New Adult Multiple Genre Novella Collection
Stories by Laurelin Paige, Sierra Simone, Melanie Harlow, Tamara Mataya, Katherine McGee, Gennifer Albin
Available December 23, 2013
Six romance authors present six very different novellas in this anthology of new stories: Ménage a tango lessons. A bride DYING to say, 'I don't.' A horny college boy at a purity rally. Time-traveling graduate students meet Victorian playboys. A rugby player who's as dirty off the field as on. And kissing under the mistletoe with a Scottish exchange student. Something for everyone, the NAturals present sweet, funny, and erotic tales of new adults meant to be Unwrapped all year long and not just at Christmas.
Cherry Popper by Laurelin Paige
I Don’t by Tamara Mataya
Three to Tango by Melanie Harlow
Stranded at the Savoy by Sierra Simone
Try for Love by Kayti McGee
Unwrapping Liam by Gennifer Albin
TEASER FROM CHERRY POPPER
By Laurelin Paige
Her lips burned him in such a fabulously amazing way, her tongue stirring the fire he felt singeing at his crotch. Her touch was searing and exquisite, like a hot shower. Like sitting by a blazing fire. Like drowning in heat.
Excerpt that was shared on author’s fan page for CherryPopper:
Chase Matthews was in goddammed heaven.
When he’d agreed to tag along with his buddy Jared to the dinky little bar forty-five minutes outside of their college town, he’d thought they’d have a good time—shoot some pool, flirt with some chicks, use their fake IDs to get a couple beers.
He hadn’t expected to be crashed against the wall of the back storage room with the legs of the sweetest little blonde in the place wrapped around his waist.
The instant he’d locked eyes with her, he felt the mutual attraction. It had only taken thirty minutes of flirting before she’d made it over to their table. She was alone, which was the universal signal for I’m looking for someone to mack with. At least it had been where Chase grew up. He wasn’t taking it as a given. Colorado wasn’t anything like California where he’d come from.
For half a second, Chase worried Jared would try to pick her up instead. But then God intervened—or some divine power that Chase had yet to identify—and another smokin’ chick took Jared away to some dark corner.
And now here was Chase with Kira Larson’s legs wrapped around his waist and her lips locked on his.
Man, she tasted good. There was a faint taste of Amaretto Sour, but mostly she tasted of the cherry flavor lip gloss she’d applied and reapplied throughout the evening. Even without the gloss, he suspected she’d taste good. How could she not? He hadn’t been with enough women to not appreciate anyone who wanted to bruise mouths with him.
The things she did with her tongue… Every time she flicked it across the tip of his, his dick throbbed as he imagined it flicking across his crown. And the sexy little sounds she made in the back of her throat made his jeans even tighter. God, she was an angel.
He pressed her against the wall, relieving some of the weight from his arms so his hand could explore other parts of her body. The new position angled their groins more perfectly. It was both amazing and amazingly uncomfortable all at once.
Trying to ignore the ache in his pants, Chase distracted himself by concentrating on Kira’s breasts. He didn’t want to go too far and piss her off, but if he could just hold one of the perfect little mounds in his palm, he knew it would be worth it. He swept his hand down the side of her torso, then up again, this time a little closer to the object of his desire. Finally, on the third pass, he couldn’t take it anymore. His hand circled around her perky tit and squeezed.
Instead of the protest he’d half-expected, she moaned. Moaned and he was nearly exploding. That was all the invitation he needed. Within seconds his hand had made its way under her t-shirt and slipped under the cup of her bra. Had he thought he’d made it to heaven before? Well, he was wrong. Because this was definitely heaven. Soaring on the wind, floating on air heaven.
Then she said the magic words—the words every guy wants to hear when his dick is painfully hard and his hand is wrapped around her tit—“I have a condom.”
Sweet Jesus, he was going to get laid.
TEASER FROM TRY FOR LOVE
By Kayti McGee
But right here, right now, in the flickering candlelight, she’d show him how she felt one last time. Mischa stood on her tiptoes to press her lips against the soft hollow at the base of Clifford’s throat, his heart beating against her kiss.
Mischa’s fingers trailed over the cold, mossy marble. She tilted her head, trying to read the inscription on the decaying tombstone. It was no use. The engraving was obscured by two hundred years of weather and neglect. She held out her hand, and Clifford obligingly pulled her up from a crouch. She leaned into his chest for just a moment, unable to resist the temptation to touch him at every opportunity. How had she been so sure this was a one-nighter? Because he’s temporary, she reminded herself. Steel up. He’s leaving in a couple months. This is a really hot fling. A really hot fling with a guy I can learn so much from about painting. That’s all.
“Ok, this is why we brought the crayons and paper,” she smiled up into his chestnut eyes, ready to distract herself from the magnetic pull. “Grave rubbings. I use these in my art all the time. Here, you try. Just hold the paper over the gravestone, and rub with the side of the crayon lightly.” Her hand rested on his, and guided the pressure he used to reveal the words on his paper. Mischa wished she hadn’t chosen to wear her cable-knit fingerless gloves; they kept her from feeling his skin as fully as she wanted. Every touch seemed to spark in the chill October air.
He must have felt the same, glancing up over his shoulder at her with lust-dark eyes. She leaned in to press her lips into his soft, full ones. His scent was all spice and warmth, and she breathed it in deeply. The wind kicked up then, and carried it away from her, replacing it with dead maple and the particular smell of a cold front. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth gently. She surrendered to his ministrations just before he bit her hard. The paper fell from their hands to the carpet of rust-colored leaves as they rose as one.
The wool of her gloves scraped against the stubble on his chin when she grabbed his face to tug him closer. Her mouth opened in response to his. He gently sucked her tongue into his mouth. The pain and pleasure mingled, causing her to squeal in surprise. His fingers dug into her waist and pulled her tight. Mischa grew dizzy for the tenth time today. Forgetting to breathe was something she’d noticed being around Clifford did to her. She clung to him as their kisses deepened and slowed.
EXCERPT FROM THREE TO TANGO
By Melanie Harlow
For a moment, I thought I was imagining it. The touch was so light, and my skin was humming from the wine. But then I realized he’d stopped dancing. The only body part he moved was his mouth, and it was traveling up my neck.
“Oh, God,” I whispered. His breath was hot on my skin but it sent chills cascading down my body. “Nicolas…”
“I’m sorry.” His voice hushed and gravelly. “I’m getting carried away. But you’re so beautiful, and you smell so good, and you move so perfectly.”
“Don’t be sorry.” The words came out in a rush of breath. “Get carried away.”
He kissed each of my cheeks before slanting his mouth over mine, letting go of my hand and threading his fingers into my hair at the back of my head. He kissed the way he danced, with strength and intensity, but also rhythm and grace, his lips sometimes hovering just lightly near mine and sometimes pressing hard and opening wide. His tongue slid between our mouths, and a groan rumbled low in his chest. I brought my hand to his tight, trim waist and slid it up his hard upper body. The image of Valentina’s hand doing the same from behind him at the start of their tango this morning flashed in my head, and it turned me on so much I moaned softly.
“Caroline.” Nicolas’s voice was strained. “Do you want to go upstairs to my room?”
“Yes.” I pulled my head back and met his eyes. They were cloudy with desire. “Yes. I do.”
Racing through the bar, I grabbed my coat and purse while Nicolas dashed his name and room number on the bill, then he took my hand and pulled me through the lobby.
Oh my God, was this really happening? It was one of those moments where I wanted a pause button on life so I could just stop and revel in it. When I got to a page like this in a book, I could slow down, savor every word, then go back and reread, letting the tension build all over again. Plus, I’m not gonna lie, I really hoped people in the lobby would notice that it was me this gorgeous specimen of masculine virility was taking up to his room at such a frantic pace. It was me he couldn’t wait to get his lips on again—and maybe his hands and his tongue and his cock.
Haha! There! I said it! I want his cock!
Stumbling in my heels, I grinned like a lunatic, and I think I even laughed aloud as we arrived at the elevator. But it was just too, too good—because it wasn’t a book. It was real. It was me—me! Miss Caroline Peach of the cardigan sweaters and granny panties was on her way up to a hotel room on a Saturday afternoon with a sexy tango god who had an accent and a fuckhot body! Thank GOD I’d worn nice underwear today. It wasn’t the sexy thong Lucy would’ve had on, but they were cute low-cut boy shorts in nude, trimmed with a little black lace at the bottom.
Wait, would he even see my underwear? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe panty-dropping was too brash a move when you only just met someone.
But I would do it. I would so do it.
As we waited for the elevator, I jittered with impatience like a little kid who has to go to the bathroom. Nicolas squeezed my hand before leaning over to whisper in my ear. “I know what you’re thinking, Miss Peach.”
A blush crept up my neck to my face. Oh God, I hope so.
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About the Authors
Laurelin Paige, Gennifer Albin, Melanie Harlow, Sierra Simone, Kayti McGee Downey, and Tamara Mataya are the six authors who blog for TheNaturalAuthors.blogspot.com. They each write romance and adore pushing the boundaries of the genre. Above all, they love reading smut, looking at pictures of hot men, and making up names for the band they’re always talking about forming.
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