She writes me back. I didn’t expect that. Tells me she’s a lover of chicken pizza and videogames, a hot sorority girl with the nickname Sloth. She wants to know something about me in return. She says I owe her. This is how she saves my life. She doesn’t even know it. We’ve never even seen each other. But I need a reason. Just one reason to continue. She becomes mine. The anonymity is good. She doesn’t need to know me, but I need her kindness. We both live our lives: a letter here, a post card there. For three years, I escape my demons. And then one day I’m pulled back in. I’ve resigned myself to what I know is coming. Until the girl I’m spanking gives her safe word: Sloth. And then the lie I’m living starts to unravel. -- Sloth is an erotic romance. It’s a dark mystery, so if you’re sad, go read another book. This one is real, and hard. Not that kind of hard. (That kind of hard, too). Consider yourself warned.
“What do you need?” He’s deadly serious. If I wasn’t already on edge, I would be now. My skin tingles. My heart pounds. My clit throbs. I leave my shirt on the bed—a necessary sacrifice, I’ve decided—and slide off the mattress. I close the distance between the two of us with one stride and press my palms against his chest. “I want to suck your dick first, Kellan. Feel you in my mouth. That’s how I’ll really know if this is worth it for me.” I can see the surprise on his face. The arousal in his eyes. He nods once. “Come with me.” He pulls me over to the wing-backed chair and sinks down into it. He unfastens his pants and tugs them down, revealing an enormous, straining cock. I give myself a minute to behold its perfect shape and thick, outlandish size. To appreciate the nice, big balls that hang beneath it. I think, if I liked him, I would definitely enjoy getting him off. “Kneel,” he orders. With a hungry smile, I do. “Put your mouth around me, and I’ll tell you how I like it done.” So bossy. I kind of like that, given what I’m setting up here. Boss me around, baby. You just tell me how you like it. I decide to tease him a little first. I try to wrap my fingers around him, and of course, he’s too thick. I encircle his shaft, just under the plump head, and feel him jerk a little. Damn, that’s hot. I run my hands up and down him, heady at the softness of his warm skin over the stiff erection. I can feel him take a deep breath as I explore him with my hands. The trick here is to be gentle: a light touch as I roam under his balls—he makes a delicious, throaty sound—and travel up his shaft, where I rub my thumb under the rim of his head, right there where it meets the underside of his shaft. I don’t know what this little hot spot is called, but when I stroke it softly, guys go crazy. Like right now. I feel his thighs tense as he blows his breath out. His hands tighten on my shoulders as I trace my fingertip around the rim of his head. I grip him with my other hand and start to pump… He grunts, hands clenching. “Fuck…” I pump his shaft and lick him there—one soft, slow lap at that sweet little indention on the underside of his head. He moans, and it’s too soon to give him more. Instead I trail around the rim again, exquisitely soft and light…a tease, designed to make him brainless. And it works. He lifts his hips. “Oh fuckkk.” He squeezes my shoulders hard enough to hurt. I twirl my tongue under his head…and open wide…and close my lips around him. Fuck, he’s big. I-can-barely-fit-my-lips-around-him big. I don’t have room to twirl my tongue around him, so instead I use my lips—rubbing them just underneath the rim of his head, which is pushed against my tongue. I feel him inhale. Exhale. His legs are shaking. “More.” He shifts a little, and I’m surprised to find he’s holding back. He wants to slam that big dick down my throat—I know he does—but he’s trying to be polite. The effort costs him, clearly. One big hand tunnels into my hair and tightens, pulling harshly as I stroke his shaft and suction my mouth around his head. He groans. My eyes flick to his face, finding it rapt and tense. “Your throat,” he moans. “Suck me…down into your throat.” I cup one hand under his balls and keep pumping his cock. I’m gripping harder now, stroking faster. As I roll his full sac in my hand, his hips tremble. I hum a little, just to be a tease. His eyes flip open. He looks wasted. Drugged. “Deeper,” he growls. I suck my cheeks in around him, easing him carefully deeper as he wraps his hand around my head. My eyes begin to water. He’s so big and thick. I’ve got his head completely in my mouth now, and I can feel the pressure at the back of my tongue. To truly take him in, I’ll have to open wide and gobble down his cock. I take him deeper, looking up at him as saliva floods my mouth. His eyes are heavy-lidded…almost shut, long lashes tipped down. I can see some color in his cheeks that wasn’t there before. His perfect lips are slightly parted. I take still of him and feel his legs spread wider. Fuck, they’re muscular. I stroke my fingers over his sac, and his cock rewards me with a soft throb I can feel against my cheeks. Oh yeah. He really wants this. Deeper and I’m almost gagging. I taste something salty. His fingers stroke my scalp. He moans and shudders. I’m deep-throating him. Go me! I shut my eyes and focus on relaxing my throat, while one of my hands grips his hard hip. The other strokes his balls, which pull taut as he settles deep in my throat. Tears slide down my cheeks as I swallow against his length and suck my mouth tightly around his base, until he’s thrusting those granite-carved hips; making me gag around his huge girth; rocking into my throat as he pants and flexes his legs and I suck air in through my nose. I look up at him once more. He’s beautiful. Perfection, really, even more so as he comes undone. His cock is so responsive. Swelling when I suction my cheeks around the base of him, leaking salty precum when I suck and swallow deeper. His fingers quiver in my hair and he starts snarling…talking dirty. Calling me his fucking whore, his cock-tease, slut, even as he slumps back in the chair, more swollen-cock-that-needs-to-come than guy. His body trembles as I give the best blow job I’ve ever given. “’M…gonna make that pussy…pay for this,” he pants. He grasps my breast and pushes further down my throat. So aroused… I’m surprised to find that even I feel hot and bothered. So it’s a shame what I’m going to do. What I must do, to ensure my safe departure, and also to get some insurance: a way to invalidate his story if he tries to set me up. I swallow one more time against his thick head—something all men seem to love—and focus my mouth around the base of him. I taste another drip of pre-cum. His hands, now threaded through my hair, curl into fists as he thrusts into my throat. He groans loudly. Grunts. I feel a flash of sheer lust, imagining his huge dick in my pussy. Damn, he’s close. I’m close. I realize with a bolt of shock that I am wet and throbbing too. And then, as I suck my cheeks in hard and grasp his sac, his hips buck; he spurts like a fountain down my throat. His body shudders mightily, and I marvel at the moisture that’s pooled in between my thighs. I’ve never enjoyed giving blow jobs, but this was something else. I stare down at him as I stand up. His eyes are closed, his head leaned back against the chair. But his legs are wide open—cock still mostly hard, his balls hanging without a care. His eyes peek open too, right then, confirming my hunch that Kellan Walsh is not someone who relaxes for long. His gaze connects with mine. I grin. And then, before he or I can speak, before another proposition can be made or another kinky phrase exchanged, I ram my knee between his legs. I hear him grunt, but I am on the move, grabbing my shirt and shoes and darting out the door, dashing down the hall and down the stairs. Down the stairs and to my car. I hit the driver’s side so hard it hurts my ribs. I hoist myself over the door and fumble with my keys. I’m cranking the car before I catch my breath, gassing it as my head spins. I glance behind me, half expecting to see his Sexcalade bouncing down the dirt drive after me. Half expecting to see him in my back seat. But…nothing. Nothing as I leave his dirt road. Nothing as I pull over to put my shirt and shoes on. Nothing on the drive home. Nothing as I contemplate if he was really what he said. If he really wanted what he said, or if he was simply playing me. Nothing as I shower, study, slip into my bed. And then my phone lights up.
Ella James is a USA Today bestselling author who writes teen and adult romance. She is happily married to a man who knows how to wield a red pen, and together they are raising a feisty two-year-old who will probably grow up believing everyone's parents go to war over the placement of a comma.
Ella's books have been listed on numerous Amazon bestseller lists, including the Movers & Shakers list and the Amazon Top 100; two were listed among Amazon's Top 100 Young Adult Ebooks of 2012. To find out more about Ella's projects and get dates on upcoming releases, find her on Facebook at facebook.com/ellajamesauthorpage and follow her blog, www.ellajamesbooks.com. Questions or comments? Tweet her at author_ellaj or e-mail her at email@example.com. Ella is represented by Rebecca Friedman of the Hill Nadell Literary Agency.