If you loved the first Sexy Librarian anthology, you’ll be thrilled to hear that Vol 2 is out now (and work is apparently beginning on Vol 3). These collections are wonderful for dipping in and out of, as there are so many different stories to enjoy.
Here’s the blurb:
The Sexy Librarian, Rose Caraway returns with another Library of Erotica, just for you. From Torrid Literature to BDSM, Fairy Tales to Orgies, Clandestine Military Adventures to Bi-Curious Rendezvous, this adventurous, and fantasy-filled collection is here to turn you on. So grab your partner and peruse the card catalog and see which sexy story catches your interest first. This is your very own, hand-held library! Explore this volume of Erotica to your libido’s content.
And, of course, a sizzling extract…
When we fucked, we were thunder and lightning. When we fucked, we were the storm.
Daryl was better than any drug, any drink, or any means of avoidance. He was the best way to silence the world and ride the wave of internal shadows.
I stood there in the wet gravel, watching his shadow swing along the walls in the garage. My boots were getting drenched, and the rain was making my hair damp. I had to go in or go home. One or the other.
“Shit or get off the pot, June,” I said, using one of my grandmother’s favorite phrases for get it over with already.
I clicked the button to lock the Jeep, shoved my hands deep in my sweater pockets, and marched toward the open bay door. My feet crunched over the gravel even as my heart started to pound so hard I felt it reverberate through my body like a drumbeat.
I stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment. Tall, very tall, six feet five if memory served. Very dark hair, almost black, and bright-blue eyes that spoke of cool water in the middle of a hot summer. His lips were full. His arms long and tan, tattooed and muscular without being bulky. He didn’t have on his overalls which I found shocking. He wore faded jeans, slung low on his hips, and a sleeveless black tee that advertised a local dive bar. Cutting the sleeves off had been his doing; I could tell by the raggedy edges. His feet were in steel-toed boots, and that made me laugh. He might be without his precious overalls, but he would never work in here without the boots.
“I like having toes,” is what he’d said, when I teased him about them once. “Cars are heavy. Lots of car parts are heavy. Heavy things like to crush or amputate toes. I’d work buck naked as long as I could wear my boots.”
“I’d like to see that,” I’d said, before kissing my way down his body and taking his cock in my mouth. His hands had fisted in my hair, and he’d tugged so hard tears sprang to my eyes. That had been the night my father died.
Tonight, I leaned against the side of the door, crossed my arms, and lingered now that I was out of the rain.
It was his baby he was working on. A vintage Thunderbird in a turquoise blue. He’d had the car since I’d known him, though she was looking much spiffier then when I’d first seen her. He bent over the open hood, and I watched his ass in those faded jeans.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he said, still facing away from me.
I jumped, tried to strangle a nervous laugh, and failed. “Hey there.”
He wiped his hands on a shop rag and turned to face me, leaning against the grill of the car. “Hey there yourself, Junebug. How goes it?”
“It goes,” I said, shrugging.
He held out a hand to me, and lust—pure and untainted—lanced through me. That hand, that big, busted up, washed a thousand times but still stained from his work hand. What it could do to me. What it had done to me.
I went to him, let him curl his warm hand around my wrist, and reel me in. The breath left my lungs, and the anxiety I’d been struggling with all day left my mind. The world narrowed down to this place. A brightly lit square of garage on a shadow cloaked, rainy fall evening.
For more info check out the social media links
@theKMQ (Erotica Podcast where stories from book will be featured very soon)