Copyright 2006, Tilly Greene
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For EXTREME SPEED TOTAL CONTROL by Tilly Greene

"Lia and Kirk are fascinating characters who fit together very well. The secondary characters support the main characters very effectively. The sex scenes are smoking hot and left me fanning myself. Ms. Greene is a talented author who I am sure we will see much more of in the future. I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys contemporary romance with blazing hot love scenes."

Susan White 4 cups
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books


"Extreme Speed, Total Control by Tilly Greene is one smoking hot story! Lia and Kirk are incredible together, hitting all the right notes in their hedonistic quest for sexual delight. However, the astute reader knows that there must be more between the characters and luckily, Tilly Greene provides that "more" in spades! Emotional growth followed by character development peppers the second half of this story, ensuring that readers experience not only the sexual thrills of Lia and Kirk’s relationship, but also the more personally intimate side. Watching these characters take a time out from passion to find out if they like each other on a day to day basis in a real world environment showed good sense on the part of the characters, making them realistic and cautious about love. Extreme Speed, Total Control is a fiery hot read but it keeps the passion centered with a growing and honest emotional bond between Kirk and Lia. One can only hope that there is a sequel in the works for one of the secondary characters. Ms. Greene, you’ve caught my attention with this story and now I can only hope that I can get my hands on the rest of your titles."

Reviewed by: Sarah W 5 Angels Fallen Angel Reviews


"This was a very steamy love story but with so much more than just sex involved." Christy, May Reviews


"Extreme Speed, Total Control is a mind-blowing read." Linda L., The Romance Studio


Sample Chapter For EXTREME SPEED TOTAL CONTROL by Tilly Greene

December 31, 2002
Paris, France

The new year was heralded in with the help of a beautifully crisp, clear evening, a light dusting of snow painted the roads.

The year Oralia Norman was bidding a fond farewell to had been a good one. Although her first love was sculpting, money to live on had been primarily made through her painting. However, it was now official, for the third straight year, she had had no need to supplement her income with other work. In her mind, that was success. A tremendous and impeccable reputation garnered through her artistic ability and hard work, a just reward for dedication and perseverance, had finally paid off.

She fussed before the mirror and thought back along the path she had chosen to follow. Putting her time in at various art festivals while working as a cocktail waitress at night for rent and food money had been exhausting. Now, she believed all those bottles of beer she had served, small talk she had made, helped to hone her skills at discussing her work with all types of people and on various levels.

At a few years shy of thirty, Lia was comfortable with where her life was and looked to be heading, both professionally and personally, although the latter was not much to speak of. She was not sure she had it in her to trust someone beyond a superficial level. Gifting her heart to another would never be easy and such a thing was difficult for her to visualize.

Turning, she peered over her shoulder to check her appearance from behind. Average in height and appearance, she had always felt lucky to be comfortable with her attributes. They were hers, so Lia felt secure and happy in accepting them. The platinum blonde hair was natural, and matched well with her large china blue eyes and easily tanned skin. Being neither slim nor fat, just curved in all the right places and a chest looking like it had been bought rather than genetic, had many a man coveting her body.

What she saw reflected in the mirror was an average woman. Sad as it was to say, she knew, and accepted that to others, she looked more like a Playboy centerfold than an artist. Unfortunately, it meant men stared at her with lust in their eyes and a hard-on poking out of their pants, while women frowned.

Problem was, many also treated her as if she was stupid, which Lia most definitely was not. She shook her head in disgust at how easily society was led by materialism and appearances.

She ensured the slit in her gown did not expose more than she felt comfortable with by repeatedly walking toward and away from the mirror. Oralia smiled as she remembered how she had first met her hosts for this evening. The thrill she’d felt with her first success resided in a special place, frequently pulled out and relived. On a whim and a prayer, she had submitted one of her sculpted pieces to a galleried show in NYC, and placed first. A world-renowned contemporary art connoisseur, who had been invited to act as a judge, had very much liked her piece.

After the competition, the man and his social maven wife took the time to separate her from the crowd and get to know her. They had shared their praise of her work, telling her how they found her work very tactile, approachable, and utterly peaceful. By the end of the evening, they had purchased a series of four small stone pieces called Organics for their personal collection.

Pride, a feeling of success, euphoria and a sense of validation was what she had taken away from her first meeting with the Antonellis. Following many months of correspondences, conversations and visits, she discovered the kindly older man was none other than the Gianni Antonelli, owner of world class Formula One Sorreti Racing Team. Identified around the world as a shrewd and ruthless businessman, he had a reputation of possessing the golden touch.

Over time, the acquaintance between herself and the couple had become more than artist and collector. Respect and enjoyment led Lia to look upon the couple as the grandparents she had always dreamed of having. Despite their friendship, she was still surprised when Gianni Antonelli commissioned her to paint the team portrait for the 2002 racing year. Traditionally, the portrait was a photograph of both teams on a track with their cars in the background, but this time, Gianni looked to shake things up and do something different. After having seen a few of her painted pieces, he had mentioned he’d liked her personal style and technique, obviously enough to offer her the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

She fussed with her earrings and thought of her hostess, a small frown gathering between her eyebrows. Her relationship with the older woman was more tenuous for Lia than the one she had with Gianni. Socially, Flora Antonelli was no easy woman to get to know or spend time with. Full of disdain, she often sneered at what had quickly become a horrible trend: fame for all the wrong reasons. They had agreed that too many people were honored and placed upon pedestals for doing nothing of merit or worse, revered by their fans, even when they flaunted their illegal antics.

Where the two women politely parted company was when it came to the older woman’s archaic belief of those with money and from historically great families were inherently better than others. Lia had often held herself in check when the subject came up. She had made her own way in the world and was proud of her accomplishments, despite her envied lineage. But to people like Flora, she became more readily acceptable to associate with because of her heritage.

Turning away from the mirror, her thoughts ran to that same respectable birthright. She felt the familiar prick of coldness and hurt.

She wished she’d had a chance to know her parents. Suzette and James Norman had both been born into good, solid old-moneyed English families and married early, making their families happy. They had quickly become the darlings of the party circuit across Europe in the sixties and seventies. When she was young, occasionally she had unearthed a rare photo, each showing the lovebirds as an effervescent and vivacious couple.

Once they had conceived, the couple had settled down with his mother on the Norman family estate in Buckinghamshire, only to quickly cave in to their social cravings. Returning to the circuit, they had left their baby behind with Nora, James Norman’s mother. Shortly thereafter, the couple had died in a boating accident on the Mediterranean, leaving her grandmother, a bitterly unhappy woman, to raise Lia.

The day after her A-level results had been posted, she had left for America to make her own way far from her family’s reputation and social standing. For Lia, the best part of each painting sold, every beer served, meant she had never, ever, needed to approach her grandmother for money. Along that same vein, neither had she dipped into the money her parents had left her.

Rubbing her hand along her neck, she tried to ease the tension that had begun to grow. She didn’t blame her parents for leaving her behind in their quest for fun. At least in this manner, she guessed they had been responsible. She had always seen them as being loving, caring parents, made from the dreams of a child. Now, Lia would prefer to have them alive, proud of her accomplishments, but knew it was not possible.

Sighing, she fingered the few loose curls dangling around her face. Every day, she was thankful she had grown to be her own person, and one she could face with pride and confidence in the mirror.

She admitted she’d had affairs over the years, but not one of them had made her think in terms of everlasting love. After having experienced Nora, Lia was not entirely sure she would ever be able to give another person so much control in her life. Collecting her things, she started to make her way down to the hotel lobby.

For many years, her art had been everything. In the beginning, she’d had no choice but focus all of her energy to creating a niche in the market, promoting her art, herself, and selling. Now she realized how much it had encompassed her life. Here, in a beautiful Parisian setting for the New Year, dressed to attend an invitation only posh party being thrown by the Antonellis at the Musée Rodin, her mind still leaned toward her art.

For most of the day, she had been thinking on tomorrow and the presentation of the team painting to Gianni. But, lately, each time her mind turned toward the canvas, it also brought up her second major focus, desire.

A very sensuous woman, Lia enjoyed sexual indulgences and just plain old wallowing in her feminine lust. Although, physical satisfaction had not been hers to enjoy for well over a year now.

There was no way to hide from her body’s call for release, not when he was on her mind. The horny feeling that had been her constant companion for some time now, had become insatiable and had reared its head during a few of the sittings for the team painting. With a smirk, she admitted to herself she had been totally unprepared for such an occurrence. Never before had she lusted after one of her subjects as much as she had Selkirk MacLellan.

She took a shaky breath and felt her face flush as her mind easily wandered to the man who made her lustful nature scream for attention. He had played the consummate playboy from their first meeting, taking and holding her hand confidently, flirting outrageously. He had warmed her blood as he had held her gaze with his, steady. He had even taken control of the introduction, correcting her use of his name, insisting she call him Kirk, as he preferred.

The team leader for Sorreti, five-time world champion driver and rumored in some arenas to be the best racing driver ever, was a dangerous man. Lia had a sense his energy directly challenged hers, and found it enjoyable. Not only was he a gorgeous man, he oozed power and sensuality, two things that turned her knees to jelly and brought a beat to her pussy. The rhythm demanded attention and satisfaction.

With a shake of her head, she smiled to herself and acknowledged he was not perfect, no, the downside being he was a total playboy. Each sitting they’d had, his mobile rang nonstop and a new woman had arrived with him.

Not that she had ever thought to be one of many, a one-night stand, but darn it, when a man made her panties damp with just a smile, it was hard to tamp down the desire to climb aboard for a ride.

Pushing the handsome hunk firmly from her thoughts, Lia stood and made her way down into the elegant lobby of the Hotel des 2 Iles. A prearranged taxi would carry her from the quaint hotel on the Ile Saint Louis, sitting in the middle of the Seine, to the museum. The Antonellis had arranged for the museum to open for the cocktail party, allowing guests to roam freely through the gallery. Afterwards, they would retire for dinner, dancing, and further celebrations in a heated tent set out amongst the extensive gardens, which were a beautiful sight even in winter.

It was not often she attended a formal party, and Lia had splashed out and bought a dress especially for the occasion. Constructed of a beautiful royal purple jersey satin, the full-length gown had a broad neckline, small caplike sleeves, and draped softly over her large breasts. The construction of the bodice thankfully acted as a shelf and supported the beauties. It fitted closely along the waist and dropped to the floor to dance loosely around her black, high-heeled encased feet. The fabric gathered up elegantly to rest over one hip and left an incredible slash that occasionally bared her leg when she walked.

The gown had not been overtly sexy but as a whole, including the scrap of black silk she wore as underwear, had left her feeling like a voluptuary in the throes of a passionate interlude. Because of the cold, she chose a simple black velvet opera cape with a hood to pull up and over her purposely-tousled updo. A few loose curls had already escaped and twirled around the only visible jewelry she wore, drop earrings of gold fine wires with rough-cut amethysts dancing at their ends.

The amethyst stones hung from her ears and gently knocked against her exposed neck making Lia aware of a certain amount of fragility about herself on this holiday evening away from home. Collecting her small handbag, Lia made her way out to the car, the assistance of the attentive concierge worked to reinforce the feeling.

Following a much needed deep, calming breath, she shifted her cape and ensured her nipples had not escaped from their luxurious haven, buried just below the surface of her décolleté. With a slow smile, she made a mental note to occasionally check to make sure nothing had popped out for a look-see at the party. It would not be appropriate to have a peek-a-boo moment at such a formal function.

After arriving at the main door, she paid the driver and confirmed with the man a car had been arranged to collect her no later than an hour after midnight. Events such as these, where she did not know many people, were hard work. With a half-hearted sigh of disgust as she left the car, Lia guessed her parents did not pass on much of their social genes.

She stepped into the entrance hall at Musée Rodin and marveled at its understated elegance. A staff member came up and collected her cape before Lia moved forward to greet the Antonellis and their various children and grandchildren. Afterwards, she stepped further into the museum where she was handed a glass of bubbling champagne.

The opportunity to view the work from a master sculptor sans the usual throng of onlookers was not something she could ignore. With glass in hand, she wandered the ground floor rooms first. It was easy to appreciate the emotion Rodin had poured into his work; the beauty all those feelings produced was unsurpassed in her view.

Her stroll through the lower galleries was unhurried, as she enjoyed having it almost entirely to herself. Not many of the guests had taken advantage of the opportunity to view such incredible pieces as The Hand of God and The Kiss. The Walking Man brought her to a standstill. So many emotions had flowed through Rodin’s hands when he created this powerful striding forward and yet headless man. Awed by the emotive qualities she found so readily in this piece, she wondered if her sculpted work ever communicated her feelings to the viewer so clearly.

Lia offered a polite smile here and there to people she passed as she meandered through the gallery. With a fresh glass of champagne in hand, she headed upstairs and found the area completely deserted. She enjoyed The Thinker before she continued onward and mused over Fugit Amor, whilst sipping her champagne.

A soft, shuffling sound drew her attention back to the doorway where she found none other than the man who, since the day she’d met him, had been the lead in her most erotic fantasies. Attired in a traditional black tuxedo and bow tie, he looked utterly handsome, and if it were possible, more potent than he had been in street clothes or even his racing kit.

Silky mink brown hair, thick with a slight curl, danced around his head and drew attention to his eyes of a light brown/green, surrounded by long and thick eyelashes. His silky smooth tanned skin had often left her wondering what it would be like to stroke.

Was his chest as sleek as his face?

Lia brought her mind from the bedroom and back to the museum.

“Good Evening, Kirk.” A small, unsure smile flitted across her lips. She was not certain how to handle this man outside of the sittings they’d had. She had been in control there, but here, alone with him, she felt out of her element.

“Lia.” Brusque and to the point, his hazel gaze held hers without blinking.

The perfect specimen of sexual magnetism moved to stand next to her; closer than was necessary being the only two people in the room. She looked up, and up. The top of her head reached just short of his shoulders, and asked the obvious.

“Where is your date?”

“I came on my own this evening.”

A faint Scottish accent whispered across his words. Tick another box on the arousal list growing beneath his name.

“Interesting sculpture.” Discomfort had her voicing such a benign statement for the famed artist.

“Hmmm. I enjoy your pieces more. They are very peaceful, soothing.”

“Oh, well thank you very much.” The compliment surprised and pleased her, she was not sure why, but it did. Turning back, she looked at the piece without really seeing it.

After a moment, Lia felt Kirk leave her side and before she could say goodbye, she felt his presence behind her and a large finger started to ease down her bare back, from her neck to the top of her dress, only to slowly stroke back up. Air stopped in her chest when she felt him step even closer, his body resting flush against hers. Leaning over her shoulder, he gently nudged his nose against her ear and then took a quick nibble from the lobe, bringing a gasp to her lips.

“Do you feel that?”

Stunned, she nodded her head. Who could miss it? His hard-on was massive and had inserted itself right between her ass checks as if staking a claim.

“I have been sporting this steely erection since our first sitting back in February. Do you know what a pain it is walking around with my cock standing at attention whenever it catches a whiff of you?”

“Oh please, each time we’ve met, there have been women ringing your mobile and another waiting outside for you to take them to bed. There is no way you are in any discomfort.” Yes, she was in lust; stupid and willing to fall for a womanizer’s flattering words was a different matter.

“Nope. Well, they may have been willing but I was not. I do not dally with fresh meat during the season. And Lia, the last race has finished.”

“I see.” Not really because her mind was wallowing in the morass of pleasure his presence behind her heaped on her body with the press of his cock and his heated breath playing on her neck.

“Do you? I have waited for this event, planned your seduction, and designed the perfect way to get you into my bed and how I would fuck you for the first time. Yes, first time because I will need many, many hours between your legs to appease this beast of mine.” The final statement was accompanied by a subtle readjustment.

Leaning in again, he started to kiss her neck where it met her shoulder. My goodness, did he have to hone right in on her sweet spot?

“Ummm.”

“See, your body has already acquiesced. Now for your mind.”

Moving his hands to her waist, he inched them under her arms, around and up, gently cupping her breasts.

“These beauties have haunted my every fantasy. There are many things I desperately need to know about your body.” Big thumbs stroked up and over each already excited, yet covered, nipple. “But at the top of my list is to discover if your breasts are as excitable as I think they are.”

Back and forth they strummed over the points, bringing them further and further forward, poking through the draped fabric.

“Yes,” Lia whispered on a groan.

“Can I make you moan if I do this?”

First fingers of each hand moved up, pinched the tips, and gave them each a brief tug.
“Uhhh.”

“Wonderful, I so enjoy a vocal woman in the bedroom.”

The manipulation of her breasts continued and Lia could feel the honey in her pussy thicken and threaten to slip from its heated depth. Acceptance of his domination over her body had been easy. Indeed, for him, it must have seemed as if she would fall on her back and spread her legs wherever he would want. She reached back, put her hands on his hard butt, and pulled him closer. Although it was a minute amount, it was enough to make her point.

“Are your nipples large? I can feel the tips are tight, but a big areola surrounding a beautifully pointed peak is such a turn-on. When we were doing the sittings for the painting, I would sit there and just look at you, specifically, your breasts. I would try and see if I could discern any of their finer details. There were times when your tips would poke straight out through your t-shirt and drive me nuts. My mouth would be watering by the end of our sessions, eager to latch on and suck, nibble and gnaw to my heart’s content. Eager?”

“Yes.”

“Better and better, a woman not afraid of her lustful nature.”

“Nope, not afraid and now horny as hell.”

“Raunchy raw sex is what I prefer, can you handle that?”

“Perfect, I like nothing more than an excellent fuck.”

Releasing her breasts with a few last twists, Kirk turned her to face him. His hands rested on her hips as hers reached up to wrap around his neck. Through the maneuver, Lia skillfully maintained a steady grip on her champagne glass. Leaning down, he kissed her soft, full lips.

A cool wicked tongue eased back and forth along the seam between the plump folds until they fell open to his ravishment. The organ made a thorough search of her mouth, ending far too quickly with a tangling, thrusting kiss as one of his hands stroked a bare ass cheek.

“Hmmm.”

While her head was lost in their kiss, his hand slid around her thigh and up to cup one half of the split peach ass, his hand and wrist hidden by the draped fabric of her skirt. It was a wonderful feeling, having this strong man playing to her body’s desires.

Four bold fingertips eased down her crack, ending with a mere brush against her pussy before starting on their return journey up. His thumb found the fine gold chain she wore low, around her hips.

It must have been curiosity that sent his hand out, searching for more hidden discoveries, which he did. What he found was a dozen fine gold strands hanging down from the waist chain. They each ended with various sized crystals and gently slapped against her inner thighs and mound when she moved.

“Ummm, you are a real Pandora’s box. I am eager to open you up and start discovering what gets you ardently scaling the wall to climax and more importantly, what will send you tumbling over the edge, again and again.”

“Let’s go now.”

“Oh no, my little ripe woman. We have a party to attend and celebrations to laud before we go fuck like rabid bunnies.”

With a last squeeze of her ass, Kirk started to step back from her clasp. Not willing to let him walk away from this lurid encounter unscathed, Lia waited until he turned and motioned for her to precede him out the door and back down to the party. Only then did she lay a smart slap on his ass and with a last look over her shoulder, she gave as good as she could with her mind wallowing in the need to come.

“Then I suggest you conserve your energy and not drink too much. You might like it raunchy but I like it hard, loud and often.”

After her parting shot, an easy laugh burst forth at his look of surprise. A look of hard lust rushed across his beautiful features. Head held high, Lia sauntered out of the room with confidence this was going to be a fantastic evening after all.

“Nothing better than a saucy woman.” With a lecherous grin, he followed her swishing form, catching up with her just in time to take her arm and rest it upon his, formally escorting her to rejoin the festivities.

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