Yes, please.
As much as I like pushing back on him, I also like it when he tells me what to do.
Mostly when we’re naked.
In the past several months, we’ve christened nearly every surface of this house. The shower is a consistent favorite, and even the washing machine is a surprisingly ideal height.
Not only is Daniel good at making me come, he seems particularly devoted to finding new ways every time.
He unfastens his jeans and shoves them and his shorts down.
I’m already so wet at the thought of him taking me like this, but I can’t resist taunting him as he rubs his fingers lightly over my clit.
“Seems like you’re avoiding having a conversation about your feelings.”
“On the contrary. You want to know how I feel, I’ll gladly tell you.”
Daniel wraps an arm around my waist and slips the head of his cock inside me bare.
He sinks inside me on a groan that echoes off the damp mirrors.
I swear I will never get over the sensation of having him fill me with nothing between us.
I loop my hands around his neck. “How do you feel?”
He lifts my hips higher, driving all the way to the hilt.
“Fantastic. So do you,” he groans against my ear as he thrusts into me.
I hold on, laughing and breathless.
Daniel loves me and he shows me every damn day.
Things are different now that I’m not working for him, but it’s good. It feels like we’re on equal ground.
The fact that he’s older comes up sometimes but mostly, it’s just hot that he’s got ten years on me and he’s spent them becoming the kind of man I never dreamed I’d be with.
The phone rings. Clay.
Both our eyes go to the screen, but it’s Daniel who curses. “It’s like he knows we’re having sex and is doing his duty to stop us.”
“He’s been worried about getting traded.”
“Call him back later.”
The call goes to voicemail.
When Daniel shifts me back on the vanity, lowering my shoulders against the mirrors and changing the angle, I can’t find it in me to feel bad.
“Everything will be fine,” he murmurs.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
My heart flips over and I kiss him.
He’s right.
Thank you for reading TEMPT! Daniel and Kat have etched a place in my heart, and I hope you love them as much as I do.
If you enjoyed their story, I’d be so grateful if you would leave a short review wherever you picked up this book.
Reviews are one of the best ways to help support indie authors (including me!), and to help readers find new books they’ll adore.
With much love,
Piper
To hear about new adult and contemporary romances first, join my VIP email list!
You’ll hear from me 1-2x a month with book news and sneak peeks you can’t get elsewhere.
CLICK HERE TO JOIN >
If you loved Daniel and Kat’s age gap romance with a dose of realness, you HAVE to read my Wicked series!
Turn the page to read Chapter 1 now.
CHAPTER 1
HALEY
Nothing in twenty years prepares me for that man on his knees.
Naked to the waist.
Sweat gleaming on his shoulders.
The spotlight caresses the ridges of a body cut from stone as though it wants to follow him around forever.
Maybe it does.
But he’s not stone. His skin would be warm, not cold.
Silhouetted hands reach for him over the edge of the stage, like something out of Dante’s Inferno. Souls in hell grasping for their last chance at heaven. That seems misguided because the way Jax Jamieson grips a mic is straight-up sinful.
Next to the poster is a photo of four men in tuxes, gold statues in their hands.
We’re attracted to gold for its sheen, its promise of something elite and revered and sacred.
My gaze drags back to the man in the poster. Elite. Revered. Sacred.
“I’ve read your resume. Now tell me why you’re really qualified.”
The dress pants that were a bad damn idea slip on the seat. The polyester scrapes along my skin, and I force eye contact with the woman interviewing me. “I reset at least two hundred undergrad passwords a week. And I make a lot of coffee. My roommate says I’m better than the baristas at her café.”
“Excuse me?”
The printed job description sticks to my fingers. “‘Technical support and other duties as appropriate.’ That’s what you mean, right? Rebooting computers and making coffee?”
She holds up a hand. “Miss Telfer, Wicked Records is the only private label that has survived everything from Napster to streaming. There are two hundred applications for this internship. Our interns write and produce music. Run festivals.”
The woman looks as if she missed getting tickets to the Stones’ Voodoo Lounge tour and has been holding a grudge ever since.
Or maybe she was the next one into the record store behind me the day I found Dark Side of the Moon on vinyl in Topeka.
It’s probably not a fair assessment. Under that harsh exterior, she could be genuinely kind and passionate about music.
Maybe I’m in The Devil Wears Prada and this woman’s my Stanley Tucci.
“I run an open mic night on campus,” I try. “And I’m a developer. I write code practically every day, and lot of people fork my repos on GitHub, and…” My gaze sneaks back to the poster.
“Don’t get too excited,” she warns. “Whoever gets this job”—her tone says it’s not me—“won’t work with the talent. Especially that talent.”
Her final questions are nails in my coffin. Closed-ended things like if the address on my forms is right and if the transcripts I submitted are up to date.
She holds out a hand at the end, and I hold my breath.
Her skin’s cold, like her heart decided not to pump blood that far.
I drop her hand as fast as I can. Then I shoulder my backpack and slink out the door.
The idea that the biggest rock star of the last ten years just saw me bomb—even if it was only his poster—is depressing.
I’m on the second bus back across Philly to campus before the full weight of disappointment hits me.
Are college juniors supposed to have run music festivals in order to pour coffee? Because I missed that memo.
I drop my backpack at our two-bedroom apartment, change out of my weird interview pants and into torn skinny jeans and my mom’s brown leather jacket, then make two coffees and walk to campus, the UPenn and Hello Kitty travel mugs in tow.
“Excuse me.” A girl stops me on the way into the café, right beside the sign that says Live Music! “There’s a cover tonight.”
“I’m here every week.” My smile fades when I realize she really has no clue who I am. I point to my chest. “Haley. I get the bands.”
“Really?” She cocks her head. “I’ve never noticed you.”