Good morning book lovers! Today, fellow eXtasy Books author Tina Donahue drops by with her latest release, "Well Endowed". Please show her tons of love!
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WELL ENDOWED
EROTIC PNR -
ROM COM
Ever wonder what it would be
like to have your own jinn? Great, huh? The wishes. The riches. The problems.
Yep. That's what Cari faces
when she inherits Jez. As an alpha jinn, he refuses to serve anyone but a man.
As far as he's concerned, she's only good for some hot and heavy loving.
Hmm. She believes otherwise
and shows him just who has the upper hand.
Let the battle of the sexes
begin...
Blurb:
Where there’s a will, there’s wicked
fun…
Drowning in bad luck, Cari
doesn’t know where to turn when the unexpected happens. A loyal customer at her
Key West café has left her an inheritance. She hopes for cash to save her
restaurant but receives an old brass bottle that looks like a sex toy…and has
Jez inside.
At six-four, he’s built like
a gladiator, has looks to die for, and oozes sexuality. He’s also a jinn.
Color her enthralled and
excited. Besides being one hot dude, he grants wishes, right?
Not for her. Ironclad
tradition demands he serve men, not women. Of course, if she wants to get down
and dirty with him, he’ll gladly oblige.
Let the battle of the sexes
begin. Before long, their differences fall away as they indulge in every lusty
desire, while falling hard and fast. Ah, paradise. Until trouble arrives,
threatening to pull them apart forever…
Excerpt:
She couldn’t wait a second
longer and twisted the knob to open the container.
The top didn’t budge.
She tried repeatedly until
she was breathless and sweating.
The fucking thing wouldn’t
turn. The nicks and dents she’d noticed earlier proved to be pry marks around
the top that resembled the crown on a man’s cock.
“Crap.” She wasn’t equipped
to break this thing or saw it open.
After searching her kitchen
for something to use, she settled on rubber gloves to add traction to her grip.
With her thighs holding the bottle, she wrenched the top as hard as her
strength allowed.
The knob not only loosened,
but flew off—similar to a cork on a champagne bottle—and hit her wall, denting
the plaster.
There goes my security
deposit.
Hold on.
By itself, the bottle
trembled between her thighs, the metal growing warmer. Not an unpleasant
feeling, but fucking weird.
Appalled, she flung the
container on her table.
It thudded dully against her
purse and shook violently.
“Shit, shit, shit!” The damn
thing was going to blow. Her spicy, rich cooking must have pushed Ethyl into an
earlier grave than she wanted, and this was payback. Terrified, Cari dropped to
her knees, desperate to crawl to the door and outside. Frozen in horror, she
hunkered behind a chair for protection.
Thunder roared.
Gold-and-black smoke poured
from the bottle.
I’m going to die.
Hard rain struck the windows,
but they didn’t blow out from an explosion.
Rather than the smoke rising
to the ceiling, it curled in a slow spiral then drifted away from the table to
her side.
Shuddering, she crab-walked
away from it.
The smoke followed and took
form.
Feet appeared first, at least
a size fifteen, the toes well-formed and long. Muscular calves and thighs
materialized next, dark hairs hugging them, the complexion olive.
She stopped edging back and
leaned forward instead.
Upper thighs and narrow hips
emerged, a startling-white fabric tied around the groin area, the ends hiding
the good stuff. Not a loincloth exactly, more like a scarf exposing a rock-hard
ass.
The abs and chest were no
different, each sculpted, the small nipples a dark brown shade, similar in
color to refried beans. The pecs quivered on each new breath. However, there
was no navel.
This can’t be happening.
She raised her face.
The smoke broke apart,
floated to the ceiling, and disappeared.
Leaving a thirtysomething man
standing before her.
He opened his lushly lashed
eyes.
Her breath caught. His irises
were closer to gold than hazel, his shoulder-length brown hair thick and wavy,
stubble outrageously sexy, mouth sensuous, one dark eyebrow arched at her.
He planted his hands on his
lean hips.
Holy fuck. A gladiator couldn’t have
owned more muscles, though they weren’t overdone like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s,
but totally male.
Her pussy creamed.
An odd reaction since this
couldn’t be real.
When the knob flew off the
bottle, it must have ricocheted off the wall and hit her head, causing her to
hallucinate this, or rather, him.
Only one way to find out. She
grabbed his calf. Its brawn and heat made her ears buzz.
Grinning lewdly, he flexed
his muscles and pressed into her touch.
This was no dream. She snatched
back her hand. “Who-who-who-who—” She shivered so badly, she couldn’t speak,
but had to. “Who are you? What are you?”
His eyebrows shot up to his
hairline. He lifted his chin. “You, a mere woman, dare to question or demand
anything from me?”
“Huh?” Not liking his sexist
attitude, she scrambled to her feet. At five-seven, she couldn’t match his
height. By her guestimate, he topped out at six-four and was the most perfect
man she’d ever seen, except for his patronizing gaze. Precisely what she didn’t
need. “Again, who or what are you? This is my place. My kitchen. Not yours.
Answer me.”
“I answer only to my master.
Go on.” He gestured her away as Antonini had. “Fetch the man in charge.”
As if. Before she could slug him,
he pivoted and regarded her kitchen warily, as a one-percenter would, seeing
only how small and simple it was.
She couldn’t have cared less
if he found her digs lacking.
He next focused on her
buñuelos.
If he gave them a pissy look
or said one unkind thing about her cooking, he wasn’t long for this world, even
if she didn’t know how to off him.
Bent at the waist, he sniffed
the treats and licked his lips.
Growling sounded.
His stomach?
Holding one buñuelo between
his thumb and forefinger, he examined the fried dough carefully, licked the
contours, then popped the treat into his mouth. As he chewed, his lids slid
down and he moaned the way guys do during orgasms.
