Heat up your Summer reading with Christina Lauren's Sweet Filthy Boy, a new erotic novel from the authors of the Beautiful Bastard series. We revealed the cover ahead of its May release, and now we're sharing two saucy excerpts from the novel: a tame one and a dirty one — depending on how racy you want to go! Keep in mind: if you wouldn't want your co-workers spying you reading Fifty Shades of Grey, both excerpts should be considered NSFW. Here's a little bit about the book:
"One-night stands are supposed to be with someone convenient, or wickedly persuasive, or regrettable . . . They aren't supposed to be with someone like him. New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren gives us a healthy serving of sexy in brand new story of friends, love, and lust in Book One of the Wild Seasons series."
Read the excerpts below, and for more information on the hot series, visit XOXO After Dark.
"Why did you get me over here? Away from everyone?" he asks, smile slowly fading.
I look past him, over his shoulder into the club, where it's only slightly lighter than where we're standing.
When I don't answer, he bends to catch my eyes. "Am I asking too many questions?"
"It always takes me a while to put words together," I tell him. "It's not you."
"No, no. Lie to me," he says, moving closer, his heart-stopping smile returning. "Let me pretend when we're alone like this I render you speechless."
And still, he waits for me to find the words I want to say in reply. But the truth is, even with a bowl full of words to choose from, I'm not sure it would make sense if I told him why I wanted him down here, away from the safety of my friends, who are always able to translate my expressions into sentences, or at the very least change the subject for me.
I'm not nervous or intimidated. I simply don't know how to slip into the role I want to play: flirty, open, brave. What is it about another person's chemistry that makes you feel more or less drawn to them? With Ansel, I feel like my heartbeat is chasing his. I want to leave my fingerprints all over his neck and his lips. I want to suck on his skin, to see if it's as warm as it looks, and decide if I like what he was drinking by tasting it on his tongue. I want to have an entire conversation with him where I don't second-guess or struggle with a single word, and then I want to take him back to the room with me and not use any words at all.
"Ask me again," I say.
His brows pull together for a beat before he understands. "Why did you bring me down here?"
This time I don't even think before I speak: "I want to have a different life tonight."
His lips push out a little as he thinks and I can't help but blink down to them. "With me, Cerise?"
I nod. "I know what that means, you know. It means 'cherry.' Pervert."
His eyes shine with amusement. "It does."
"And I'm sure you've guessed I'm not a virgin."
He shakes his head. "Have you seen your mouth? I've never seen lips so full and red."
Unconsciously, I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, sucking it. His eyes grow heavy and he leans closer. "I like when you do that. I want a turn."
My voice is nervous and shaking when I whisper, "They're just lips."
"They're not just lips. And please," he teases, and he's so close I can smell his aftershave. It smells like fresh air, like green and sharp and soothing all at once, something I've never smelled on a man before. "You wear red lipstick so that men won't notice your mouth? Surely you know what we dream about a mouth like that doing."
I don't close my eyes when he leans in and takes my bottom lip between both of his, but he does. His eyes fall closed, and every one of my senses picks up the gravelly sound he makes: I taste it, feel it, hear it, see the way he shivers against me.
He runs his tongue over my lip, sucks gently, and then pulls back. I realize it wasn't really a kiss. It was more a taste. And obviously he agrees: "You don't taste like cherry."
"What do I taste like?"
He shrugs a little, thoughtfully purses his lips. "I'm unable to think of a good word in English. Sweet. Like a woman and a girl still, too."
His hand is still planted near my head, but the other toys with the hem of my cardigan. I realize that if I want to live a different life I have to do it. I can't tiptoe along the edge of the cliff. I have to jump. I have to figure out what kind of girl would do what I want to do with him, and pretend I'm her. She's the one onstage. Mia watches from the audience.
I pull his fingers down to the bottom of my dress, and then under.
He nods into the kiss. "Here. It's getting busy," he says, motioning back toward the restaurant. "We'd have to be quick."
It feels like someone lights a match inside my chest and I wrap my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling us both back into the empty bathroom. He follows without a word, kissing me until the door shuts behind us and the lock clicks into place.
I'm suddenly overheated, oversensitive. I can feel every inch of clothing that separates us. His hands grip my face, tongue slipping against mine, and he tastes so good, I'm almost light-headed.
The room is dark, lit overhead by another strip of neon pink. It's so easy to pretend in here, lost in light that makes everything look like make-believe, surrounded by sounds on the other side of the door. I feel the beat of the music push up through the floor and into my feet, and it's only this that reminds me there are other people on this planet beyond our kisses, our frantic hands as we try to get closer, push clothes out of the way.
My dress comes up, his shirt pulled from the waist of his pants so I can scratch my nails over his stomach. I gasp as cool air finds my skin, where my panties are damp between my legs. He moves a palm down over my navel, fingers slipping just beneath the skimpy lace waistband until he's cupping me, dragging his fingers between and over, everywhere but the place I want him.
"Want to taste this," he says.
I rock against his hand, crying out at the way the tip of his fingers tease in and out of me, gathering wetness, moving back and forth over my clit.
Picking me up, he walks us to the counter, setting me down before he kneels between my parted legs. I watch as he leans forward, looking up at me through his lashes while he reaches out, pulls my panties to the side, and flicks the tip of his tongue over me.
"Oh," I cry out, too loud and breathing so heavy I fear I might actually pass out. On instinct my hand moves to the back of his head, holding him to me and God it's so dirty to see him like this, head down and washed in neon while he licks me out, moans against me.
I try to stay still, not to rock my hips or be demanding, but every nerve in my body is focused on his tongue as it drags over my clit.
"Fingers," I gasp.