quarta-feira, 14 de dezembro de 2016

Book Blitz: "Thrust" - Sybil Bartel

Title: Thrust
Author: Sybil Bartel
Publication date: December 6th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

I know the game. I know the angle. I know how to make you beg.
My hands on your body, my mouth hovering over yours―I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. Ten inches of real estate never felt so good.
But don’t take my word for it. My client list is long and my motto is short―one single thrust and
you’re mine. I’m not good at what I do, I’m fantastic. But satisfaction doesn’t come cheap. So open your wallet and prepare to forget your name. I’m about to ruin you for any other man.
One single thrust and you’re mine.

Excerpt 1
“How do you wanna settle up?” I tied off the condom and slipped it into my pocket as I pulled my pants up. Rule number one—never leave behind any evidence.
Naked except for her heels, she got off the bed and sauntered to her purse. “How much?”
“Four grand.” I smiled like I was checking her out.
I took two strides and tipped her chin. “Two rounds and oral. You want a third? I just got hard watching that ass of yours.” I could fit in another quickie before my next appointment.
She smiled coyly. “Maybe next time.”
I held back my laugh, just barely. I was hung as hell. If she wasn’t sore from all that pounding, my name wasn’t Alex Vega. “You know where to find me.” I dropped her chin. “Cash or credit?”
She handed me her card and I swiped it through the small credit card reader attached to my cell phone. “Need me to text you a receipt?”
She smiled. “Receipt?”
“Deep tissue massage.” I was legit as fuck. I’d even gotten the damn massage therapist license. “Medical expense. You can deduct it on your taxes.” I winked. “You’re welcome.”
She shook her head but she looked amused. The card went through and I got dressed ASAP. Rule number two—never stick around—unless they pay you.
“So….” She twirled her hair like she was twelve. “What are you doing Saturday night? I’m looking for a date to this fundraiser that’s for—”
I was already shaking my head. “Sorry, babe. I don’t do show and tell. Strictly bedroom scenes. But text me after if you’re bored.” I shot her my money smile and buckled my Ferragamo belt then threw on the jacket of my custom-tailored suit. Stepping into my loafers sans socks, I was out. “Later, gorgeous.” Three steps backward, a wink for good measure and I turned.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, I checked my messages, scheduled three more clients and pulled up my E-Trade account balance. Nothing got me hard like seven digits in a row.

Excerpt 2
It was like every other charity event. Posers, older women in heels, money and a solid display of Botox—with one exception.
Her ass was fucking perfect.
Small waist that swelled into round hips and an honest-to-God heart-shaped ass. The whole package was wrapped in a tight black dress, fuck-me heels and legs that went on for days.
I made my way toward those sexy curves because I needed to see the face attached to that body. I walked right up behind her and leaned toward her ear. No perfume. Just soap, shampoo, and pure intoxicating woman. “Buy you a drink, beautiful?” Anticipation made my mouth water as I waited for her to turn around.
Jesus Christ.
She was fucking gorgeous. Deep blue eyes, dark brown silky hair pinned up, her tits matched the luscious swell of her hips and her scowl made my dick come to life.
“It’s an open bar,” she said dryly.
A grin spread across my face like it was Christmas morning. Goddamn, I loved a challenge. “Did I say here?” I winked.
She forced a smile. “Check out the paintings. There are plenty left to bid on, Mr.…? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t introduce myself.” Five minutes alone with her. That’s all I needed to turn her into a client.
“Right. Well, enjoy your evening.” She pivoted and walked away.

Excerpt 3
Incredibly tall, too many muscles and way too gorgeous to be real, the guy who’d tried to hit on me earlier lifted his eyebrows. “Was it something I said?”
His suit was custom, his attitude was one-hundred percent douche and his smile said he owned it. “You wish.” I looked back down at my phone.
“I don’t have to wish, gorgeous. I get what I want, always.”
I scrolled on my phone and ignored him. “Good for you.”
“Your boyfriend sexting you?”
I glanced up. Okay, he was hot as hell, I’d give him that. Piercing blue eyes, black hair, perfectly chiseled features, and he wore his suit and his attitude, it didn’t wear him. But I was spot-on with my earlier assessment. He was a total douche and I was done pretending to be polite. He wasn’t going to buy anything. He’d been too busy keeping his date’s hands off him to even look at any of the paintings. “Yeah, and if you don’t mind, I’d like a little privacy so I can get off.”
Brilliant and consuming, he smiled. It would’ve made my heart flutter if I went for his type, which I didn’t. Ever.
He tipped his drink at me then took a sip. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.” His shoulder hit the wall and he sank a hand into his pocket like he was settling in to watch a show.
“Shouldn’t you get back to your girlfriend?” The woman he’d walked in with looked twice his age, but hell, who was I to judge? Maybe he liked cougars.
“Not my girlfriend.” He took another sip.
“Good luck with that.” When his date hadn’t been pawing him, she’d been eye-fucking him. I took a step but he pushed off the wall and blocked me.
Using the hand that was holding his drink, he skimmed the backs of his fingers down the length of my arm. “Don’t you need to take care of something?” His lips curved mischievously as he looked pointedly between my legs, tipped the glass to his mouth and drew in a few ice cubes. His jaw shifted and the brilliant smile was back. “Or maybe you need me to cool you down.”
Oh my God. “Does that actually work for you?”
He ran his tongue over his top lip. “Does what work?” His voice was pure innocence but his narrowed, knowing eyes were all attitude.
“If you actually think a woman gets off on having ice shoved up her—whatever, I feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t think women like it, I know they do. And just so we’re clear, yes, you’d love it. Your body, my mouth and this glass of ice.” He shook the tumbler. “Five minutes and I’ll make you come. Twice.” He winked. “Guaranteed or your money back.”

Author Bio
Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’t writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.

Giveaway (INTL - ends December 22nd)

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