Read Online Shifters on Fire: A BBW Shifter Romance Boxed Set by Marissa Farrar, Kate Richards, Marian Tee, Lynn Red, Dominique Eastwick, Becca Vincenza, Ever Coming, Lila Felix, Dara Fraser, Skye Jones, Lisbeth Frost - Free Book Online
Authors: Marissa Farrar, Kate Richards, Marian Tee, Lynn Red, Dominique Eastwick, Becca Vincenza, Ever Coming, Lila Felix, Dara Fraser, Skye Jones, Lisbeth Frost
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it could turn on and give her nerves a wild jolt of NPR.
“Why do I do this?” she asked her empty room. With a glance around, she saw her clothes in a heap, but beside her artfully torn jeans and the sparkly shirt she’d worn out the night before, there was something stranger than the strangest fiction: someone else’s clothes. That’s when it hit her: the smell of frying bacon, deep, rich, black coffee, and... it was coming nearer?
“Oh,” she said with a grin that was almost sheepish but not quite, “right. I guess sometimes things do work out. Hey there,” she could hear the smile on her lips in the way she spoke. “Who is this gorgeous hunk of man in front of me?”
The man with the long, olive-skinned body smiled. Both of his cheekbones were high, and perfectly framed his flaming green eyes. “What on earth did I do to deserve you ?” she asked the man, who really shouldn’t have been a mystery, but who definitely was.
“The question,” he asked in a deliciously accented voice that was halfway between British and Spanish, “is what I did to deserve you ?”
“Oh my God,” Sheena said, rolling over in her blankets and grinning. “It finally happened it—”
He stepped closer and placed the tray with the bacon, the eggs, coffee and orange juice on the dressing bench on the end of her bed and climbed toward her. His naked body glistening in the early morning sun, he was all visible for Sheena to drink in, and drink she did. From head to toe, she let her eyes unashamedly slide over this beautiful hunk of man. He kissed her hard enough to force her head back into the mound of pillows upon which she slept.
Taking her hands in his, the beautiful stranger stroked his chest with her fingertips and let them fall down his body all the way to the tuft of hair just above his—
“Hello, this is the BBC World Report bringing you the quarter-past world news. In Libya, the—”
“Son of a bitch,” Sheena cursed. “Son of a damn bitch.”
The rest of it, aside from the hot guy cooking the breakfast, was all too real. The headache throbbed, the sun came through the blinds and as she stared at the tree outside her window, it became very clear to Sheena that the eight whiskies she dreamed about drinking the night before was actually more like twelve.
She rolled out of bed, and unceremoniously hit the floor with a thump as her knees struck hardwood. She cursed again and got up to her feet before wavering slightly and stepping backward just enough for the backs of her knees to hit the mattress and then fell back into the bed.
Somehow, with agility that belied both her hung-over state and her general clumsiness, Sheena managed to hit the switch on her radio with her foot. The guy from the BBC fell silent, and before she knew it, the nightmare of being awake melted back into obscurity. For a few blessed moments, she tossed and turned, alternatively dreaming of the mysterious stranger who cooked her breakfast and then the breakfast itself.
She couldn’t decide which one sounded better—a morning of sensual sex, or a morning where she didn’t have to go to Hardee’s for an egg and ham biscuit before humping her way into the photo shop for another long day of developing semi-embarrassing snapshots of people who thought they were being far more naughty than they were and silk-screening terrible t-shirts. And then, more or less out of nowhere, she did decide what was the part she wanted the most.
Once again, she fell out of bed, only this time instead of her knees hitting they floor they hit the side of her nightstand which also upset a small glass with something very alcoholic smelling, which landed atop her head. Blowing out a puff of air, Sheena got to her feet, made sure there wasn’t anything else around that could cause her to fall over again, or anything she could step on, spill or upset in any other way, and strolled to the door of her room.
Her house wasn’t cramped, but it also wasn’t large.
“Why do I do this?” she asked her empty room. With a glance around, she saw her clothes in a heap, but beside her artfully torn jeans and the sparkly shirt she’d worn out the night before, there was something stranger than the strangest fiction: someone else’s clothes. That’s when it hit her: the smell of frying bacon, deep, rich, black coffee, and... it was coming nearer?
“Oh,” she said with a grin that was almost sheepish but not quite, “right. I guess sometimes things do work out. Hey there,” she could hear the smile on her lips in the way she spoke. “Who is this gorgeous hunk of man in front of me?”
The man with the long, olive-skinned body smiled. Both of his cheekbones were high, and perfectly framed his flaming green eyes. “What on earth did I do to deserve you ?” she asked the man, who really shouldn’t have been a mystery, but who definitely was.
“The question,” he asked in a deliciously accented voice that was halfway between British and Spanish, “is what I did to deserve you ?”
“Oh my God,” Sheena said, rolling over in her blankets and grinning. “It finally happened it—”
He stepped closer and placed the tray with the bacon, the eggs, coffee and orange juice on the dressing bench on the end of her bed and climbed toward her. His naked body glistening in the early morning sun, he was all visible for Sheena to drink in, and drink she did. From head to toe, she let her eyes unashamedly slide over this beautiful hunk of man. He kissed her hard enough to force her head back into the mound of pillows upon which she slept.
Taking her hands in his, the beautiful stranger stroked his chest with her fingertips and let them fall down his body all the way to the tuft of hair just above his—
“Hello, this is the BBC World Report bringing you the quarter-past world news. In Libya, the—”
“Son of a bitch,” Sheena cursed. “Son of a damn bitch.”
The rest of it, aside from the hot guy cooking the breakfast, was all too real. The headache throbbed, the sun came through the blinds and as she stared at the tree outside her window, it became very clear to Sheena that the eight whiskies she dreamed about drinking the night before was actually more like twelve.
She rolled out of bed, and unceremoniously hit the floor with a thump as her knees struck hardwood. She cursed again and got up to her feet before wavering slightly and stepping backward just enough for the backs of her knees to hit the mattress and then fell back into the bed.
Somehow, with agility that belied both her hung-over state and her general clumsiness, Sheena managed to hit the switch on her radio with her foot. The guy from the BBC fell silent, and before she knew it, the nightmare of being awake melted back into obscurity. For a few blessed moments, she tossed and turned, alternatively dreaming of the mysterious stranger who cooked her breakfast and then the breakfast itself.
She couldn’t decide which one sounded better—a morning of sensual sex, or a morning where she didn’t have to go to Hardee’s for an egg and ham biscuit before humping her way into the photo shop for another long day of developing semi-embarrassing snapshots of people who thought they were being far more naughty than they were and silk-screening terrible t-shirts. And then, more or less out of nowhere, she did decide what was the part she wanted the most.
Once again, she fell out of bed, only this time instead of her knees hitting they floor they hit the side of her nightstand which also upset a small glass with something very alcoholic smelling, which landed atop her head. Blowing out a puff of air, Sheena got to her feet, made sure there wasn’t anything else around that could cause her to fall over again, or anything she could step on, spill or upset in any other way, and strolled to the door of her room.
Her house wasn’t cramped, but it also wasn’t large.
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