Sample Sunday! Talk Dirty to Me Excerpt

Book 2 in the Dumpsterotica series is out on Kindle and Nook for just $.99. Here's a nice, long excerpt from Talk Dirty to Me to catch your interest!

If she could have, Marcia would have come that second.

He grabbed her and threw her on the bed.

Then he stripped naked and joined her, his penis a steel rod and her vagina an electromagnet. Labia drew him to her like an oxygen tank getting sucked into an MRI tube, as if –

And then she saw the tampons.

“Son of a bitch!” she said, pawing them off her custom-made pillow. Joe laughed, a wicked, defiant sound that made her pulse quicken, a deep throb forming in her clitoris. Sweeping the pillow and her old tampons aside stirred a scent of rotten steak and she cringed.

“This isn't exactly what I –” and then his mouth was on her, between her long-suffering thighs, tongue lightly dancing on her pulsing red nub, soothing the burn and stirring the fire all at once. She inhaled the scent of garbage, rotten chicken and blood and aloe-scented tissues and limp celery – and began to gag.

On. Off. On. Off. As Joe's tongue worked magic with her labia and clit, licking up and strumming her skin like a guitar, pressing the perfect frets to find the right chord that would activate her inner harmony and crescendo, Marcia vacillated between ecstasy and disgust.

Unlike the dumpster, the garbage on her bed, strewn all over her chenille bedspread whose pinstripes perfectly matched the knobs on her nightstand drawers, repelled her.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed to be really into this, reaching for a banana peel and rubbing it on her hip. No matter how often she turned and writhed and scrambled to get away, he pinned her ass in place and ground the rotten peel into her hipbone, triggering a loathing that quickly overcame any arousal he generated with his skilled tongue.

Off finally won out and she said, “What on earth are you doing with that banana peel?”

Confusion clouded his face as he frowned. “It seemed to excite you when we were in the dumpster, so I...”

A lead ball of dread filled her stomach. “It did?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don't remember?”

“No.”

For the first time since he'd found her in the bathroom he laughed, a rich, true laugh of mellow and joy. Joe's laugh. “Ah, well, I do.” He crawled up her belly and leaned into her, pressing himself against her, the smattering of chest hair sliding up her public bone, over her navel, stretching on the ribs and arching her nipples into twin peaks.

When he kissed her she tasted herself and smiled through the kiss, desire blooming again, chasing away the lead weight of doom in her gut.

“So – a banana peel? Really?” she asked, laughing, her hand reaching for his stiff cock.

He sucked in half the air in the room. “Yes.”

As much as she wanted to blow him, to take him into her warm, wet mouth and to run her tongue over him, make him grow inside her until she made her mouth more enticing than any vagina, she knew if she did this would end quickly.

Instead, she used her hands to roam over his ass and hips, sliding up his back and over his shoulders, hoping that this time having him inside her would do the trick for them both.

Taking command, Marcia climbed on top and plunged him inside her. The wave started and she felt the tingling in her knees, shooting up like a line of kerosene set afire, a straight shot to her pussy. A cherry bomb of heat opened her wider, made her ride him harder until she was pogosticking him.

His face changed as Marcia watched, roaming her hands over his pecs, settling on his shoulders to catch a better angle and bracing against him. The pounding triggered a wave of pleasure in her and she felt unleashed, ready to lose all walls and boundaries and to become one with Joe, one with everything, even her vagina-smeared Etsy pillow.

“Talk dirty to me,” she whispered. They'd tried it, once, on their honeymoon, and Marcia had been too embarrassed to ask again.

“Uh, OK,” Joe replied, his voice carrying a note of surprise and playfulness. He paused, then said, “Rotten tomatoes. Old coffee grounds. Ooo – three-day-old shrimp in garlic sauce...”

Marcia sat all the way up and punched him in the solar plexus as hard as she could. He arched, hard, upward into her, as much a Newtonian reaction as a remnant of pleasure. And then his erection closed in on itself, his cock sliding out of her like a wet, buttered noodle.