Random Acts of Fantasy (27 page)

I just became, quite literally, a screaming orgasm while having sex on the beach. I had turned into a bartender’s drink list at the hands of love.

“I love you,” I called out, my cries of passion hard to say, the words weak and unclear. Touch took over, driving us to our own climaxes, each separate but driven together, forged in my body, together.

Whatever I had thought this threesome joining would be had paled in comparison to the reality. The worry of pain and discomfort seemed childish now.

I heard them say it back to me, the words choked and hitched in throats I loved more than the moon – still watching – could ever understand. Sand dug against my knees and a sudden breeze made my skin go to gooseflesh, but as my orgasms subsided I rested, slowly, on Trevor’s chest, Joe still inside me. His hot cock beat a steady pounding inside me, as if he had inserted his heart in my body for safekeeping.

A great shiver overtook me as if too much sensation and emotion couldn’t be contained. Joe slipped out of me, and then Trevor slid me off him, both out of me and leaving me feeling abandoned, until they cocooned me with their bodies, resuming our heated connection.

Lazy hands played with my belly, my breasts, my hair, as the three of us looked up and greeted the moon with devilish grins.

“You know, I don’t need a place like this to make my fantasies come true,” I said, wide awake and in love. Trevor and Joe both had their eyes closed, and palm trees behind us made their faces blur with shadow.

“You don’t?” Joe murmured through a sultry grin, eyes still closed. His nude body looked like something from an art exhibit.

“No,” I said, snuggling in between them both. “I already live the fantasy, back home, without the island.”

“Me too,” said Trevor.

“Me especially,” said Joe.

Both of their voices were fading out from exhaustion. I was glowing. Every cell felt content, every inch of skin satisfied.

I was loved enough.

More
than enough.

And how many people can say that?

THE END

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For more information about the island of Eden,
check out our website
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Master of the Island by Lauren Hawkeye (FREE series prequel!)

Random Acts of Fantasy by Julia Kent (The Random Series, Book 3)

Yours Truly, Taddy by Avery Aster (The Undergrad Years, Book 2)

Escape From Reality by Adriana Hunter

Hydrotherapy by Suzanne Rock (Ecstasy Spa, Book 7)

Fight For Me by Sharon Page (Yardley College Chronicles, Book 3)

His Fair Lady by Marian Tee (Soulmates Series, Prequel)

Breaking Free by Cathryn Fox

Hold Me Close by Eliza Gayle (Purgatory Club, Book 6)

Queen’s Knight by Sara Fawkes (set in the Anything He Wants world)

How To Tempt A Tycoon by Daire St. Denis (Savage Tales, Book 5)

Dare to Surrender by Carly Phillips (Dare to Love, Book 3)

The Capture by Erika Wilde (The Marriage Diaries, Volume 6)

Rough Draft by Mari Carr (Big Easy, Book 4)

Blurring The Lines by Roni Loren

Return to Sender by Steena Holmes (Return to Sender Book 3)

Pleasure Point by Eden Bradley (San Franciscon Doms, Book 3)

Wild Ride by Opal Carew (A Ride Story)

Master of Pleasure by Lauren Hawkeye (The Island, Book 4)

Her Desert Heart by Delilah Devlin

Ivy in Bloom by Vivi Anna writing as Tawny Stokes (Hothouse Series, Book 3)

Thorne of a Rose by Kimberly Kaye Terry

Falling or Flying by R.G. Alexander

Elusive Hero by Joey W. Hill (A Vampire Queen Story)

Captive Desire by Sarah Castille

Delicious and Deadly by C.C. MacKenzie (Ludlow Hall, Book 8)

Pleasure Games by Jessica Clare (A Games Novel)


TBA by Jennifer Probst

Invitation to Eden’s other April Releases

Have you read them?

Yours Truly, Taddy by Avery Aster

The year is 2002 and eighteen-year-old Manhattanite Taddy Brill is booked on a Candy Land inspired photo shoot at the island of Eden’s Licorice Castle. Three famed French photographers working the set want her to be sexy and playful for the camera.
Sounds easy, right?
Not for this glamazon dressed as Princess Lolly—she’s a virgin. Luckily she jetted into this paradise with her two besties Lex Easton and Vive Farnworth for lights, camera and…candy?

Reader warning:
This stand-alone full length novel contains raunchy, new adult humor, sugar-kink activities with three men at the same time, underage champagne consumption and psychedelic drug use. It’s a trip. For fans of The Carrie Diaries and Gossip Girl comes
The Undergrad Years
, a coming of age prequel series offering readers a glimpse into the lives of
The Manhattanites
as they graduate from boarding school. Taking place a decade prior, each stand alone novel is cliff-hanger free and features a happy for now (HFN) ending. 

Escape From Reality by Adriana Hunter


When curvy single and struggling romance author Alana Saunders receives a mysterious invitation to spend an all-expense paid week on a tropical island, it’s seems too good to be true. Who is responsible for sending the invitation? Why does the envelope smell of dominant male possession? And most importantly, why her? With a string of failed relationships and a career on the downslide, Alana feels she has nothing to lose. But when she arrives at her destination, far away from everything she knows, she can’t help but wonder if she made a mistake. That is until she comes face to face with the incredibly handsome Cain Marks, a tortured stranger with dark secrets, and a man who will take without asking. With just one touch he awakens a desperate need within her. Before too long Alana finds herself caught up in a game of irresistible obsession, where truths are exposed, and the dangerously blurred line between fantasy and reality threaten to drive her to the point of no return.

Random Acts of Hope

A sneak peek of the first scene from
Random Acts of Hope
, the fourth book in the Random series:

Liam

The last thing I expected to find when I walked into the kitchen of this Friday night gig was to see eight vibrators twitching furiously on the tile floor in various states of orgasm-inducing glory.

The giant black dildo with huge, egg-shaped bulbous balls at the base was winning. A close second, the pink rabbit with the little clit extenders tried to catch up. Next came a two-inch silver bullet, flailing off to the right but occasionally making a giant leap forward. The other four, a rag-tag assemblage of peach and brown flesh-colored rubbery plastic, seemed to cluster around the refrigerator as if stoned, lolling about aimlessly after getting their hands on a quarter bag and a limitless supply of nachos.

Ah, yes. The famous vibrator races at a sex toy party. I’d heard about this from one of the other bachelorette party strippers, but I’d never actually seen one.

Check
that
off my list.

I assumed that would be the biggest surprise tonight as I hovered behind the crowd in my police officer’s costume, ready to “arrest” the bride and handcuff her to my partner Jack, the other stripper, who would then undress and pretend to get teabagged by her.

Yeah—I know. It’s pretty programmed, right? But that’s what the maid of honor
always
asks for.

And the customer is
always
right.

Tonight, though, was full of unexpected curves (
and I don’t just mean the women
). Because when I looked at one of the chicks on all fours, cheering that big old black vibrator to victory, I realized that wasn’t just any woman.

That was Charlotte.

My ex-girlfriend.

The one who cheated on me my senior year of high school, got pregnant with another man’s baby, tore my heart out of my chest while it was still beating and videotaped herself eating it topless, then uploaded to YouTube and made it go viral on Facebook.

Or something like that. Minus the videotape part.

A quick step back into the shadows and I evaded being recognized. Shit. Of all the nights for Sam to be assigned to a different party. Jack was my stripping partner and he was too new to do the job alone. Besides, he was a babyface and these cougars would eat him alive. Charlotte lowered the average age of the women in this room by five years.

Scanning the room, I took inventory of the bride and her friends. Second marriage, I guessed. Or third. You never knew once the women were over forty. That meant this scene could get down and dirty, because there was nothing hornier than a perimenopausal woman at a bachelorette party with sex toys, an open bar, and permission to get naughty.

Nothing
.

“The Determinator appears to be in the lead, ladies!” Charlotte called out. “And you can find the order forms for all the fun toys out in the living room. Twenty percent off on all the twelve-inch models,” she added, winking. The pink Rabbit surged ahead, making a last-minute sprint as my dinner threatened to come up.

My eyes were only for Charlotte, though. Four years had made her just get more luscious. God damn. Ass and tits that made the air catch in my throat and the blood flow south. Professional hazard, that—don’t ever get a hard on at a job. The women took it as an air traffic controller’s signal, like glowing lights pointing them to dock
right there
.

She dressed professionally, wearing a plum-colored fuzzy v-neck sweater that contoured to the swell of breasts I remembered so well, legs encased in a slim pencil skirt that embellished those creamy hips I could imagine naked with a flicker of memory, lips painted fire-engine red and that maniac-inducing fifties pin-up girl look that I’d dismissed as silly when the girls in college wore it—but that made her smoking hot.

Down, boy
.

God damn Charlotte had to be here, of all places.

And she had to be
so
fine.

“Ooooh, honey, you’re one big officer,” said a sultry voice behind me. A hand stroked my hip and hesitated before sliding a bit lower, filling a palm with my ass. “Arrest me, Officer. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

With one look at the source of the voice, my night went from
Oh, man
to
Holy shit
.

That voice? That hand?

That was my
mother
.

Pre-order
Random Acts of Hope
now, coming July 29, 2014!
 

Random Acts of Crazy

Read the first book in the series,
Random Acts of Crazy
! Learn all about how Darla met Trevor and Joe in this
New York Times
and USA Today Bestseller!

I never intended to pick up a naked hitchhiker wearing nothing but a guitar. A guitar. Really. I don’t collect guys like that (don’t ask what kind of guys I do collect), but when you spot a blonde, tanned, sculpted man with a gorgeous smile and his thumb poking up and practically begging you to stop—you stop.

And I definitely never thought I’d be staring into the bright blue eyes of Trevor Connor, the lead singer for Random Acts of Crazy, an indie rock star I followed like the slobbering fileshare fangirl I am. How he came to be nude and lost six hundred miles from home is quite the tale, but how we fell in love is even more unreal.