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“Raavveennn, tell me my alien name.”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“No, I won’t. Just don’t give my character a long nose to match his long cock, and I’ll be happy.”
She presses her lips together, so I tickle her waist. “Stop!” She blurts, giggling. “What if I pee?”
“What if I get hard again when you tell me?”
“Fine.” She smashes her hand over my mouth. “But not a word once I do.”
I nod, kissing her palm.
“Beau was Valen, the Vulgarian, but in my new series, he’s Willuf, the Wilder, and now you’re Valr, the Vicious.” I wrinkle my brows. “Valr means ‘hawk’ in old Norse, what the Vikings spoke. You seem to have a thing for them. Hell, you look like one.”
I sputter against her hand. “How is Valr vicious?”
“He kidnaps our heroine, Falcon, the woman Willuf loves. He holds her hostage and falls in love with her, too, while trying to tempt Willuf to his lair, where they can form a truce. They’re attracted to each other but hate each other. They’re rival warlords. But they’re tired of fighting, of the pain of war, and the only way to seal their peace is?—”
I grin. “Plant their seed inside her.”
“Yep.” Shamelessly, she smiles, removing my muzzle.
“Now, who’s cliché?” But I pinch her nose, loving her story—our story.
“Touché to my cliché.” She shrugs. “But romance readers love a good, hot breeding.”
“You love a good, hot breeding.”
Yep, she blushes again. Yep, she makes this fun. Blair makes me feel right. She makes me want to take and give, and we do.
We fuck again, and like her book, our love summons Beau to her lair. We finish just in time to find him rustling his hair in the doorway of her office.
“When y’all are done writing her next chapter,” he smiles, “it’s time for bed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Go shameless or go home.
BLAIR
“Oh my god, look at all these people!”
My jaw hits the floorboard of Beau’s fancy truck.
My deodorant quits her job.
I suck my teeth, worried the broccoli I didn’t eat is stuck in them, too, while my bare legs in white vinyl thigh-high boots feel too exposed in my Galaxy babe cosplay outfit.
“Take me home,” I rush. “I gotta change.”
“Babe, you look awesome.” Beau drives toward the back of the bookstore, where the line of people wraps around the large brick building. “You look like the badass astro babes you write about. Better yet, you look exactly like Azora Reign, the bestselling paranormal romance author, and all these people want to meet you.”
“Where did you get your pen name from anyway?” Colt asks from the back seat.
“Azora was my mom’s middle name.”
My hands are shaking. How can I sign books when I’m about to pass out?
