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Buylinks above
Publisher: Cari Silverwood Release date: May 7 th, 2014 Length: 13,000 words Genre: M/f contemporary, alien abduction romance Cover Art: Cari Silverwood A parody of everything great and weird in erotic romance that could be stuffed into one book without it exploding. For some girls, one tentacle isn't enough. Having a bad day isn't good but when Virginia Chaste has a bad day, she gets felt up by a tentacle monster. If it simply has to happen, let it at least be a billionaire and a hot biker. Virginity isn't all it's cracked up to be and her search for the Holy Grail of Erotic Romance, the ten inch purple-headed schlong, may have finally borne fruit. Yeehaw! Playing hide the tentacle has never been so much fun. |
GUILTY PLEASURES BOOK REVIEWS:
"This laugh-out-loud, erotic parody covers everything from being a virgin to dead rabbits. She has fun with all aspects of erotica. From BDSM to shape-shifting, menage to voyeurism." ~ Kitty, Guilty Pleasures
5 Stars
"This laugh-out-loud, erotic parody covers everything from being a virgin to dead rabbits. She has fun with all aspects of erotica. From BDSM to shape-shifting, menage to voyeurism." ~ Kitty, Guilty Pleasures
5 Stars
Chapter 1
Virginia swept back her long, blonde hair and smiled as enticingly as she could at the man on the other side of the chain mesh gate. Her little, black dress was fine but the six inch, red stilettos were going to kill her any second. He grinned back, anchoring his fingers high in the mesh, leaning on the gate, and exuding eau de biker. The muscle of his flexed and tattooed bicep shone under the florescent light.
“C’mon in. We don’t bite much. Name’s Jace.”
She breathed in again, swooned, then swiftly recovered and slipped past Jace into the garage.
Eau de Biker. Mmm. Oil, leather, and beer smells always did it to her. Her panties had wet through in an instant.
But, she had a job to do.
The garage was dark, dingy and filled with testosterone-hyped, tatted-up bikers. They roamed across the concrete floor checking out the chromed bikes like a pack of thirsty, hungry snakes let loose on a Sunday picnic of virginal, squeaky mice.
She shook her head, knowing she’d imagined that with way too many adjectives. Sometimes her imagination went a little ga ga.
Past the knowledge that she was here to look for Cyndie, she wondered, ever so hopefully, if among these men she would find her holy grail – what she’d been saving herself for from the day she opened the pages of her first romance novel – the man with the ten inch purple-headed schlong.
Fabio with his flowing locks could take a hike.
“Whatcha want, beautiful?” Jace didn’t move from his gate propping position and the space on the floor left over from men, machines, and crates was barely wide enough for both of them. She craned her head back.
Tallish. Check. Built like a bull. Check. Were there tingles in her downstairs department? Mmhmm. Check. Her pearly gates had gone into override and the doors were ready to burst open.
His crotch? Over the years she’d developed a package bulge versus true schlong-length chart. The holes she’d had to drill in men’s toilet doors... But at least her carpentry skills were maxed out and she could now construct a bookshelf all by herself. Should she look?
Tongue on lip, her gaze strayed down his sculpted body over the oil stains on his T-shirt, past the splatters from spilled pizza, lower. Chest. Hips. She licked her lips but braked, restraining herself from venturing further. She didn’t want to seem too eager.
The gleam in his eyes said he’d noticed.
“I’m looking for my friend, Cyndie.”
“Don’t know the name. She’s probably not here.” He leaned in even closer until she could count the bristles on his poorly shaven chin. “But you’re pretty. You can stay. Turn around and spread your legs so I can fuck you up against the wire. I’ll get my cock in you so deep it’ll need a directory to find its way out.”
“That sounds...dangerous.”
“I am,” he rumbled sexily, like a waterfall that’s had a dam collapse upstream and is about to flood and destroy the village of peasants further downstream...many of whom are poor and in desperate need of medical attention.
She inhaled his delicious male scent again. “Why do you smell so good?”
“This.” He held up a small bottle. Eau de biker.
“Fuck. I knew it,” she whispered. “What’s the pay?”
“For wall fucking?”
“Yes.”
“Zero. But you get to be mine and we can have ten kids and though I may die early from multiple gunshot wounds we’ll never regret a single moment of our existence.”
“I see. Tempting.” She sucked on her lip, thinking. Cut to the chase. “Schlong size?”
His brows shot up. “Oh baby. Nine inches.”
An inch short. Her heart sank and she sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Jace. Ask me again tomorrow.”
The garage door wound up, creaking like an armored tank in the throes of having a baby tank by painful cesarean section. Jace ignored it. The burst of light through the door, from glaring headlights, made most of the men rise to their feet.
“Cyndie left this.” Virginia handed over the card.
Jace frowned as he read the back of the business card. He flipped it to read the front where a logo with a red octopus gripping a ship’s wheel was embossed on the luxurious cream.
“Says she went to the club house of the Sea Wolves. Not us. You got the wrong place, Snookums.”
Snookums? “I thought you were the Sea Wolves?”
“Nope.”
Car doors slammed and two men walked in, ducking under the mostly open door, shoving it up higher. Though both were tall, one was a head higher than the other, and wider too. His boots were... They were... Virginia peered. The concrete seemed to sink around the boots.
Light streamed in past them like it had a contract to announce the arrival of a pair of avenging archangels. Except they didn’t have wings and one of them, the biggest one, looked as if he’d fallen off the back of a truck, face first. And then someone had stapled a new wire-brush hairstyle on his scalp. If they were archangels, Heaven needed a new personnel department.
“Who the fuck are you?” someone yelled over the sound of the truck engine. “Rude fuckers. Ever heard of knocking?”
“I am Karl Thulhu,” the first, shorter one, drawled in bass mode, his voice assertive yet relaxed. “This is my helper, Dangerous Bob.”
Though he didn’t in any way gesture at the big man beside him, she knew who he meant since Dangerous Bob had growled, low and menacing, and not at all like he meant to sell cookies or break into song about daisies or tulips...or anything to do with being happy.
“Dangerous Bob?” someone jeered.
“You don’t want to know. He tones it down so he can fit into polite society.” Karl smiled.
With the brightness of the light, she couldn’t see his eyes but the smile was awesomely nasty. His voice was suave and educated but with a hard edge – he’d cut you without hesitation with an antique silver knife.
Dangerous Bob growled again, patently agreeing.
“So. You’re such nice people. I can see that. Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, it’s your turn.”
The bikers’ hands tightened on the baseball bats and wrenches they clutched. A few drew knives.
“Twats.” Jace chuckled, drawing Virginia’s attention back to him. “You said Sea Wolves. You see any ocean round here? A motor cycle club called that?”
“Not interested in playing nice? Listen, Furry Wolves!” Karl Thulhu said, just loud enough to be heard over the idling engine. “You’ve stolen my merchandise! And if there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s steal from me.”
“You’re the Furry Wolves?” Virginia couldn’t help sniggering.
Jace bent and picked a tire lever off the floor, the metal scraping on the concrete. Then he rose to stare at the two men. “You better go, girl. Things are about to get fucked up. Ain’t no one claims off the Wolves.”
A fight was going down.
“You want some?” A Furry Wolf member challenged, tapping a piece of lead pipe in his hand.
“Some what?” Karl Thulhu asked.
The entire garage full of Furry Wolves surged toward him and Dangerous Bob.
Virginia swept back her long, blonde hair and smiled as enticingly as she could at the man on the other side of the chain mesh gate. Her little, black dress was fine but the six inch, red stilettos were going to kill her any second. He grinned back, anchoring his fingers high in the mesh, leaning on the gate, and exuding eau de biker. The muscle of his flexed and tattooed bicep shone under the florescent light.
“C’mon in. We don’t bite much. Name’s Jace.”
She breathed in again, swooned, then swiftly recovered and slipped past Jace into the garage.
Eau de Biker. Mmm. Oil, leather, and beer smells always did it to her. Her panties had wet through in an instant.
But, she had a job to do.
The garage was dark, dingy and filled with testosterone-hyped, tatted-up bikers. They roamed across the concrete floor checking out the chromed bikes like a pack of thirsty, hungry snakes let loose on a Sunday picnic of virginal, squeaky mice.
She shook her head, knowing she’d imagined that with way too many adjectives. Sometimes her imagination went a little ga ga.
Past the knowledge that she was here to look for Cyndie, she wondered, ever so hopefully, if among these men she would find her holy grail – what she’d been saving herself for from the day she opened the pages of her first romance novel – the man with the ten inch purple-headed schlong.
Fabio with his flowing locks could take a hike.
“Whatcha want, beautiful?” Jace didn’t move from his gate propping position and the space on the floor left over from men, machines, and crates was barely wide enough for both of them. She craned her head back.
Tallish. Check. Built like a bull. Check. Were there tingles in her downstairs department? Mmhmm. Check. Her pearly gates had gone into override and the doors were ready to burst open.
His crotch? Over the years she’d developed a package bulge versus true schlong-length chart. The holes she’d had to drill in men’s toilet doors... But at least her carpentry skills were maxed out and she could now construct a bookshelf all by herself. Should she look?
Tongue on lip, her gaze strayed down his sculpted body over the oil stains on his T-shirt, past the splatters from spilled pizza, lower. Chest. Hips. She licked her lips but braked, restraining herself from venturing further. She didn’t want to seem too eager.
The gleam in his eyes said he’d noticed.
“I’m looking for my friend, Cyndie.”
“Don’t know the name. She’s probably not here.” He leaned in even closer until she could count the bristles on his poorly shaven chin. “But you’re pretty. You can stay. Turn around and spread your legs so I can fuck you up against the wire. I’ll get my cock in you so deep it’ll need a directory to find its way out.”
“That sounds...dangerous.”
“I am,” he rumbled sexily, like a waterfall that’s had a dam collapse upstream and is about to flood and destroy the village of peasants further downstream...many of whom are poor and in desperate need of medical attention.
She inhaled his delicious male scent again. “Why do you smell so good?”
“This.” He held up a small bottle. Eau de biker.
“Fuck. I knew it,” she whispered. “What’s the pay?”
“For wall fucking?”
“Yes.”
“Zero. But you get to be mine and we can have ten kids and though I may die early from multiple gunshot wounds we’ll never regret a single moment of our existence.”
“I see. Tempting.” She sucked on her lip, thinking. Cut to the chase. “Schlong size?”
His brows shot up. “Oh baby. Nine inches.”
An inch short. Her heart sank and she sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Jace. Ask me again tomorrow.”
The garage door wound up, creaking like an armored tank in the throes of having a baby tank by painful cesarean section. Jace ignored it. The burst of light through the door, from glaring headlights, made most of the men rise to their feet.
“Cyndie left this.” Virginia handed over the card.
Jace frowned as he read the back of the business card. He flipped it to read the front where a logo with a red octopus gripping a ship’s wheel was embossed on the luxurious cream.
“Says she went to the club house of the Sea Wolves. Not us. You got the wrong place, Snookums.”
Snookums? “I thought you were the Sea Wolves?”
“Nope.”
Car doors slammed and two men walked in, ducking under the mostly open door, shoving it up higher. Though both were tall, one was a head higher than the other, and wider too. His boots were... They were... Virginia peered. The concrete seemed to sink around the boots.
Light streamed in past them like it had a contract to announce the arrival of a pair of avenging archangels. Except they didn’t have wings and one of them, the biggest one, looked as if he’d fallen off the back of a truck, face first. And then someone had stapled a new wire-brush hairstyle on his scalp. If they were archangels, Heaven needed a new personnel department.
“Who the fuck are you?” someone yelled over the sound of the truck engine. “Rude fuckers. Ever heard of knocking?”
“I am Karl Thulhu,” the first, shorter one, drawled in bass mode, his voice assertive yet relaxed. “This is my helper, Dangerous Bob.”
Though he didn’t in any way gesture at the big man beside him, she knew who he meant since Dangerous Bob had growled, low and menacing, and not at all like he meant to sell cookies or break into song about daisies or tulips...or anything to do with being happy.
“Dangerous Bob?” someone jeered.
“You don’t want to know. He tones it down so he can fit into polite society.” Karl smiled.
With the brightness of the light, she couldn’t see his eyes but the smile was awesomely nasty. His voice was suave and educated but with a hard edge – he’d cut you without hesitation with an antique silver knife.
Dangerous Bob growled again, patently agreeing.
“So. You’re such nice people. I can see that. Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, it’s your turn.”
The bikers’ hands tightened on the baseball bats and wrenches they clutched. A few drew knives.
“Twats.” Jace chuckled, drawing Virginia’s attention back to him. “You said Sea Wolves. You see any ocean round here? A motor cycle club called that?”
“Not interested in playing nice? Listen, Furry Wolves!” Karl Thulhu said, just loud enough to be heard over the idling engine. “You’ve stolen my merchandise! And if there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s steal from me.”
“You’re the Furry Wolves?” Virginia couldn’t help sniggering.
Jace bent and picked a tire lever off the floor, the metal scraping on the concrete. Then he rose to stare at the two men. “You better go, girl. Things are about to get fucked up. Ain’t no one claims off the Wolves.”
A fight was going down.
“You want some?” A Furry Wolf member challenged, tapping a piece of lead pipe in his hand.
“Some what?” Karl Thulhu asked.
The entire garage full of Furry Wolves surged toward him and Dangerous Bob.
Copyright Cari Silverwood 2014. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.