Last call for KND free Romance excerpt:

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

He didn’t have to be a Navy SEAL to understand Megan had a look about her that told him she’d not yet had her world rocked sufficiently. Special Operator Rory Kennedy figured once he got those big glasses off her and let her hair down, she’d be a beauty. She seemed to try especially hard to look plain and homely. He could see through all of that. Best of all, she liked to read and didn’t like to prattle on like so many of the San Diego crowd. He liked quiet girls who were not full of themselves.

He and his friends had commented often that women who were somewhat bookish and liked to read were the best lays. It was music to his ears when she told him she worked in the big bookstore downtown. That was where their first meet for coffee was arranged. And their second. And their third. She declined all his invitations to do something like lunch or dinner, and he decided he had the patience perhaps others wouldn’t have. He saw a prize under that plain brown paper wrapping and wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

He fantasized getting it on with her in her Santa suit, kissing her with the white moustache, getting her black velvet britches unzipped and pulled down so he could see what color panties she wore.

Does that mean I’m gay?

He answered himself by nearly choking on the latte.

No fuckin’ way I’m gay. He decided it was the velvet material and the anticipation of running his hand against her smooth thigh and then moving up to her midriff so he could feel her warm cleavage and get lost there.

He never admitted it to his fellow Team guys, but he loved those first encounters with a woman, especially a woman who hadn’t been awakened. Experienced women were a turn-off, as were those who wore lots of makeup and always had to be primping in front of a mirror. He liked it awkward for her. He planned to be careful, take it slow. He thought about what it would be like with her, everything fresh, new, and unspoiled. No baggage or track record. Just pure clean simple fun. Surprises under every bit of lace, under every moan she’d make. He loved gentling women, reassuring them they were beautiful, letting them know how much he enjoyed their company. He liked it when they developed the confidence to let the reins out a bit and see how far they’d fly and take him with them. If the truth were known. he wanted to see her desire for him more than he actually wanted to feel it.

It amused him she was dressed this way tonight. It brought back memories of his years growing up. He didn’t believe in Santa Claus when he was a child because there were no pictures of the benevolent St. Nick in the orphanage. He felt like Christmas was something other kids got to experience. Those were the kids who knew what a brother or sister was or what it felt like to be part of a family with real parents.

He recalled that one year the nuns put up a scrawny Christmas tree. Unlike pictures he’d seen in magazines, there were no presents under it. The Sisters removed the sad-looking spruce when Rory and a number of the boys took the glass ball ornaments outside and played catch until they exploded like snowballs.

They’d missed their dinner that night, but it had been worth it, he recalled. Their quiet giggles continued all through the evening. Instead of Christmas carols, they told ghost stories in the corner of the room they shared, secured at night with a sleepy nun sitting guard outside the door until morning. He took pride in the fact that he was part of the incorrigible boys, and though the oldest was seven, they had earned a reputation they liked: impossible to live with. They figured if they continued screwing up, they could stay together until their teens and then be a pack of friends “on the outside” as they referred to it. Despite the best efforts of the nuns, the cold, dark structure still felt like a children’s prison. In the five remaining years he lived there, he would never see another decoration reminding them of the holiday.

He angled his head and watched her until she looked up at him across the room, with her pale blue eyes, the dimple at the right of her light pink lips hidden by the glued-on facial hair. He could see the squint of a conspiratorial smile, and suddenly he was as hot for her as anyone he’d ever been with.

She finished the story to the clapping of small exuberant hands and the titters of several mothers who had gathered behind the semicircle of the rapt little audience. She signed some books as Santa, and then stood and straightened up her suit with the fake belly. Her black stretchy pants revealed just enough about her thighs and ass to drive him wild. Her boobs were enormous and having difficulty staying put behind the tight suit obviously made for a small male. He didn’t want to do her in the men’s bathroom, but damn, he sure felt like it. He couldn’t look in her eyes as she came up to him—his mind was so filled with dirty thoughts. Instead, he lowered his gaze to her chest, letting her get a glimpse of his lust for her. He figured it was way past time and she deserved to know his intentions even if he couldn’t tell her yet.

Her girlfriend, Brady’s wife, told Rory just yesterday that Megan was seriously interested in having a good time. Lindsay also whispered the magic words that Megan was very inexperienced and kind of intimidated by Rory, that he’d have to be careful. He knew Lindsay and her little breach of confidence were setting him up, but he didn’t mind one bit. He decided it was time to whisk Megan away to some place dark and dangerous, to help her with whatever fantasies she had about spending time with a SEAL. Whatever they were, he was happy to oblige.

“You want to go somewhere?” she asked. When he stared back into her pale blue eyes he saw fear residing there. He saw that she blushed a glowing shade of rose that made his groin react so fast he almost gasped.

“I’d like that, Megan.” He leaned in closer and kissed her on the ear. “Was hoping you’d be up for something other than coffee.”

She tilted her head and gave him a frown.

He wasn’t sure she’d understood him. “N-n-nothing wrong with coffee, sweetheart. Just thought a little change of scenery would be good.”

She blushed again, and he hoped she was having half the lush red thoughts he was having. Behind a shy smile, she continued softly, “I’ll go change.” Hoisting her backpack over one shoulder, she turned to head to the staff area. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back dangerously close to him.

His voice was raspy, and he was short of breath. “I always wanted to have a date with Santa. Sure as hell never had one when I was growing up,” he whispered. This last part was true. He’d never sat on Santa’s lap or had the luxury of being able to tell anyone what he wanted for Christmas as a child. Like he had a label affixed to his forehead that read, “Doesn’t deserve.”

“This material is scratchy though, Rory.”

“I can help you with that, sweetheart. No worries. I’m very easy to please, especially tonight.” He chased his comment with a smile.

Instantly, Megan’s cheeks flamed and her eyes skittered away from his. Rory did a quick location check around the store to make sure no youngsters had noticed them before he turned back to face her, stepped close enough to feel her body barely touch the entire length of his, and kissed her.

He felt how nervous she was, but also how needy. Her minted breath was punctuated by little catches and faint squeaking as if she tasted forbidden fruit. It sent waves of arousal down his spine. When they parted, he licked his lips to taste what she’d left behind. “Mmmmm. Nice, Megan.” He meant it.

She hesitated, then carefully placed her fingertips just below his shoulders, as if it was the first time she’d put her hands on a real man, and then allowed them to travel lazily across his pecs. He inhaled and let his chest cavity go huge which caused a flutter in her eyelids. No longer a skinny orphaned boy, he let her see how proud he was of his physique, how hard he had trained, how disciplined he was as a powerful killing machine. He could feel her heart thumping in a dull cadence. He let his right hand slip around her waist, barely touching the top of her ass with his fingers, which got the tiny reaction he was hoping for, the little inhale that told him she was afraid of him, but couldn’t stop herself. He pressed her thigh into his groin, maneuvering around the large Santa belly he wanted to get his hand under, loving the way they fit already, even with the costume. But mostly loving how she let him lead her.

He saw realization spread across her face that his body was hard and lean and he wasn’t afraid to show her what he intended to do. He smiled and said with his eyes on her lips, “You ready?”

She gave a nervous shrug, but allowed him to pull her backpack from her, sling it over his own shoulder, and tuck his other arm around her waist. She fit well next to him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

She pointed to her small red VW convertible partially obscured by a large white van. “You want to follow?” She was all pink and timid again as she removed her Santa hat and started to remove her beard.

“Hold on, sweetheart. I’ve been watching you read to those kids for the past hour, and I definitely have some plans for that outfit.”

She tented her eyebrows and shot him a questioning look. “Seriously?” She took a step backward and he followed, meeting her, not letting her get away, and whispering in her ear.

“You have no idea.” He kissed the side of her neck just under her ear and he heard her purr like a kitten.

So far so good.

As he followed behind Megan’s little VW, Rory recalled their first awkward meeting on a bright Saturday morning about three weeks ago. It had been a beautiful warm and cloudless winter day, so the chirping little birds had gotten an early start in the bright San Diego sunlight at 6:30 AM. The night before, he’d been at the Scupper, their local Team hangout and site for operations of the female kind, the pre-planning for something local or for discussing something happening overseas in the theater. But mostly it was to get shit-faced, talk smack and let off steam with several of his team buddies. Tyler and T.J. told him the early Saturday morning yoga class almost never had men in it. But it was loaded with frustrated, nubile young women who twisted themselves into some pretty suggestive poses, and who sometimes went out for coffee afterwards.

As he continued to follow her car down the narrow streets lined with old palm trees and modest stucco and red tiled homes, he smiled and a warm glow traveled all over his body as he thought about how it had gone.

He hadn’t been prepared for the tight yoga pants hugging their little asses, the colored toes and scrunchies holding up their hair with the special fluffed “come fuck me” look he loved. Coop’s father-in-law, the renowned psychiatrist Dr. Austin Brownlee, had diagnosed his itch to catch someone as being due to a lack of intimacy. Rory called it a failure to fuck. He was going to fix this before the weekend was up.

The nut-brown yoga instructor the girls all called Baba Omar, hid behind a salt and pepper beard, his large almond shaped eyes scanning every one of the lovelies. Rory was sure he too was surveying for his next sexual partner. He and the instructor were the only two males in the class.

Rory didn’t understand the terms, but soon understood by watching others what he was supposed to make his body do. This was sometimes difficult because he was looking right into the back of Megan’s ass, and God, did he wish the thin black seam that held her two butt cheeks together would fail. Her ass and thighs were encased in thin yoga pants with bright flowers down the leggings. He was praying for a major clothing malfunction. Something of epic proportions, and him right there to benefit from it. But God wouldn’t grant him that wish. Not yet.

With arms entwined in bent elbows, barely hooking thumbs together, backside of palms touching, he did the breathing exercises the little Indian man had shown them, but he felt like he was tied in a knot. Occasionally someone’s shirt would ride up and he’d get a view of the creamy midriff of one of the lovelies. Megan’s peachy complexion and her rose-colored lips were shockingly intimate on this Saturday morning as she closed her eyes, married her palms together and inhaled, her moist lips in a puckered “O,” sending her chest out toward the front of the room. He knew her nipples would be the same delicate shade of rose as her full lips, and that she would blotch on her chest when she got embarrassed or overly heated.

Rory noticed one of the ladies at the end of his row was using line of sight to get his attention and he pretended not to notice. The woman was very beautiful, and judging from her enhancements and careful efforts to hide her advanced age, she was obviously well off. He was not in the least bit interested in being a rich older woman’s date for coffee, no matter how much fun it would be and how well put together she was. He admired her for her efforts, but Megan’s naïve aura had snagged him completely. She simply enchanted him.

The instructor ended all his classes with a cow-cat breathing exercise, the class in a circle. The little brown yogi took the center, moving to face each student briefly while the warm-up breathing began. Once the powerful poses from rounded back of the cat to the swaying back of a cow intensified and the breathing became deeper and sucked the air out of the hot room, he began to get a boner. Instead of next to him on all fours, in Rory’s mind Megan was beneath him, begging to be penetrated. Each thrust of his hips got him harder and harder as he imagined plunging into her soft moist pussy and then out, only to plunge in again. This went on for nearly five minutes.

The teacher asked them to hold their breath and he gulped in air like it would be his last on earth, hoping his lungs would explode so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with what he knew was coming next. As he exhaled, his cock erupted and would not stop. He collapsed on himself, thinking that would abruptly end it.

But he was wrong.

She had leaned forward, palms to the ground, her third eye pressing deliciously on the rubber mat of the studio, her breathing quieting down as in his mind he filled her cavity with everything he had. He grabbed the large green towel he’d brought to freshen up afterwards and pulled it to his pulsating groin area, rolled his neck to the side and looked at her. Her repose was sweet. The natural rhythm of her chest rising and falling, her knotted nipples daring to softly fall, barely grazing the mat. It was a thing of pure Michelangelo beauty.

At last, her blue eyes opened and, with a smoldering look, she viewed him, a question there he was sure.

“I just made love to you,” he whispered before he could stop himself, his voice cracking like a schoolboy. He watched her frown lines develop as she pretended not to hear. But he knew she had due to the blush streaking her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair was piled high, nearly escaping the tightness of the scrunchie. At last, a trace of a smile started coming on, but she turned her long neck to the side and faced the other direction while her shoulders revealed a giggle she was trying to mask from him.

Perfect.

They headed for the co-ed lockers. The showers were occupied but he was able to get inside the men’s restroom in time to get a stall and wipe himself clean. He had not brought a replacement pair of pants, only a clean shirt, which he donned afterwards.

He thought perhaps he’d taken too long. The hallway was bustling with people, but Megan had already exited the studio, headed toward the parking lot, and he watched her drive away in her cherry red VW convertible. He hoped she was a regular and he would see her again soon.

That had been one heck of a way to meet a lady. Now, he watched her little VW pull into a shared driveway between two single story bungalows. She veered off to the left into a garage. Rory parked at the curb, stiffly got out of the car, and tried to walk casually toward the woman in red velvet, suppressing every dirty thought he didn’t have a right to think. He was thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to stay patient. The night was just coming on, the brilliant colors of dusk adding a peachy glow to everything, including her cheeks. He was on a mission after all. The plan had worked. He’d executed it about as well as he could, giving her time to decide to choose him.

Because he knew, the woman always chooses. He just had to wait until she did.

Click here to visit Sharon Hamilton’s Amazon author page