Page 110 of Madam, May I
“Your name is not on the register,” he said, looking down at a paper on his desk.
“It is. You just don’t know my real name,” she admitted before she extended her hand. “Desdemona Dean.”
Loren took a step back in surprise. “Oh, so when you said there was so much I didn’t know, that was an understatement.”
She gave him an encouraging smile as she eyed him and accepted that there was no exit when it came to her love for him. “I didn’t know you were teaching this class,” she said, stepping close to him.
Loren looked down at her, and their eyes locked. That crazy kinetic energy was there. Pulsing. Vibrating. Taking them back to the familiar.
“Desdemona?” he asked.
She nodded as she reached up and stroked his chin. “My name sounds so good on your lips.”
“And do you still think I am not man enough for you?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” she admitted. “I have never stopped loving you, and this is fate saying stop denying this. Be happy.”
“With me?”
“I’d like to try. Flaws and all,” Desdemona said. “I can’t reveal everything to you. A lot of it has to stay in the past for us to make it, and you have to be okay with that.”
Loren turned his head and kissed the palm she had pressed to his cheek. “My love for you will help make me okay with it,” he said. “I just know this last year has been some real bullshit without you,Desdemona.”
“I love you,” she whispered up to him as he placed a hand to her back and pulled her close. “I am so tired of fighting this.”
“Then don’t,” he said in that hotly anticipated moment before he pressed his mouth down on hers.
They swayed back and forth a bit as they kissed.
“Madam, may I love you?” Loren asked, teasing at that quip he had tried all those months ago that had gone horribly wrong.
This time she stroked the soft curls on his nape as she gently nodded. “With all that you have.”
Don’t miss Niobia Bryant’s sexy, unforgettable novel about love, infidelity, and the importance of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer...
Message from a Mistress
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Jessa’s Intro
Where do I begin? How do I tell the story? Our story. His and mine.
He was my lover and her husband. You would think that wasn’t possible—like saying dry rain or cold heat—but it was true. She had the ring and the license . . . but I had him. From that first heated moment in their kitchen when his strong hands reached beneath my skirt to grab my soft, bare ass, I knew I had him.
I don’t recall the specific moment when our lust turned to love. When our time spent together became about more than just fucking, more than just rushing through electrifying sex that left us both panting, sweaty, and in various stages of undress. We shifted so easily from sharing clandestine and wonderfully sneaky moments—even in their house while she was there—to him sneaking out of their home to be in my arms and in my bed.
I hated to lie alone at night surrounded by nothing but cool cotton sheets and plush down pillows while she had his hard and warm body to hold close.
I knew the time would come when I would want more from him than just his dick. I wanted his love, his time, his all . . . for me and only me.
She was my friend—true, but he was my lover, my love, and in this game there could only be one winner, as far as I was concerned.
Me.
Chapter 1
Jaime Hall enjoyed the feel of the steam pressed against her shoulders and her legs where she sat in the glass shower of their bedroom suite. The thick swirling vapors felt like a lover’s gentle touch against her skin and those intimate parts of a woman’s body. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her thighs. Her lips—both sets.