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“I don't force women to my bed, Danica." I shivered. Something about going back to the use of my full name had my skin tight, my breath bated at the sight of his feral grin. "They come willingly, and begging." "And is that something you want?" I was playing a dangerous game, egging on an actual dragon. A lesser shifter would have pounced on the teasing, the taunting between us, long ago. Not Ryker; he had all the time and patience in the world to play the games I'd been playing with him. "I can unveil the mark tonight if you want, but we both know it's already there between us. Everything after that can come as slowly as you need it to; in the end I already know you'll find your way to me as it was intended. I offer you my everything, Dani. My wings, my strength, my soul." He leaned down, his lips pulled into an amused curve as he rumbled in my ear. "My cock, if you think you're ready to cross that line and have me fuck you until you forget your own name.”

Quote by Sabrina Blackburry

Book:Dirty Lying Dragons
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Dirty Lying Dragons

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“Her delicate, nimble fingers stroked across his stomach muscles. He sucked in a breath, words deserting him. She pushed his shirt up his chest, her hands immediately going back to sweeping across his stomach, sending heat streaking through him. "Ooh, someone's been working out. You feel so good," she murmured. "I bet you taste even better." "Sloane." Instead of the semi-warning tone he was going for, his voice broke off in a quiver as she lowered her mouth. The first touch of her lips on his abdomen sent his pulse skyrocketing. "I was right. You taste so good." She lifted her glittering eyes. "Let me play." This was her party. She was feeling good. He wanted to flip their bodies and taste every inch of her body, but she wanted this. And he wanted whatever she wanted. He nodded, since talking was beyond him at the moment. He sat up to whip his shirt over his head, then returned to his prone position. He was immediately rewarded with her mouth on his neck. "You have the best Adam's apple," she murmured. "I've lusted after it for over a decade." His laughter turned into a moan when her lips and hands continued exploring. "The veins in your forearms turn me on," she whispered. "I command you to wear dress shirts every day and then as soon as you see me, roll up your sleeves very slowly, so I can lust after them in public." "Got it.”

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Book:A Legend in the Baking
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“I want to move." Delicately shaking, slickly sweating, I strain against Macon's bulk. It's no use; he has me pinned to the chair, his cock thick and pulsing deep inside. And not fucking moving. He grins down at me, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his flushed face. "Not yet." Slowly, too damn slowly, he circles his hips, stretching me, making me ache. "I need to come," I whisper. Whine. Plead. It's all the same. Every inch of me throbs. Pleasure is a tightly drawn bow within, and I need that snap of release. His grin fades, replaced by intention. "You will. When I'm ready." "Sadist." He nips my earlobe. "You love it." I shudder as that glorious dick of his eases out, making me feel every hard inch, only to slowly push back in. Too fucking slowly. I'm writhing on him, and he loves it. Dark eyes glint as he works me. Naked in the sun and sprawled on an armchair that barely holds us, he's been fucking me with a steady deliberation designed to drive me out of my mind. And though I'm a pleading, panting mess, I love it too. God, he's gorgeous. Endless muscle and tan skin beaded with sweat, flush from exertion. His expression is slack, hazy with lust. It sends licks of pleasure along my skin. Panting, I reach up and touch his jaw, trying to draw him near. He complies, dipping his head. Our mouths meet in a lazy, deep kiss, an exchange of air, messy exploration of lips and tongues. He groans, shivering. Not unaffected. Just so very good at torturing me. In. Out. Pull. Push. "Macon," I whisper into his mouth. "Please. Fuck me." He freezes, and then with another groan, all that power and need breaks free. I can only hold on as he goes hard and deep. The chair scrapes along the floor as he pounds into me. Every thrust impacts my swollen, sensitive sex. Pleasure builds and builds until I'm keening, my eyes closed as though I can somehow hang on to the feeling forever. But it breaks over me in a shimmering wave. Macon's teeth clamp down on the meaty curve of my neck, not hard but holding me there as his thrusts turn rapid, a greedy chase of his own pleasure. It's so animalistic and unexpected that another orgasm slams into me with unexpected power. I lose track of myself, of him. My fingers claw at his back, thread through his hair. I'm struggling to get closer, get more. He comes with a great shout, his big strong body straining against mine.”

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Book:Dear Enemy
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“He slid a finger down her folds. Her panting increased in volume. Her hip movements increased in pace as she chased his finger. He found her clit and circled it with his thumb, as he pushed inside her with his middle finger. Her inner walls clasped tightly on to the digit. He groaned at the heavenly sensation. He dragged his finger in and out, savoring the feeling. Her hips moved in tandem with the movement of his finger. Her hold on his shirt tightened when he rubbed against a spot high inside her. Her hips bucked forward. A tiny moan slipped from between her lips before she pressed her mouth shut. Not on his watch. He wanted it all. "Don't hold back. Tell me," he demanded. "Feels so good," she whimpered, the fucking sexiest sound he'd ever heard. "I can make it better." He wedged another finger inside her. And pressed gently against her clit. He swallowed her scream with his mouth. The kiss was wild, greedy. Lips, tongue, teeth sliding, clinging, giving, demanding pleasure. She tasted like heaven, offering all the sustenance he would ever need. Her hips picked up speed. She was so fucking tight wrapped around his fingers. How good would his dick feel inside her? Incredibly, he got even harder. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, her hands landed on the front of his jeans. She squeezed once, twice. He almost detonated. "Sloane. Sweetness. Please." She didn't need his plea. Instead, she pulled his zipper down and slipped her fingers inside. He didn't have the willpower to stop her. Her hand wrapped around his dick was so fucking good. She pulled up and down, exerting the perfect amount of pressure to have him gasping as pleasure sang through his veins.”

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Book:A Legend in the Baking
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“His shoulders corded with muscle. His mouth between her legs. A portrait that belonged in the Louvre. A quick flick of his tongue had her seeing stars. Then, a slower swipe had her wishing for more. Sloane's mouth dried. He alternated between faster and slower swipes, taking his cues from her. He nibbled, then bit. Faster when the movement of her hips slowed. Slower when she came perilously close to the edge. Beautiful torture. His mouth on her was a million times better than she'd ever imagined. He was a certified master with his tongue. She bucked, begging him for more. Demanding more. Sweat slickened her skin. Her hands slipped on the sofa cushions, searching for purchase. Through it all, he was there. August and his wonderful tongue. Her eyes squeezed shut as delicious sensations bombarded her from every direction. Then his fingers, long and immeasurably talented, joined in the action between her legs. He was so slow and deliberate, going at his own pace, despite her demands. And she fucking loved every second of it. He held his tongue tight against her clit as he sank three fingers inside her. In and out. The sensations inside her twisted tighter and tighter, pushing her higher and higher. Until she broke, splintering into a million jagged pieces.”

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Book:A Legend in the Baking
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“She pressed against him, the thrust of her hips no longer moving in a measured circular motion, but a jagged, erratic, desperate motion. She was near the edge. "August, August," she repeated over and over like she was in a trance. He twisted his fingers inside her and ground the palm of his hand against her, right against her clit. He pinched her nipple with his other hand. Her back arched as she came against his fingers, her body shaking, her eyes dazed with wonder and joy as a loud, prolonged cry spilled from her lips. Watching Sloane come was one of the top highlights of his life. But they weren't done. Once again, he turned their bodies. This time, Sloane landed underneath him. He hastily procured a condom from the nightstand drawer, donned it, and covered Sloane's warm, tempting body in less than ten seconds. She welcomed him back with open arms. He wasted no time, thrusting inside her in one smooth glide. He burrowed his head in her shoulder as his skin buzzed with lust. How had he denied himself for this long? Being with her like this left nirvana in the dust. Then she twined her legs around his waist and lifted her hips. "Oh, shit." How was it possible that this position felt even better? "August, please. Move." "Yes, ma'am." Her wish would always be his command. Her cries of harder, faster urged him on. She liked hard, long strokes. He could do this for the rest of his life if that's what she wanted. Each time she whimpered when he retreated, only to cry out in ecstasy when he returned, made his heart soar. Made his determination to make it even better for her to soar. The tingle started at the base of his spine and spread to his extremities. He wouldn't last much longer. But not without her. Never without her. He kissed her again and found her clit. When she got close, she liked him to press hard against the bundle of nerves. With her cries ringing in his ears, he came, stars shooting across his eyes, shaking with the intensity of the orgasm.”

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Book:A Legend in the Baking
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“And he fucks with such greedy relish--- sucking at my skin, thrusting into me with deep grunts of pleasure--- that I feel adored. But in the end, he rolls onto his back, taking me with him. Stretching his arms overhead, he grasps the headboard. "Ride me, Delilah. Take what you need." All that power laid out before me. The high crests of his cheeks are flushed. Sweat trickles down his temples. Every inch of him is hard and tight with lust. I sink down onto his cock, and we both groan. I take my pleasure, luxuriating in his body. I don't let up until he's groaning and crying out my name. We come together, falling into each other, wrecked. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

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Book:Dear Enemy
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“His hunger was a ferocious thing as he lowered to his elbows and let the yearning clench deep in his belly. The slickness of her desire beckoned him. He split her cleft with his gloved finger, coating the tip with her nectar. She trembled, but remained silent, as she'd agreed to do. Curious, he rubbed his thumb and finger together, testing the glossy consistency. Soon his cock would be coated with this, slick and wet and--- Christ, if he didn't get his mouth on her soon, he'd go mad. Dorian had no fucking idea what he was doing, but her scent lured him down until he pressed his lips to her sex. Her hips flinched beneath him, arched a little, and he could tell she fought to remain passive, but her body betrayed her. Good. Because his betrayed him, as well. She tasted like heaven. Like desire and release. Like want and fulfillment. Like a woman. His woman. The predator in him was going to dine until he'd had his fill. And he had a lifetime of hunger to satiate.”

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Book:The Highwayman
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“His tongue split her in one long lick. He growled against her, and Farah whimpered in reply, unable to stop herself. But she didn't say a word. Not. One. Word. Blackwell had become that jaguar she'd evoked the first time she'd laid eyes on him. His shoulders rolled and bunched just so as he settled in for a feast. He left no part unexplored. His bold tongue found places she'd never known she possessed. He parted her with his fingers, exposing her in a way so absolute, she could barely stand it. And yet, she read the veneration on his face as he looked at her, as he tasted her, as if he committed every single crevice and protuberance to memory. He learned very quickly what made her gasp, what caused her to arch or retreat. He played like a man who'd only just learned how. Testing her reactions, re-creating sensations, enjoying a bit of cruelty as only the Blackheart of Ben More could. Driving her to the edge of her wits and then pulling back, leaving her groaning, straining, and sweating. She jerked as his finger found its way inside her slick channel, and the vibration of his groan against the soft hood of flesh he'd sucked into his mouth with a flattened tongue shattered her composure.”

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Book:The Highwayman
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“But, to her ultimate surprise, a tight, aching heat bloomed low in her belly, starting in her womb and reaching for the shaft of branding heat plunging and retracting from inside her. Her lips parted of their own accord, and a small sound of delighted surprise escaped. Blackwell's eyes sharpened. Questioned. Farah's body answered without thought. A lift of her hips, a press of her thighs, and a soft moan of encouragement. It was all he needed. Blackwell didn't kiss or taste her. Instead he watched her face with an intensity that abashed her. Every flutter of her eyelid, or intake of breath, the way her lips parted or pressed together. His body again became a conduit of her gratification. It shocked her how he could support his heavy frame all this time on one powerful arm, but the thought dissipated as he used his other hand to explore her, rendering her mind useless and directing her awareness like a symphony conductor. He traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, as though committing her to memory, or visiting one, she couldn't be sure. As the slow pressure mounted, her moans became mewls, her mewls became cries. His finger drifted along the outline of her lips, slipping past her teeth and leaving the taste of sex on her tongue. Sex and leather. She closed her lips and rolled the glove between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, feeling the hard ridge of his fingers beneath. He hissed, growled, and pulled his hand away, drawing it down to her hip and gripping the curve of her ass, spreading her wider for his accelerating thrusts. Farah's head tossed against her pillow, her eyes rolling back into their sockets, retreating from sight, as her other overwhelmed senses demanded her attention. Leather and sex. Darkness. Spice. Chilly air. Hot Blood. Textiles. Smooth, slick flesh. Wide, hard male. A mouth on hers. A tongue thrusting inside, tasting the essence of her he'd left there, lapping at it.”

Hot SexSensationalFarah And Dorian
Book:The Highwayman
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