Mister O, by Lauren Blakely
Publish Date: May 2, 2016
Format: e-ARC, provided by the author
Genre: adult contemporary romance
To Buy: Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Rating: 5 STARS
(Synopsis) Just call me Mister O. Because YOUR pleasure is my super power.
Making a woman feel ‘oh-god-that’s-good’ is the name of the game, and if a man can’t get the job done, he should get the hell out of the bedroom. I’m talking toe-curling, mind-blowing, sheet-grabbing ecstasy. Like I provide every time.
I suppose that makes me a superhero of pleasure, and my mission is to always deliver.
But then I'm thrown for a loop when a certain woman asks me to teach her everything about how to win a man. The only problem? She's my best friend's sister, but she's far too tempting to resist--especially when I learn that sweet, sexy Harper, has a dirty mind too and wants to put it to good use. What could possibly go wrong as I give the woman I've secretly wanted some no-strings-attached lessons in seduction?
No one will know, even if we send a few dirty sexts. Okay, a few hundred. Or if the zipper on her dress gets stuck. Not on that! Or if she gives me those f*&k-me-eyes on the train in front of her whole family.
The trouble is the more nights I spend with her in bed, the more days I want to spend with her out of bed. And for the first time ever, I'm not only thinking about how to make a woman cry out in pleasure --I'm thinking about how to keep her in my arms for a long time to come.
Looks like the real Adventures of Mister Orgasm have only just begun....
My goodness... Lauren Blakely does playful SO. WELL. It should come as no surprise - I mean, have you seen some of her videos? (Check out this one - the naughty puppet time theater is also found in Mister O.) I've read a lot of Lauren Blakely's books, and her fun ones are my favorite. And Mister O is most definitely fun.
I wish I could tell her that I want to be much more than her wingman and buddy. But if I tell her that, will I risk losing her as a friend, too? There's no answer key for me to follow on this count. I can read her cues in bed, but I haven't the foggiest idea what would happen if I told her I didn't want to be her teacher - I want to be her guy.
“You’re good, Nick. You know just what to do and how to behave. This is why you attract women in droves.”
I kind of want to protest. I feel like she has this impression of me that I don’t necessarily want her to have, but I’m not sure how to deflect this. “Because I have a gift?”
“That and several other reasons.” She waves broadly at my arms. It’s October, but it’s not chilly tonight so I don’t have a jacket on. “First, there are the arms. All that ink and muscle.”
She roams her eyes over my biceps. “I mean, your ink is awesome,” she says, pointing to the shapes and swirls I designed myself. The tattoos are abstract lines and curves, but inside them there’s a sun, a moon, and stars, because those were the first things I realized I was good at drawing.
“Then, the body. Mr. Men’s Health-I’m-so-fit,” she says in this mocking tone, but it’s not me she’s making fun of. It’s the article.
“You read it?”
“I read everything. I devour information,” she says, and we’re right back to that place I seem to inhabit with her, where she compliments me, but she could be saying it like I’m a car she’s considering buying. And this one has one hundred seventy horsepower.
“And then, there’s your face, and you have all this awesome scruff on it.”
I run a hand over my jaw, and the neat, trim beard that’s like an additional sex toy I can bring to the bedroom. “Chicks dig the beard,” I say, with a lopsided grin.
“I bet they do,” she says under her breath. She doesn’t say anything else right away. She presses her teeth into the corner of her lip and then speaks, more softly than before. “Can I feel it?”
She raises her hand and touches my jaw. My breath hitches as she runs her thumb across the light bristles. I’m keenly aware of every second that passes, one ticking into the next as she touches me, stroking my jawline like she’s mesmerized by the texture.
“Soft,” she whispers, almost in wonder as she stares at my chin. My heart starts hammering, and I fight to stay still. When she says, “But kind of hard, too,” I swear, I don’t know how I manage not to cup her cheeks, back her up against the stone wall, and just kiss the hell out of her. Kiss, touch, grind, and then some. I want to yank that lush body against mine, let her feel how much she turns me on, and find out if I do the same thing to her. The way her breath barely catches sends my mind spinning and lust spiraling tight in me. I can’t help but hope she wants what I do, and it feels like she could, going by the way she touches my face. It truly fucking does, and maybe that’s why her name takes shape in my throat like a warning.
So she knows she’s playing with fire if she touches me like this again.
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