@TheSpencerRyan exudes confidence,
I mean, have you seen him???
His dark good looks and tattooed muscled perfection are too much.
He’s hot. Lickably hot.
And he has a way with words that leaves me breathless.
But cocky doesn’t even cover it,
this guy is so arrogant you have to fight back.
But God he’s so lickable!
The thing is though,
he looks like sex but he’ll taste like jackass.

@OMGJazzyP is a sexy, annoying ball of rage in fuck-me heels
and she hates me.
Although her nipples would tend to disagree.
It’s a deadly combination.
She’s a princess.
And when I say princess, I mean intolerable, spoiled brat with a tiara.
Sure she’s got that curvaceous goddess thing going on,
but that mouth of hers…
God it needs something in it to shut it up.
#GotJustTheThingRightHere

This is not your average British romance.
It’s a tale of high heels, hot tattooed bad boys and
sex oranges, all wrapped up in a coating of chocolate.
It’s ‘love’ in a social media world,
where not everyone is who they seem
and where some people’s bios should carry a warning.
#JustSayin

He growls, moving closer, putting his beer on the table. “You don’t know me.” He’s right in front of me now.

He smells amazing.

Dammit.

“I don’t want to know you.”

He lets out a clipped laugh. “Liar.”

“You arrogant piece of shit!” I raise my hand to slap his smug face, but he catches my wrist and pins it against the wall above my head. He leans into me until I can feel his breath against my cheek. It sends unwelcome shivers down my spine. I hate him and I hate what he does to me.

My breathing is rapid, but so is his.

“Why do you have to be so fucking irritating?” he hisses, through clenched teeth.

“You bring out the best in me. Now get the fuck off me before I hurt you.”

He sneers. “That, I’d love to see, Princess.”

“Try me,” I dare him, turning my face ever so slightly to look in his eyes. I want him to see how angry I am, to see that I really can’t stand him. Unfortunately, he is looking at my lips, why is he looking at my lips? Just then his eyes flick up, and for a second, I see just a hint of confusion, before his lips crush against mine with such force an involuntary moan escapes.

His tongue forces its way into my mouth and begins exacting its revenge on mine for the nasty things I’ve said.

What the fuck is happening? I hate him, but my God I want to fuck him. This is so bad. I need to stop this now. His hand is still pinning my wrist to the wall, so with my other hand I shove at his shoulder, he breaks contact with my mouth for a second grabbing my other wrist and pinning it along with the first in one strong hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I gasp, fighting to breathe. I badly want to fight him, but I need to feel him.

“Figuring this out,” he murmurs as his mouth begins to travel to my neck. He bites my earlobe and I cry out. Pleasure and pain, passion and fury, surge through me and I start to fight.

Yanking at my hands held securely in his firm grip, I can’t help another moan as his hot, breathless kisses work their way down my neck. His free hand snakes into my top and yanks down the cup of my bra.

“Figuring what out?” I pant. “I hate you and you hate me, it’s perfectly easy to understand. Ah!” His fingers pinch my nipple hard.

“If you hate me, why are you panting like a dog in heat?” he says as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin of my neck and bites hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck!” I growl, the pain just increases the damned pleasure. I fucking hate my body for its betrayal. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I spit. His head dips lower and my top is lifted

up, then his mouth is on my nipple. At this point I’m screwed; my nipples are my weakness. I moan loudly and lose myself for a second in the sensation. He bites down and I cry out. Then realisation floods back in. I wriggle to get out of his grasp again, but he holds me tighter. His hand stills my hips and I freeze as it slides around my arse and up, under my skirt. I try again to get free of him as his busy hand pushes my skirt up around my waist.

“Why fight me?” His fingers travel around my thigh.

“Why? Because I hate you, that’s why.”

“You want me, you can’t deny it.”

“In your dreams,” I start to protest, but his fingers find their way to the front of my knickers and slip inside. All the air leaves my body as his fingers slide across my clit and then sink inside.

“Liar!” he purrs, working his fingers.

I whimper. I’ve never been so turned on, or so at odds with myself. “If you hated me,” he pulls his hand away, leaving me to sag with disappointment, “you wouldn’t be this wet.” His fingers force their way into my mouth, coated with my need.

This display of dominance has a shiver running through me, and without thinking, I suck at his fingers and groan.

He smirks. “Face it, Princess, you want me.”

I do.

No.

Shit.

I don’t.

He lets his fingers slip from my mouth and stares at me with a look of triumph, like he has me right where he wants me.

“You’re a pig,” I whisper, “you make me sick.”

“Yeah?” he challenges.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

Then, he presses himself against me.

Ho-ly fuck.

Terrible wife

Mediocre mother

Appalling housewife

Fashion graduate

Wedding co-ordinator

Sex toy salesperson

Shop manager

Designer

Font collector

Romance addict

Fancier of nice men

Ok, fancier of almost all men

Awesome cupcake baker

Incessant singer

Film buff

Friend

Writer

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