Series: A Sunday Series Standalone
Author: Noell Mosco
Cover Designer: Susan Garwood with Wicked Women Designs
Release Date: May 1, 2017
Caroline Bordalon has a career, volunteers, has good friends...essentially has it all. She's an independent woman in her thirties, and, much to her mother's dismay, is single. Love isn't on her radar until she meets him.
For Avis Torres, music has been his longest relationship. He, with Cole Clarke and Gunner Kinney, makes up the band Sunday Told A Secret. They've taken the music world by storm, and stormy has their path been. Avis has notoriously been dubbed the band's playboy, a title he wears proudly. Why should he limit himself to one person when there's so many people in the world willing to give themselves to him?
Since relocating from L.A. to Pittsburgh, Avis has tamed his wild ways, for the most part. The band has taken on a mellower vibe and now that Avis sees Cole and Gunner settling into their lives, he can't help but feel as though he wants more than just a string of one-night lovers and to put a stop to his desires of drinking his desperation into oblivion. Caroline and Avis meet in an unconventional way. She's everything he never knew he wanted, from her southern Louisiana drawl to her honey-sweet innocence.
There's an instant fascination with Ms. Bordalon that Avis can't shake. That, combined with his ambitious plans to fall in love, drives Avis to be consistent, charming, and monogamous. But Caroline has secrets. Secrets that might be too much for Avis to accept.
LOUD is now part of a growing series! This sexy standalone can be read on its own, or readers can choose to broaden their Sunday Told A Secret horizons by reading about Cole Clarke in THE OTHER WOMAN.
“Now, babe, you know I don’t do the whole relationship or girlfriend thing…” I uttered through clenched teeth and deeply hooded eyes. My hands tangled all through her hair and my fingers gripped her stands as she sucked on me just a little harder.
She hummed a response that had me nearly plowing my load directly down her throat without so much as a warning. This girl—fuck—she was talented with her mouth. It was a shame I didn’t do repeats. That was a luxury of being me. I was Avis Torres, bass guitarist for Sunday Told A Secret. I didn’t need repeats. I could have a fresh fuck every-goddamned-night of the week if I wanted. Oh, and I wanted. Who wouldn’t?
There was no stopping it now. My hips started to move with her bobbing head and my regard for the well-being of her gag reflex was obsolete. The release that basically issued me no pleasure came and went in a few seconds. For getting so much ass, I was ashamed that I didn’t last longer.
She gave me a smile when she looked up at me, like I should be proud of her because she swallowed. I felt nothing. My insides were empty, my brain was empty, my heart was empty. Long gone were the days when I actually felt something, anything toward these random chicks. My chest was like a barren desert, with dried up cracks in the surface and hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were tumbleweeds that blew around from time to time.
Faking it was my specialty though, so I plastered an insincere grin on my face and affectionately caressed the side of her cheek. “That was great, babe. Great. Really great.” My monotonous tone should have given away my true feelings, but she was either an idiot or vapid. Or both.
“Can you rally?” she asked as she stood up, getting at my eye level. I noticed the name tag on her shirt—Bronlynne—as I appreciated the stretch of the fabric as it pulled tightly across her chest. “I have ten minutes left of my break.”
Yes, I was in a restaurant. Yes, I was in a storage closet in the back room of said restaurant. Yes, my waitress had just managed to suck me off in under five minutes. Could I rally? Probably not. I wasn’t twenty-five anymore. Maybe ten years ago I could’ve had the world’s best blow job and then immediately turned around to fuck the blow-job-giver. But it wasn’t ten years ago. Maybe because I was a famous musician, people thought I had a miracle turn-around rate. Christ, I needed a drink.
“If you would’ve stopped a minute sooner, I’d make these ten minutes a break you’d never forget, but I just can’t reload that fast, babe.”
She shrugged her shoulders with indifference, then she gave me another smile as she unbuttoned her pants. That smile of hers was naughty. She reached for my hand and I let her do whatever she wanted with it because my curiosity piqued. She took my middle finger into her mouth. That tongue of hers swirled all around. Hot Christ. She was a dirty thing. She had no idea where my hand, let alone my finger, had been, and yet she sucked on it anyway. Maybe I’d be able to rally after all.
“Let’s see how talented these fingers are, Mr. Torres,” she purred, her voice oozing with desire. With that, she guided my hand into her pants, right to where she needed it.
We both gasped at my contact. She was bare under her panties and she must have been one of those chicks that got super turned on by giving a BJ. My middle finger slid inside of her with relative ease and she urged me to fuck her with it. It was then I knew this wasn’t her first romp in the storage closet.
She held onto my wrist, pressing me to dig into her deeper. She was hot and silky. It was a teenage guy’s wet dream and her voice in my ear had my mouth salivating. I resisted the odd desire to kiss her because I didn’t kiss women. My wasteland of a soul perked up for a second, but then my so-called talented fingers worked their magic. She broke apart and I felt her clench around me. I could tell she throated a loud scream, not wanting to bring attention to our closet.
After her breathing started to return to normal, she pulled my hand out of her pants and sucked her juice from my fingers. I might have moaned. Fuck. I couldn’t remember.
“For the record,” she said once she buttoned her pants and straightened her hair, “I’m not looking to be anyone’s girlfriend. I was just horny and you’re hot.”
Holy cock tease. Rally indeed. My pants felt unnaturally tight as she flashed me a quick smile and twisted the doorknob to the closet.
Moving faster than I thought I could, I snatched her wrist in my hand and pulled her to me, my face mere inches from hers. “What time are you off?” I asked, my brain offering a reprieve from the numbness it usually felt.
“I close tonight. I’ll be done at midnight,” she said, fighting a smirk.
Boldly, I reached toward her chest and pinched at one of her breasts, expertly finding her nipple. She gasped with a sexy inhale and her eyes immediately lingered on my mouth. “You’re taking me home with you. I’m not done with you yet. That dirty mouth and hot tongue of yours will worship my cock again and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll scream until your throat bleeds. You down for that?”
She gulped as she absorbed my words. Fuck. She couldn’t be older than twenty-two. Sure, she sucked some good cock and knew she liked getting finger-fucked, but could she handle all of me? Her eyes widened a bit. If she didn’t want me, she shouldn’t have been such a goddamned little tease.
“Can I bring a friend?” she asked.
Hot fucking Christ. This woman might kill me tonight…and I couldn’t fucking wait to die.
Noell Mosco is a thirty-something-year-old who lives in southwestern Pennsylvania, born and raised. A country girl at heart, she currently resides in a suburb outside of Pittsburgh with her husband and three furbabies. Writing has been one of Noell’s passions since she was young, completing her first “book” at age eleven. Her full-time day job as a physical therapist means she is compassionate, which allows her to follow-up with her second biggest passion--traveling the world. Noell reluctantly admits to having a strong love of wine, though her poison of choice is generally expensive tequila.
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