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© 2007, JT Schultz,
Cassi Armstrong Reviews For TORRID TEASERS Volume 23 by JT Schultz & Cassi Armstrong The Man Upstairs by C. Armstrong is a fun story. The characters are cool and I love the interaction between Matt and Sara. The sex will make you tingly. C. Armstrong is a talented author and this is a story you won’t want to miss. Two Lips Reviews Sample Chapter For TORRID TEASERS Volume 23 by JT Schultz & Cassi Armstrong Kiss Of The Wolf What had she done? She struggled to open her eyes, but found it required too much effort. She tasted last night’s alcohol and tried to think beyond the headache. A celebration. Her grandfather’s retirement and herself being named full law partner at Le Roux and Lamb. The new strappy shoes from Saks, the dance club, the shots of tequila, the sexy man in Armani. Nothing else came to her. Too much to drink, too much dancing, and who was that sexy man? She gave a groan. She should never have partied so hard last night. Not when she was determined to do a great job as the new partner. She owed her grandfather that and much more. An image of the strange, sexy man flashed through her mind. Though she couldn’t remember his face, the smell on her pillow was a pungent reminder of the night she had just shared with him. Dampness quickly rose between her legs as she recalled the fullness of his rock-hard cock inside her. She let out another groan as more memories came, erotic memories of her climaxing, climaxes that had lasted well into the morning. Sliding her hand down her body, she played a nipple between her fingers. Lowering her caress over tanned skin, her fingers felt the hot, wet folds, now throbbing and begging for relief. With her middle finger, she slowly rubbed her clit until she needed more. The image of her hands running over strong, tanned shoulders while his thick cock rode inside her soon became too much, leaving her longing for that cock again. Shoving a finger inside herself, she thrust her pelvis up to it. She focused solely on fucking it with the same fervor in which she had ridden the man who had thrust into her the night before. She moved her other hand to a taut nipple and fondled it, driving her pussy on. Never had getting herself off been so exhilarating. Images flashed, memories swamped her, and the sensations she had experienced with him pushed her forward. She let out a wail as she remembered his hot liquid squirting inside her. She still had no face to go with the incredible body. However, she could recall hearing him growl, a groan of primal gratification. It sent her closer to the edge she sought. Another wail escaped her as she remembered her body’s climactic convulsions. The memory of his primal release brought hers on now, leaving her sated and plastered to her bed. Whoever he had been, he had been good. Typical though, she would pick a man who wouldn’t stick around until morning. Wolves. They were all wolves. Still, it had been a long time since a man had made her late for work. “I’m going to be late for work!” Moaning, Brianna fought the elements of light as well as gravity as she made her way to her bedroom door. Holding onto the frame, she looked back at the bed. “Fur? What the hell is that?” She tried to focus, cocking her head sideways. What kind of fur could have been left in her sheets? “Oh, no. I must have picked up a stray...cat? Dog? Oh, hell. My landlord is going to have my ass.” She let out a groan, realizing she only had thirty-five minutes to get ready and get to work. Aspirin. It was going to be one of those days. A wicked smile played across her lips. At least she had started the morning out right. The Man Upstairs
She dragged a finger through the lumpy goop. It couldn’t be that bad, after all, her last name was Lee. Her decision to taste was made for her as the liquid began to drip down her finger. She pushed the digit into her mouth. She gagged, trying in vain not to swallow it. “Oh God!” Some of it slid down her throat. It tasted like a combination of chalk and garlic, peanut butter ice cream with a hint of cream cheese. She grabbed the towel off the counter and spit into it. She stood, staring at the lopsided crust inside the pan. Specks of the lumpy residue clung to the counter surface and to the front side of her shirt. She could feel the corners of her mouth go slack as tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. She threw the towel back on the counter, disgusted. This was horrible. She wasn’t made for cooking. She was made for eating…and shopping, something her ex-husband had never accepted. Rather, he’d used her lack of culinary skills to ridicule, as well as to divorce her. She should’ve listened to Candace, her friend since childhood. “Don’t bother baking anything, sweetie. I’d never expect that of you. Just go out and buy something.” Which really meant, “You don’t know how to cook, so don’t. I wouldn’t want anyone to get poisoned.” Just buying something was out of the question, especially after last year. She’d brought her usual store-bought dessert. It wasn’t her fault that some of the girls assumed it to have been her recipe. Shortly after setting out her cake, another red velvet cake arrived, from the same store. Embarrassment was the understatement of the millennia. A normal person would have passed it off with a laugh. Instead, she’d felt her face flame as she helplessly recalled her ex-husband’s ridicule. So, her determination had overridden good advice. Carefully, she moved the mixture to the oven and slid it inside. She felt her brows furrow in her forehead, adding to the increasing ache behind her eyes. She’d made herself cross-eyed trying to decipher the ingredients. One half cup of sugar and then, one and one fourth cup of the same ingredient. It hadn’t made sense, even with the help of the calculator. Still, she was determined. Then the banging had started, and hadn’t stopped since. She paused, starring up at the ceiling. What the hell was he doing up there? All thoughts of her ex-husband fled, replaced with visions of her new upstairs neighbor. Matt. Tall, dark, green-eyed and handsome. She’d passed his six foot three frame in the stairwell, watching the wide stretch of shoulders and the muscles bulge from his arms as he carried a box. She’d waited for him to speak, but he’d only smiled at her. Tongue-tied, she had turned away and had hurried down the stairs, kicking herself with each step. “Oh hell.” Her head pounded with each sharp bang. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to get upset. She’d focus her mind on what he was doing to be causing such a racket. It sounded as if he was pounding the floor with a sledge hammer. Could all the noise make her cheesecake fall? She moved to her oven and opened the door, peeking in. So far, so good. She looked up at the microwave clock. “Shit. Great, just fucking great!” She forgot to set the timer on the oven. How long had it been in? She checked the cookbook. Sixty minutes…minus five? She pressed the button for timer, but instead of giving her a temperature, it flashed a series of zeros. She rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Fifty-five.” She punched the hour button by mistake. Taking a chance, she hit the minute button. The pounding started again. Actually, it hadn’t stopped, it just got louder and louder… She jabbed hard with her fingers on the oven panel until everything cleared. Damn it. Where had she put the instruction manual for the oven? She searched her kitchen drawers, finding it buried under coupons. She flipped it open and followed the instructions to set the alarm. Finally, she got the timer set for forty-five minutes and peeked in again. She needed a drink. Pouring a glass of wine, she eased back onto her kitchen stool and sighed. She closed her eyes, fantasizing and listening to the rhythm of Matt’s pounding, now coupled by a new pounding. This, coming from her front door. She knew that knock. It belonged to Ms. Jenkins, her landlord. Could her day get any worse? Sliding off the stool, she hurried to open the door before Ms. Jenkins used her passkey to let herself in. It was just in time. As she swung the door open, Ms. Jenkins was sliding her passkey into the lock. “Yes, Ms. Jenkins?” she said, slightly out of breath. “What’s that gawd-awful noise? What are you doing up here?” She squinted one eye, lifting the eyebrow of the other at the same time. “You have a man in there? ’Cause as a single woman, you shouldn’t be alone with a man. It ain’t right, unless you’re married to him.” Breathe, Sarah, breathe. She could feel her hand tighten around the doorknob, trying not to close it in the woman’s face. “No Ms. Jenkins. The sound’s not coming from my apartment.” She closed her door some as the old woman peered into her living room. The old woman gave her what seemed like a disbelieving look. “Are you sure?” “I think I would know.” “Well, where is it coming from then? An old woman like me can’t concentrate on her bingo when I have to listen to all that ruckus! I’m old and wastin’ away. All I have is my bingo and I can’t have that interrupted.” Didn’t the old lady hear what she’d just said? It wasn’t her apartment! It was the man upstairs! She wasn’t about to say that though. Chances were Ms. Jenkins would want to see inside her place to make sure she wasn’t hiding a man. “So if it ain’t your apartment, whose is it?” Sarah sighed. “Do you remember the new resident that moved in last week?” “New resident? Do you mean tha’ good lookin’ feller in apartment eight? He’s a nice, sweet man. Are you sure it ain’t your apartment?” “Yes, I’m sure. If he’s in the apartment above mine, it’s him.” Ms. Jenkins shifted her weight, looking up at her. Sarah could still hear the banging over Ms. Jenkins’ voice. “Sounds like he’s tryin’ to knock down a wall.” The woman stared past Sarah and smiled. “You got something in the oven?” Sarah beamed, thinking she smelled her cheesecake, until she turned around. The living room was filling up with smoke. She thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse than this, until the smoke alarm started blaring. “Shit!” Sarah left the woman and went to investigate. Her kitchen was filled with a fine smoky mist. Her eyes watered as she opened the oven door, hoping to salvage her cheesecake. Waving through the smoke, she reached in and pulled out the dessert. “Ouch!” She dropped the pan onto the stovetop, and then stood back, starring at it. Now it was a flattened pan of goop. Damn it. She cradled her head in her hands as her headache became full-blown. This was all his fault. Cakes fell from loud noises. She couldn’t take it anymore, the damn cake, or his damn pounding. Raw rage raced down her spine as she swiped the pan of goop off the stovetop, leaving a wide yellow arc across her wall and floor. |