“I want to spend your last semester getting you out of those pearls and on your knees.”
That's what he said when he discovered that, with five months of college left, I was cut off. Young, wickedly handsome, and politically incorrect, he was unlike any man I ever met. And his proposition to cover my tuition in exchange for a semester of “anything goes” was offensive and thrilling.
If you’re wondering if I told him off—if the night ended with me slapping that delicious smirk right off his face—that didn’t happen.
Instead, I decided to be practical.
My name is Eleanor Courtney, and I'm the first to admit my mistakes. Agreeing to crawl into bed with the devil in a designer suit might be my biggest ever. Because he said something else to me that night:
“I don’t want to sleep with you, Elle, that would be too easy. I want to possess you.”
And Senator Graham Delaney—well, he always gets exactly what he wants.
Click to Buy on Amazon:
About the Author:
Emily Snow is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of erotic, new adult, and contemporary romance. She loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories about all three. She lives in Virginia with her husband, children, and one very energetic Yorkie-Poo.
Social Media Links:
“May I?” He extends his hand, gesturing for mine. Warily, I place my fingers in his and release a yelp when he pulls it under the table, pressing my palm against his zipper. He closes my fingers, one by one, around the unquestionable—and admittedly very, very impressive—bulge.
“That’s not hard either,” he informs me in a low voice, “but if you’re doubtful of my ability to make you forget your fucking name, how to walk, how to eat—and everything else but yes, please, and more—it won’t take long for you to get me there.”
“So that’s why you invited me to dinner, huh?” I snatch my fingers back and grab a handful of my dress to ease the electricity under my skin. It doesn’t help, and I’ve got a feeling I’ll be undone for the rest of the night all thanks to what’s hidden under Graham’s zipper. “To screw me? I guess I had you all wrong.”
“If I wanted only to fuck you, Elle, it wouldn’t have mattered where I took you for dinner—or if I fed you at all.” He whips the plate cover off my food. “Hope you like steak.”