjusts to his size. He only gives me a few heartbeats before his hips begin to move in a fast pounding rhythm. His strong arms rippling and bulging, holding me up.
His body curves down over me, burying his face into my arched neck as my head rolls back with the pleasure of his cock inside me. I hold onto his hair, pulling him harder against me, my hips rocking in time with his thrusts, doubling the friction. His teeth and lips clamp down on my skin, sucking to the rhythm of his hips slapping against my wet core, fucking me hard and driving me higher up the wall.
He dips his knees and tilts his hips, adjusting his angle, giving my clit extra attention as it grinds up and down his shaft and bumps against his pubic bone.
“Oh my god…” I moan. “You feel so good inside me.”
He growls his reply into my throat. My orgasm is building, powerful and fast. My muscles freezing into place, my fingers letting go of his hair to grasp his solid shoulders. I don’t doubt I’m leaving bruises on his skin.
He’s grunting with the exertion, pounding into me hard and fast. It’s too good. I’ve never felt sex this good. My whole body quakes and convulses with the pleasure of each thrust. Everything feels tight, my pussy gripping his cock hard.
One of his hands lets me go to pull down the cup of the spiked brazier, freeing my breast from its tight confines. His hand squeezes the soft flesh as his mouth lets go of my neck to take my nipple between his lips, flicking it with his tongue before sucking hard on the sensitive nub.
My orgasm rips through me so fast, I’m too stunned to scream. My head thrashes wildly from side to side as my body convulses with the pleasure, my pussy bearing down on his cock.
“Oh, fuuuuck.” He moans, the tight squeeze of my orgasm triggering his own. He nearly drops us as his knees buckle and he rams into me one last time, pinning me to the wall. His cock pulses wildly, filling the condom with hot jets of his semen, my pussy rippling and pulling him into me as deep as I can get him.
Replete, he slides us down the wall to the floor, sweaty and panting. He sits back, pulling me onto his lap with his cock still deep inside me, my legs stranding him. The aftershocks of my orgasm continue to milk his for several long moments as we begin to catch our breath.
I reach down to feel him in me, scissoring my fingers around the slick base of his cock where he disappears into me.
His eyes dance beneath his heavy lids, looking into my eyes. His silky black hair draping down his face, the hard puffs of his breath swinging the strands in front of his mouth. His parted lips are swollen and red, his cheeks flushed.
I look down to where we’re joined. It’s so hot, just seeing us together. I could come again already.
I rub circles around my clit, right above his semi-hard cock, desperately working myself back up again, my hips swiveling in small circles.
“You want to come again, baby?” he whispers, his voice deep and hoarse. I nod frantically, unable to speak. His smile widens into a grin and he leans back, watching as I fuck myself on his cock. I ride him, climbing back up to the peak.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs as he reaches up and frees my other breast from it’s studded confines. He sits back up, his mouth sucking hard and biting down on the freshly exposed nipple. He pinches and rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. The double bolts of pleasure travel down my spine into my clit, sending me flying over the edge once more. Light explodes in my vision as the waves of relief and pleasure pass through me.
I inhale hard as I float back down. Finally sated, I slump forward onto his chest. He still smells so good. I nuzzle into his neck, my arms loosely draped around his waist, my eyes drifting shut. I could stay right here for the rest of my life and be happy.
“Feeling good?” he chuckles into my hair.
“Mmm,” is the best I can give him in response. I can’t even nod in response this time. Nothing works. Not my voice, not my brain, not even my limbs.
“Am I going to have to carry you out of here?” he chuckles as his hands massage my thighs.
I take a deep relaxed breath to try to say something, but still the best I can do is murmur, “Mmm,” before I drift into the black bliss of sleep.