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About the author:
Cynthia Rayne is the author of the Amazon best-selling Four Horsemen MC series. Her first erotic book was written when she was thirteen. Of course, the most risqué scene involved kissing, but it was the talk of her middle school! She is currently pursuing a doctoral degree in education and writes whenever she can. In her spare time, she enjoys dating, shopping, reading way too many romance novels, and drinking a truly obscene amount of coffee.
Here is a short sample from the book:
John Saxon never remembered their names.
Not that he really wanted to get invested in the women he, er, patronized. It was a business transaction, nothing more. Flesh and filthy lucre. The last thing he wanted was something personal. Intimate.
Now that would be a real betrayal of his wife’s trust.
The woman standing across the room from him made a great show of removing her black designer suit. Most working girls dressed as if they were businesswomen. The disguise made it much easier to glide past the hotel’s front desk. With her back to him, Lori seductively slipped the jacket from her narrow shoulders, revealing the silky lingerie beneath. Or was it Lily?
She wore a black bustier and teeny tiny matching panties with lace stockings. Linda winked at him as she brushed her bleached blonde hair to one side and seductively shimmied the black flared skirt down past her supple thighs. It dropped lower and lower until it formed an ebony pool at her feet. She deliberately took a long time, showing off her tanned ass cheeks and the pink pussy lips underneath the see-through fabric.
Lila was gorgeous. He recognized that on an aesthetic level, but she was much too thin, not his type at all. When he’d glanced at her photo on the Pandora’s Box website, she appeared to be a bit larger. Shapelier. Skinny wasn’t his usual beat. No, he preferred women with full asses, luscious thighs, and big, full breasts. Like his wife, Maggie. But he was here, alone, with a woman who indulged his desires. For a price. So he wouldn’t let the hotel suite go to waste.
Laura turned, lowered her eyes and walked toward him on very high patent-leather heels that clicked on the parquet floor. She wore a light citrus-scented cologne, which tickled his nose. Sure sign of a pro. No telltale overtly feminine perfume that might be carried on a man’s clothes back to his wife. No lipstick that could be kissed off either, just a light-pink gloss.
Not that he had to worry about a suspicious wife at home. Maggie hadn’t lived with him in nearly two months. This transaction with Lola was a poor substitute.
Laura lowered her voice and spoke in such an affected throaty whisper. It nearly caused a burble of hysterical laughter to erupt from his lips. “I’ve been such a bad girl, sir. I need a good, hard spanking.” Although his cock didn’t have a sense of humor, it stood at attention.
Bloody fucking hell.