What happens when an aspiring erotica author writes the story of Drew and Rachel for a “how to write erotica” class? You get French Kissed, by Sammie Maxwell, that’s what!
Auto mechanic Drew likes the rough-and-tumble bad-boys, but lately, her spark plugs have been misfiring. Giving in to a blind date, she meets the sophisticated Ray for coffee after work. But there’s more beneath the Frenchman’s tailored coat of polish than she’s ever driven before.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of my motorcycle, I bit the inside of my lip. Normally, I would have been the one to go for the kiss. I swallowed. I really liked him. “Gorgeous n—”
Ray cut me off without a word. His hands framed my face before claiming me on the sidewalk. My lips parted, and his tongue slid against mine, his fingers tangled in my hair, holding me captive.
I explored Ray. The shape and feel of his mouth – firm but gentle, teasing but confident. He tasted of the chocolate mousse we’d shared, with a hint of the coffee he’d sipped. His cologne, sharp and musky, was intoxicating, drawing me in deeper without a word.
He pulled me closer, one hand splayed across my back. My breasts pressed against his chest, my nipples tingling—aching—for his touch. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss. Our tongues clashed, writhed, danced. A hand slid down to my butt and squeezed, drawing a low moan.
A horn honked and someone whistled from a passing car.
“It would appear we have an audience,” Ray commented, his breath hot against my neck.
I pressed my lips to his ear. “Let ‘em watch.”
Ray pulled back to look at me. “Come home with me.”
I pressed myself against him again, and kissed him hard before breaking it off and tracing a finger over his lips. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Sammie Maxwell writes erotic short stories and steamy flash fiction while the rest of the house sleeps. She survives on coffee and wet dreams somewhere in the US.