And my blind date.
Unlikely Date, an all-new spicy single parent, contemporary romance from Amazon bestselling author Samantha Christy, is out now!
Tag Calloway is toxic. If you aren’t in his small inner circle of friends, you’re nothing.
An inconvenience at best.
And it’s just my luck that my first blind date—heck, my first date since ‘The Incident’––happens to be with him.
I’ve spent years hiding myself from men. From life. Wallowing in guilt and camouflaging my body.
I live for one reason. Gigi. The broken-condom accident who has become the singular light of my life.
Why did I let my friends talk me into this?
He’s the last person I should trust with my feelings. My body. My scars.
But when our night turns into something I never expected, common sense fails me and I fall hard, knowing this time, it won’t be my body that suffers gruesome damage, it will be my heart.
Read on for an excerpt!
“Let’s get it over with then,” she says, as if completely uninterested. “The next episode is one of my favorites.”
My eyes fall to her lips. The lips I watched spew words to two other men I wished were me. The pouty pink lips I’ve been imagining running up and down my cock for the last four hours. The lips I’d trade the Range for if they’d just whisper my name.
“Well?” she says impatiently, her mouth waiting like a question.
Fuck. I’m almost thirty goddamn years old. I’ve never been nervous about anything. I started my own business on a loan that could have bankrupted me. I double majored in college even though it meant pulling all-nighters and hiring tutors. I’ve slept with models, television actresses, and Brazilian beauties. Yet, right here, right now, in front of FlowerGirl529, my entire body wound like a bow string, I have fucking stage fright.
I clear my throat and set my drink down. I crack my knuckles and shift my weight. Her hazel eyes peer up at me. Waiting. Wanting. Maybe even challenging. And Tag Calloway never backs down from a challenge. I put a hand on the back of her neck and close the gap between us.
“Time to collect,” I say, just as my lips find hers.
Her eyes close, as do my own. This is a one-time thing and both of us know it. After today, this moment, this kiss, she’ll go back to being the sheepish flower shop owner, and I’ll continue being the CEO asshat everyone thinks I am.
Our lips brush together tentatively, the warmth of hers consuming me instantaneously. It’s nothing like I expected. Her lips don’t form a firm line, a barrier against which I’m not allowed to pass. Her mouth doesn’t stay shut. My tongue doesn’t have to force an entrance. Her lips part willingly and invite me inside. And when our tongues meet, it’s fervent, greedy, explosive; each of us fighting for something we don’t even know exists. Neither of us wins. Or we both do, it’s hard to tell.
I’ve never been a big fan of kissing. Now I feel it’s landed in my top ten and is quickly moving its way up the list. My cock protests to the order change and is reminding me painfully that he will steadfastly hold on to the number one spot.
She tastes of wicked temptation and sinful delight, and it has every cell in my body erupting with desire. With the way I’m panting, I pray the taste of cigarettes is no longer on my breath. It’s an invocation that’s never crossed my mind before now.
A mewl escapes her. My cock thinks it’s all for him and thickens further. I tell him to fuck off, her lips are all mine. He can wait his turn. It’s a turn he knows he’ll never have, and he’s pissed. He throbs against my boxer briefs, begging to be seen. Felt. Paid attention to.
I give into him, but only so much as in I walk her back to the wall and press myself against her. There’s no way she doesn’t feel my hardness through our robes. She doesn’t protest. She does the opposite and deepens the kiss, exploring my mouth and sucking on my tongue. My cock thinks it’s a preview and is happy with this. For the moment anyway. And this time, a sound escapes me.
She holds me against her, hands running across my shoulders, my back, even the top of my ass as she kisses me with toe-curling determination. I move her head to the side, exposing her neck, and let my lips devour her jaw, the supple skin below her ear, her collarbone. The peachy scent of her hair invades my nose, driving my want for her.
My hands cup her face and move along her jawline back into her hair as I pull her lips to mine. I expect her to pull away, say the kiss is over. One kiss is all we bargained for. She doesn’t. Her swollen lips part for mine, and once again, our tongues engage in battle. I fear it’s a fight that’s going to leave both of us in ashes.
I suck her lower lip. She bites mine. Our chests mash together, leaving me unsure if the thud I feel is her heartbeat or mine. Maybe it’s both and they’re beating in sync. Her breathing is heavy and ragged, her chest rising and falling as if she’s running a marathon. I should know. I’m running the same race.
I taste her again, sucking her tongue. Needing more. Needing everything she’ll give me.
There’s a loud noise in the hall, and Maddie pulls back. I want to go out there and kill the fucker who put an end to this. I take half a step back, staring down into her eyes as I wonder if the kiss rendered them glassy, or the alcohol.
“I, uh…” She ducks under my arm and walks to the mini fridge. She downs a full bottle of water before sitting on the bed.
My balls remind me they’re so blue they’re about to explode. I thumb to the bathroom door. “I’m gonna…”
Whack off? Take a cold shower? Fucking cry?
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About Samantha Christy
Samantha Christy’s passion for writing started long before her first novel was published. Graduating from the University of Nebraska with a degree in Criminal Justice, she held the title of Computer Systems Analyst for The Supreme Court of Wisconsin and several major universities around the United States. Raised mainly in Indianapolis, but also living in Lincoln, NE for a time, she decided to devote herself to family upon the birth of her third child and became a stay-at-home mom. It was then when the writing bug really took hold as she was a voracious reader. Being a stay-at-home mom facilitated her ability to follow her dream of becoming an author.
When she is not writing, she keeps busy cruising to every Caribbean island ships sail to. Samantha Christy currently resides near St. Augustine, Florida with her husband and the two of her four children who haven’t flown the nest. Oh, and her dog, Ozzy, who she worships and thinks is the most adorable Whoodle on the planet.
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