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About the author:
A traveler by nature, Lexx spends most of his time between the frenzied streets of New York and the slower pace of New Orleans’ Vieux Carré. When not exploring the sensual psyche through his writing, he can usually be found honing his skills in the kitchen or working alongside charitable organizations to promote literacy and tolerance—two causes not only reflected in his work but forever dear to his heart.
Here is a short sample from the book:
I drew my fingertips across the cold, hard glass, imagining the warmly receptive skin just beyond my reach. Her blouse hugged every curve in crimson, with a deeply plunging collar which instantly removed any worries that this second encounter might be an accidental one. This time, she kept her thick hair pulled back tightly, offering me the opportunity to whimper unabashedly once she unleashed it to cascade freely down her body.
In some small way, though I suppose it made no practical difference, the simple knowledge that this performance belonged entirely to me made every sensual gesture that much more intimate and all the more excruciating. But while I basked in the seduction, it became increasingly apparent that there was more to the shift in energy than wishful thinking could account for. She moved with far greater flirtatious assertion than her demeanor allowed that first night, perhaps even flashing a bit of cockiness as she spun from the glass, shot a wicked smile over her shoulder and dropped the blouse teasingly down her spine.
She had me eating out of her hand. And she was eating it up. I have no doubt she could tell how desperately I wanted her to turn back and face me, and I think that’s precisely what kept her from doing so, instead running her hands over unattainable flesh while I settled for a smirking profile.
With my predecessor gone, it seemed the subordinate had become the superior, and the game was now hers to manipulate at her pleasure. No spoken goodbyes, no shedding of tears, just another warm body to replace the departed and a readjustment of roles accordingly. God, I loved my job.
Slithering from the confines of a tight skirt, she turned slowly back toward the window to show off every angle of her matching lingerie, this time jet black. It would seem the virginal good girl went the way of her previous audience, granting me some quality time with her other side.
Funny how she now stood before the same old window as an entirely new sensual being. As strongly as she once projected delight in the vulnerability of exposure, she now unclasped her bra with an equal affinity for power, rolling back her shoulders to shed each delicate strap and allowing her breasts to fall free. Almost immediately, her forearms crossed against her stomach, replacing the fallen lace with a spread of lithe, red-tipped fingers over each perfect handful. She lifted her right index finger only slightly from her heart and wiggled it in mocking disdain, sparking an instant rush of empathy for those poor opposing counsel who bravely sacrificed their dignity in prior negotiations with this woman.
Turning away once more, she lowered her hands and slipped each thumb into the elastic band at her waist. She then twisted the knife a little deeper with a subtle bend at the hips which left me perfectly aligned with the small of her back. Breathing a bit more heavily, I stared up the length of her spine and sighed, longing so desperately to pull that tangled mess of hair.
She was perfect, and she was cruel. The welling compulsion to conquer, to devour, all of it tortured without mercy as I stood so close to digging my fingers into that waist and driving myself into her essence—if not for the few dozen feet of open space between us and the plunge to certain death. Honestly, the longer she wriggled with panties around her ankles, the more willing I became to risk it.
Finally, she rose and turned to unveil herself fully, temporarily putting me out of my misery before increasing it exponentially. She stood on full display, her eyes cast downward to the floor and arms outstretched to allow an unhampered appreciation of my seductress. A rogue brunette wave escaped her left shoulder and tapered downward, drawing my eyes from her neckline to the delicate curves of her chest. There I lingered, as she no doubt expected, caressing every inch in my mind. The gentle fold of her left knee in front of the right took me lower still, following her abdomen’s natural slope to a tight valley between powder-soft thighs.
I widened my gaze again to soak in her entirety. Her enticing pose bore some reminiscence to a sensual crucifixion, lending a slight sense of the macabre to the already dark nature of our connection. And yet, the body itself was nothing short of heavenly—a truth that somehow managed to deepen the discomfort. But then, I’m a lawyer. What do I know about heaven?
After a generously lengthy exhibition that lasted far too short a time, she pivoted on her heels and moved to the interior of the room, leaving the stage behind with a classically European sashay that so few American women have ever truly mastered.
Obscured in the distance, she circled her desk and rolled her chair aside, leaning forward over the hard wood surface and arching her back as if to tease an imaginary lover poised enviably behind her. Running her tongue slowly across her lips and throwing back her head like a woman suddenly impaled on raw animal pleasure, she opened those devastating eyes and pointed a single finger out into the night, mouthing two distinct syllables before extinguishing her lamp.