K. Bromberg's Blog, page 25
April 16, 2014
New UnRaveled Teaser Quote
Here’s a new teaser pic from UnRaveled my short story in the Bend Anthology (only 99 cents) out May 5th along with 7 other great authors…Want to know what UnRaveled is about?
UnRaveled by K. Bromberg
One night.
One mistake.
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and bound.
Shamed she liked it.
Doomed to want it.
Limits tested.
Boundaries pushed.
Desire awakened.
Inhibition unleashed.
An identity unraveled.
Lives changed forever
Pre-Order now: Click Here
April 13, 2014
CRASH DASH Colton POV Complete
Well CRASH Dash has come and gone, but I promised to post the entire Colton POV and here it is from Crashed. Thank you for participating in the scavenger hunt…and I hope you had fun.
________________________
CHAPTER 12
Colton
The turbulence jars me awake. Scares the fuck out of me really seeing as I was having that damn dream again about the crash—the dream where I can’t remember shit except for the dizzying, sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach and the out of control feeling in my head. Add to that the jolt of the plane and my mile high wake up is a hell of a lot more stressful that the one I’d really like to have with Ry.
God how badly do I want to take that for a ride. I’m fucking hard as a rock as I’ve been for the past three days when I wake up but one, doctor’s fucking orders. Two, we’re constantly surrounded by other people, and three, after overhearing her conversation with Haddie the other night when she thought I was asleep, how can I touch her when all I’m going to do is end up hurting her.
I don’t want to do that to her. Don’t want her to live life always waiting for the worst to happen. I don’t mind the car, don’t mind what a crash could possibly do to me because the shit I lived through was much more painful than what a hitting a concrete barrier could ever do to me.
Impact can kill your body.
What my mom did to me killed me soul.
I shake the shit from my head and lift it up from the chair Ry insisted I adjust to recline. I look around to see Nurse Ratchet, the hospital approved nurse, sent to monitor my flight home sit up at attention when she notices that I’m awake.
Leave me the fuck alone.
I’ve had enough prodding fingers and concerned eyes looking at me to last a fucking lifetime. Oh and then there were the fucking ludicrous sponge baths. Grown men sure as fuck are not supposed to have someone wash their nuts unless it’s to be followed by a blowjob in the shower. On a bed with a sponge? Fucking ridiculous.
Good riddance to the hospital and it’s torturous type of solitary confinement.
Nurse Ratchet starts to unbuckle her seatbelt, and I just shake my head to tell her that I’m fine. I lay back down, angling my head to the right so that I can stare at the sight across the aisle from me. Rylee’s sound asleep, curled up on her side so that she’s facing me, no doubt so that she can watch me and make sure that I’m okay.
The fucking self-sacrificing saint.
And I know she’s exhausted. She misses the boys desperately despite being on the phone with them every chance she gets. Add to that the nightmares she’s been having every single night that wake me so I can be a silent witness to the fucking agony I’m inflicting upon her. She shouts out Max’s name. My name. Begs for us to live. Begs to take our place so that she can die instead. Begs for me not to race again. Screams for a car to stop and let me out. And I know this because I lie awake every night holding her while she trembles in her sleep. Holding her—holding on to her as I breathe in every thing I can—so that I can live with the ghost of her when I finally bring myself to do what I need to do.
Be selfless for the first time in my life.
And the time has come.
Way too soon—forever would be too fucking soon—but it has come.
And the thought has every single fucking part of me protesting over the gut-wrenching hurt that’s to come. That I’ll be inflicting on myself. Pain I’m sure that will be a thousand times worse than these ear-splitting headaches that come and go on a fucking whim because this kind will be from tearing myself apart, not from trying to put myself back together.
Humpty fuckin’ Dumpty.
She sighs softly shifting in her sleep, and a curl falls over her cheek. I give into the need—the one that is so inherent now that I’m fucking scared to death of how I’ll be able to lessen it in the coming days—reach out and move it off of her face. I curse my fucking fingers as they tremble from the after effects of what we still hope is just swelling. They stop shaking and so I let them linger, enjoying the feel of her skin against my fingertips.
What the fuck is going on with me? How is it I fought my whole life to not need, to not feel…and now that I do, I’ll gladly take the pain so that she doesn’t have to?
But the thought I can’t shake keeps tumbling through my obviously screwed up head. If she’s my fucking pleasure, how in the hell am I going to bury the pain when I push her away? From pushing her away? I shake my head unsure and welcome the stab of pain from the action because it’s got nothing on what’s going to happen to my heart.
But there’s no other option. Especially after overhearing her on the phone with Haddie last night when she thought I was asleep. Hysterical hiccupping sobs. Denials of how is she ever going to watch me get in a car again. Hearing the brutal reality of what she went through killed me, fucking ripped me to shreds as I laid with my back to her, remorse hardening my heart, tears burning my eyes, and guilt submerging my soul. Hearing how her abrupt trips out of my hospital room are to her throw up because she’s so sick with worry over it. How she’s eating Tums like candy to lessen the constant acid eating through her stomach from my need to return to the track. How she’ll support me, urge me, help me get back in the car, but will have to sneak out before the pace car is off the lead lap. How she won’t be able to hear the sounds and see the sights without replaying the images that are etched in her mind. Won’t be able to look me in the eyes and wish me luck without thinking she’s sending me to my death.
A shiver of recourse revolts through my body.
And then there’s the other hint that I’m getting from her—that I can see in her eyes when she shifts them away—that tells me she knows something I don’t. She has one of my memories and is holding it hostage. But which fucking one?
The hints swirl of what I’ve lost in the black abyss of my mind. Ghosts of memories converge, overlapping and all shouting for attention at once. They scream at me like fans asking for autographs—all begging for attention—faceless, nameless people all wanting something—yelling at their tops of their lungs—and yet all I hear is white noise.
All I see is a blur of mixed color.
Why is it I can still remember the shit that stains my soul but I can’t seem to remember the bleach I’ve found that washes it away? And I have a feeling that whatever Rylee is guarding is that important. That monumental. She wouldn’t be keeping it from me unless she was trying to protect me. Or her.
But from what?
In my dreams I hear her saying she can’t do this anymore. Is that it? Is she going to end this? Is she going to walk away and never look back? Break me into a million fucking pieces?
What the fuck Donavan? You’re going to do it to her. Walk away to save her from yourself. And you think it’s going to be any easier just because you’re doing it? Think that the acid laced knife that’s going to barb through your heart is going to hurt any less because it’s by your own hand?
Fucking crash.
Fucking prescriptions that I swear are messing up my head.
Fucking voodoo pussy.
Fucking Rylee.
I watch her. Can’t move my eyes away from those thick lashes on cream colored skin. Over her all-consuming lips and down over the swell of her tits. She’s arms length away but I still know how she smells. How she tastes and sounds and feels. It will forever be embedded in my mind.
Irremovable.
Irreplaceable.
Yeah, my dick stirs to life—it’s Rylee isn’t it? But so much more stirs and swells and hopes that I don’t even fight the tears that well in my eyes. For the second time in more years than I can count, I let the tears fall. Silent tracks of impending devastation staining my face.
Who knew that doing what was right for someone else could feel so incredibly wrong? Could break the strongest man by weakening his heart?
Will reduce me to nothing?
I know she can give me what I need—quiet the demons in my head that torment my soul and parasitic heart—like the adrenaline of losing myself in the blur at the track, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t in good conscience hold on to her so tight in order to lose my demons when it’s causing hers to invade her sleep. I can’t take the pleasure when it’s causing her all of the pain.
Before, I could. I would have. But this is Rylee here. The selfless soul who means too fucking much to me. So, no I can’t.
Not now.
Not ever to Rylee.
It feels so good to let it all out—the confusion, the loss of hope, the dying of my redemption—yet hurts so bad as the tears fight their way out and scorch my face. Singe my soul. Crumble possibilities.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shut out the memories that I do have. The ones flickering like a strobe light through the haze of my time with Rylee. The tears turn to silent sobs and eventually even those dissipate into hitching breaths.
When I open my eyes, violet pools of concern are staring at me. Watching me with a mix of confusion and sympathy. “Colton?”
Fuck. I don’t want her to see me like this. Remember me like this. Some pussified man bawling his eyes out for reasons she can’t fathom.
I can hear the worry in her voice but all her face shows is compassion, understanding, acceptance. And that makes what I have to say so much harder. The words are there on the tip of my tongue and I fool myself into believing that I’m about to say them.
Acid on my taste buds.
Bile in my throat.
Fracturing in my heart.
She reaches out and cups her hand to the side of my face, her thumb brushing away the stain—just like her heart has brushed away vile memories—and a soft smile ghosts her mouth.
I race you Rylee.
The words feather through my mind and another tear slips over.
And I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.
Guard down.
Heart open.
Soul needing.
Accepting.
Wanting.
I’m so fucking lost right now. Lost even though I’ve been found. Even though she’s found me.
And I get it now. Get why she can’t watch me get in the car again. Get why the she’d be so selfless—encourage, push, help—even when it’s killing her. Break inside while pretending on the outside that she’s whole.
But I’m nowhere near okay.
Not going to be for a long time.
If ever again.
I open my mouth but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to tell her this isn’t what she deserves. That I’m not what she deserves. That I could do so much worse—have done so much worse—and she can do so much better. That I understand she can’t go through this again. I’m not sure how to. I try to force the words off my tongue but they die, self-preservation at it’s finest. Silence is my only option. The only way to quell the guilt that eats at me every time she looks in my eyes and gives me the same soft smile she’s giving me now.
She has to be wondering why I’m crying. Why I’m being such a chick, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she sits up slowly and looks around the private jet before rising and closing the distance between us. She gives me a look as if she’s asking if it’s okay and before I can even answer she’s settling in my lap, nuzzling her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around me as best she can.
The soothing balm to my aching soul.
She doesn’t say a word, but just holds on, easing whatever she thinks is wrong with me by her mere presence. And of course now the tears well again like a fucking broken faucet and I hate it. Hate myself right now.
And I am so wrong.
I thought I could live with the pain—manage—but holy shit I feel as if my body is broken—fucking shattered into a million pieces, and I haven’t even told her yet. Haven’t even taken a step away but holy mother of God, I’m already knocked to my knees.
Already struggling to breathe when the air is cocooning me.
It’s time to hit the concrete barrier head on without a seatbelt, without my lifeline.
How in the fuck am I going to do this?
_________________
As always, thanks for reading!!!!!
Kristy
________________________
CHAPTER 12
Colton
The turbulence jars me awake. Scares the fuck out of me really seeing as I was having that damn dream again about the crash—the dream where I can’t remember shit except for the dizzying, sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach and the out of control feeling in my head. Add to that the jolt of the plane and my mile high wake up is a hell of a lot more stressful that the one I’d really like to have with Ry.
God how badly do I want to take that for a ride. I’m fucking hard as a rock as I’ve been for the past three days when I wake up but one, doctor’s fucking orders. Two, we’re constantly surrounded by other people, and three, after overhearing her conversation with Haddie the other night when she thought I was asleep, how can I touch her when all I’m going to do is end up hurting her.
I don’t want to do that to her. Don’t want her to live life always waiting for the worst to happen. I don’t mind the car, don’t mind what a crash could possibly do to me because the shit I lived through was much more painful than what a hitting a concrete barrier could ever do to me.
Impact can kill your body.
What my mom did to me killed me soul.
I shake the shit from my head and lift it up from the chair Ry insisted I adjust to recline. I look around to see Nurse Ratchet, the hospital approved nurse, sent to monitor my flight home sit up at attention when she notices that I’m awake.
Leave me the fuck alone.
I’ve had enough prodding fingers and concerned eyes looking at me to last a fucking lifetime. Oh and then there were the fucking ludicrous sponge baths. Grown men sure as fuck are not supposed to have someone wash their nuts unless it’s to be followed by a blowjob in the shower. On a bed with a sponge? Fucking ridiculous.
Good riddance to the hospital and it’s torturous type of solitary confinement.
Nurse Ratchet starts to unbuckle her seatbelt, and I just shake my head to tell her that I’m fine. I lay back down, angling my head to the right so that I can stare at the sight across the aisle from me. Rylee’s sound asleep, curled up on her side so that she’s facing me, no doubt so that she can watch me and make sure that I’m okay.
The fucking self-sacrificing saint.
And I know she’s exhausted. She misses the boys desperately despite being on the phone with them every chance she gets. Add to that the nightmares she’s been having every single night that wake me so I can be a silent witness to the fucking agony I’m inflicting upon her. She shouts out Max’s name. My name. Begs for us to live. Begs to take our place so that she can die instead. Begs for me not to race again. Screams for a car to stop and let me out. And I know this because I lie awake every night holding her while she trembles in her sleep. Holding her—holding on to her as I breathe in every thing I can—so that I can live with the ghost of her when I finally bring myself to do what I need to do.
Be selfless for the first time in my life.
And the time has come.
Way too soon—forever would be too fucking soon—but it has come.
And the thought has every single fucking part of me protesting over the gut-wrenching hurt that’s to come. That I’ll be inflicting on myself. Pain I’m sure that will be a thousand times worse than these ear-splitting headaches that come and go on a fucking whim because this kind will be from tearing myself apart, not from trying to put myself back together.
Humpty fuckin’ Dumpty.
She sighs softly shifting in her sleep, and a curl falls over her cheek. I give into the need—the one that is so inherent now that I’m fucking scared to death of how I’ll be able to lessen it in the coming days—reach out and move it off of her face. I curse my fucking fingers as they tremble from the after effects of what we still hope is just swelling. They stop shaking and so I let them linger, enjoying the feel of her skin against my fingertips.
What the fuck is going on with me? How is it I fought my whole life to not need, to not feel…and now that I do, I’ll gladly take the pain so that she doesn’t have to?
But the thought I can’t shake keeps tumbling through my obviously screwed up head. If she’s my fucking pleasure, how in the hell am I going to bury the pain when I push her away? From pushing her away? I shake my head unsure and welcome the stab of pain from the action because it’s got nothing on what’s going to happen to my heart.
But there’s no other option. Especially after overhearing her on the phone with Haddie last night when she thought I was asleep. Hysterical hiccupping sobs. Denials of how is she ever going to watch me get in a car again. Hearing the brutal reality of what she went through killed me, fucking ripped me to shreds as I laid with my back to her, remorse hardening my heart, tears burning my eyes, and guilt submerging my soul. Hearing how her abrupt trips out of my hospital room are to her throw up because she’s so sick with worry over it. How she’s eating Tums like candy to lessen the constant acid eating through her stomach from my need to return to the track. How she’ll support me, urge me, help me get back in the car, but will have to sneak out before the pace car is off the lead lap. How she won’t be able to hear the sounds and see the sights without replaying the images that are etched in her mind. Won’t be able to look me in the eyes and wish me luck without thinking she’s sending me to my death.
A shiver of recourse revolts through my body.
And then there’s the other hint that I’m getting from her—that I can see in her eyes when she shifts them away—that tells me she knows something I don’t. She has one of my memories and is holding it hostage. But which fucking one?
The hints swirl of what I’ve lost in the black abyss of my mind. Ghosts of memories converge, overlapping and all shouting for attention at once. They scream at me like fans asking for autographs—all begging for attention—faceless, nameless people all wanting something—yelling at their tops of their lungs—and yet all I hear is white noise.
All I see is a blur of mixed color.
Why is it I can still remember the shit that stains my soul but I can’t seem to remember the bleach I’ve found that washes it away? And I have a feeling that whatever Rylee is guarding is that important. That monumental. She wouldn’t be keeping it from me unless she was trying to protect me. Or her.
But from what?
In my dreams I hear her saying she can’t do this anymore. Is that it? Is she going to end this? Is she going to walk away and never look back? Break me into a million fucking pieces?
What the fuck Donavan? You’re going to do it to her. Walk away to save her from yourself. And you think it’s going to be any easier just because you’re doing it? Think that the acid laced knife that’s going to barb through your heart is going to hurt any less because it’s by your own hand?
Fucking crash.
Fucking prescriptions that I swear are messing up my head.
Fucking voodoo pussy.
Fucking Rylee.
I watch her. Can’t move my eyes away from those thick lashes on cream colored skin. Over her all-consuming lips and down over the swell of her tits. She’s arms length away but I still know how she smells. How she tastes and sounds and feels. It will forever be embedded in my mind.
Irremovable.
Irreplaceable.
Yeah, my dick stirs to life—it’s Rylee isn’t it? But so much more stirs and swells and hopes that I don’t even fight the tears that well in my eyes. For the second time in more years than I can count, I let the tears fall. Silent tracks of impending devastation staining my face.
Who knew that doing what was right for someone else could feel so incredibly wrong? Could break the strongest man by weakening his heart?
Will reduce me to nothing?
I know she can give me what I need—quiet the demons in my head that torment my soul and parasitic heart—like the adrenaline of losing myself in the blur at the track, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t in good conscience hold on to her so tight in order to lose my demons when it’s causing hers to invade her sleep. I can’t take the pleasure when it’s causing her all of the pain.
Before, I could. I would have. But this is Rylee here. The selfless soul who means too fucking much to me. So, no I can’t.
Not now.
Not ever to Rylee.
It feels so good to let it all out—the confusion, the loss of hope, the dying of my redemption—yet hurts so bad as the tears fight their way out and scorch my face. Singe my soul. Crumble possibilities.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shut out the memories that I do have. The ones flickering like a strobe light through the haze of my time with Rylee. The tears turn to silent sobs and eventually even those dissipate into hitching breaths.
When I open my eyes, violet pools of concern are staring at me. Watching me with a mix of confusion and sympathy. “Colton?”
Fuck. I don’t want her to see me like this. Remember me like this. Some pussified man bawling his eyes out for reasons she can’t fathom.
I can hear the worry in her voice but all her face shows is compassion, understanding, acceptance. And that makes what I have to say so much harder. The words are there on the tip of my tongue and I fool myself into believing that I’m about to say them.
Acid on my taste buds.
Bile in my throat.
Fracturing in my heart.
She reaches out and cups her hand to the side of my face, her thumb brushing away the stain—just like her heart has brushed away vile memories—and a soft smile ghosts her mouth.
I race you Rylee.
The words feather through my mind and another tear slips over.
And I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.
Guard down.
Heart open.
Soul needing.
Accepting.
Wanting.
I’m so fucking lost right now. Lost even though I’ve been found. Even though she’s found me.
And I get it now. Get why she can’t watch me get in the car again. Get why the she’d be so selfless—encourage, push, help—even when it’s killing her. Break inside while pretending on the outside that she’s whole.
But I’m nowhere near okay.
Not going to be for a long time.
If ever again.
I open my mouth but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to tell her this isn’t what she deserves. That I’m not what she deserves. That I could do so much worse—have done so much worse—and she can do so much better. That I understand she can’t go through this again. I’m not sure how to. I try to force the words off my tongue but they die, self-preservation at it’s finest. Silence is my only option. The only way to quell the guilt that eats at me every time she looks in my eyes and gives me the same soft smile she’s giving me now.
She has to be wondering why I’m crying. Why I’m being such a chick, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she sits up slowly and looks around the private jet before rising and closing the distance between us. She gives me a look as if she’s asking if it’s okay and before I can even answer she’s settling in my lap, nuzzling her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around me as best she can.
The soothing balm to my aching soul.
She doesn’t say a word, but just holds on, easing whatever she thinks is wrong with me by her mere presence. And of course now the tears well again like a fucking broken faucet and I hate it. Hate myself right now.
And I am so wrong.
I thought I could live with the pain—manage—but holy shit I feel as if my body is broken—fucking shattered into a million pieces, and I haven’t even told her yet. Haven’t even taken a step away but holy mother of God, I’m already knocked to my knees.
Already struggling to breathe when the air is cocooning me.
It’s time to hit the concrete barrier head on without a seatbelt, without my lifeline.
How in the fuck am I going to do this?
_________________
As always, thanks for reading!!!!!
Kristy
March 31, 2014
Missing Colton? I do too, so I’ll share some…deleted scene from Crashed
It has come to my attention that some of you – just a few – might be missing Colton right about now…it’s been almost a month and withdrawals are in full effect (or so I’m being told). Don’t worry, I miss him too!
When you write a book, you write a scene and sometimes it’s just not right. Sometimes your beta readers tell you that it’s a good scene but it adds nothing to the story…that hearing Colton’s POV in that scene offers nothing beneficial to the story line. You, as the author may love it, but if it doesn’t work, you can’t force it. You put the scene aside and rewrite it.
So here is one such scene from Crashed…a particular scene between Colton and Rylee…you’ve read it from her perspective…here’s a bit of Colton’s. (Please note changes were made to the Rylee one after the fact that weren’t made here. So don’t compare them side by side, they are not exact).
————————————-
Partial Chapter 14 – Colton POV
She owns me right now.
Fucking owns every single part of me and doesn’t have a damn clue. Sitting astride me, fingers atop the little piece of Heaven that I’d die to claim right now, and the sarcastic dare falling from her mouth. My mind wanders to what exactly those fingers would look like nestled between those folds of flesh, and I have to stifle the groan at how fucking hot that would be. And I think that’s exactly what she’s trying to do—tease me with what she won’t give me. With what I can’t claim yet.
She wants to play huh? Oh, I am so fucking game right now. Ready to knock it out of the goddamn park.
“Baby, if you’re trying to get me to stop, then you shouldn’t throw around comments like that.” I shift in the bed and accidentally roll my hips again, feeding into the pleasurable pain as my aching cock rubs against her tempting heat yet again. And this time I know I’ve hit her right where it counts because she throws her head back and the soft sigh that falls from her mouth is a dead giveaway no matter how unaffected she’s trying to play it.
I can’t take my eyes off of her. The sight of her tits, weighted globes of perfection, right in front of my face. I force my eyes to move upwards and meet the challenge in hers. “If you think I fuck like I drive, you should see me drop the hammer and race you to the finish line.”
I see her breath catch and her body stutter in it’s motion momentarily before she quickly recovers and regains her composure. My mind starts to try and figure what I just missed but my thoughts are pulled out from underneath me when she spreads her legs apart further, evidence of her obvious arousal on the damp patch of her panties. My fingers rub together, itching to touch.
“I thought racing wasn’t a team sport,” she says coyly. “You know, more of an every man for himself kind of thing.” Her eyes hold mine as her fingers slip beneath the band of her red, silken panties and still, my eyes darting between the two, waiting for her to move them. Begging her to move them. The visual consuming my thoughts.
I force myself to look away, to work a swallow in my throat that’s suddenly become dry. “Every man, yes,” I finally am able to get out. “It can be very dangerous too, you know?”
“Oh really?” She asks, eyes locked on mine, the moan of pleasure that falls from her lips has my breath laboring as I look down to watch the movement of her fingers beneath the fabric in front of me. Sweet fucking Christ. I can’t handle the unknown, needing to see for myself the show on display, and the fragile fabric of her panties is snapped and dropped in an instant without a second thought.
And Rylee doesn’t even skip a beat.
Oh fucking my. The white French tips of her nails are a mind-dizzying contrast to the darkened pink flesh they dance across. Perfection. Addiction. Absolution. I glance up knowing she’s going to have that taunting smile on her lips and for the second time in as many seconds I’m knocked breathless.
Fucking kryptonite.
Rylee’s head is thrown back, curls tumbling all over the place, lips parted, tits pushed out and the sexiest moan coming from her lips as she doesn’t just revel in the moment but becomes the fucking moment. Fuck me. The woman who used to tighten the sheet around her months ago in modesty now sits astride me in all of her glory, owning her body and sexuality with such a confidence that I’ve never thought her to be more sexy, more sensual, more everything than right now.
She lifts her head back forward, her hand sliding out from between her legs, moisture glistening off of her fingers for me to see. “Well it looks as if I know how to handle the chute with perfection when it’s slick with moisture.” She smirks that smug smile I want to fuck off her face right now just before she slips her arousal coated fingers into her mouth and sucks on them, eyes taunting me all the while.
Is she trying to kill me right now? Fucking voodoo pussy is back with a vengeance and fuck if I’m not ready to be the first and only victim. The woman has me strung tighter than a hair string trigger—volatile and ready to blow. My balls tighten, my body tenses wanting her so desperately right now but my stubborn streak tells me I have to hold out, take the reins when the time is right. My body screams that time was ten fucking minutes ago while my head loves when Ry gets feisty and defiant. When she makes me work for it like no one else ever has.
“Fuck yeah, you do,” I tell her, my eyes watching as she pulls her fingers from between her very fuckable lips and follows the descent back down south. She adds torment to her tantalization by parting her folds with one hand so that I can more than handily see her other fingers add the friction her sighs say is more than pleasurable.
Fuck me this is brutal to watch and not partake in when all I want is to do is urge her hips closer to my face and have her sweet taste on my tongue again. For that alone, it’s time for me to mess with her a little more and knock her out of the pleasure inducing coma that’s darkening the violet in her eyes.
“You know, sometimes in racing in order to reach the finish line, rookies like you have to tag team to get the result you want.”
Her head snaps up, lips parting, and eyes flashing with shock momentarily until she regains her composure. Perfect. Threw you there didn’t I sweetheart?
“Sorry Ace, but this engine seems to be doing just fine running solo.” She smirks at me, so arrogant that she thinks she dodged the proverbial bullet.
“It can get pretty dirty out there too,” I reply, fingers trailing up her thighs leaving visible goose bumps in their wake, her body angling toward me the higher I go. Fuckin’ A straight. She can play the aloof card all she wants but she can’t deny that her body readily submits to me when I want it to. And fuck, how I want it to is right now.
“Oh, I most definitely can handle dirty,” she taunts as she trails a finger up my chest and rubs some of her moisture across my lips. My tongue darts out, unable to resist the temptation to taste what I’m craving and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to flip her over, cuff her hands over her head, and fuck the defiance out of her until she’s screaming my name and owning my heart more than she already does.
She grinds her hips down, that smarmy smile still teasing the corners of her mouth, as she rocks back and forth over me and leans forward, her breath a whisper against my ear. “Rubbing’s racing, right?”
And I can’t take it anymore. Hair trigger pulled and control shot. Within a beat, I’ve pushed her back up to sitting, pulled her feet flat on the bed beside my ribs and knees spread wide because if I’m watching the feature presentation, I better have a goddamn front row seat.
“I’m shifting gears because it’s my car to drive sweetheart.” My hands slide up her thighs again until they reach the juncture of her thighs. My thumbs brush over her tight strip of curls before I readjust and tuck my fingers into her. She cries out, the velvet of her walls flexing around me and milking against my fingers as they stroke the nerves within. Her wet fucking heat on my fingers and the memories of her gripping my dick has me pre-cumming like a fucking adolescent school boy but fuck me, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can from her because Rylee? She’s fucking everything.
She doesn’t take long to climb because she’s so addled with pent up need—and the fact that it’s only for me is not lost in the frenzied moment. Her fingernails score my shoulders, body tenses, and pussy convulses as the broken cry of my name fills the room around us.
My name moaning from her lips. God-fucking-damn is that not the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
I give her a moment to gain her breath, the senses I’ve just finger fucked out of her, and when I think she’s coherent enough, I let her know that even though she’s just come, I’m the one who just won the race.
“Hey rookie?”
She lifts her head forward and looks at me from beneath eyelids weighted heavy with desire. “Hmm?” is all she can manage and I fucking love that drowsy just-been-fucked-right look on her face. The one that only I can put there.
“I’m the only one that’s allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag.”
She just throws her head back and laughs, cheeks flushed, tits jiggling.
Fucking gorgeous.
Like I said, she’s everything.
The holy motherfucking grail.
———————————–
I won’t ask if that’s enough, because I know the answer will be NO….but I could have kept this all to myself and not shared…hope you enjoyed it!
Kristy
When you write a book, you write a scene and sometimes it’s just not right. Sometimes your beta readers tell you that it’s a good scene but it adds nothing to the story…that hearing Colton’s POV in that scene offers nothing beneficial to the story line. You, as the author may love it, but if it doesn’t work, you can’t force it. You put the scene aside and rewrite it.
So here is one such scene from Crashed…a particular scene between Colton and Rylee…you’ve read it from her perspective…here’s a bit of Colton’s. (Please note changes were made to the Rylee one after the fact that weren’t made here. So don’t compare them side by side, they are not exact).
————————————-
Partial Chapter 14 – Colton POV
She owns me right now.
Fucking owns every single part of me and doesn’t have a damn clue. Sitting astride me, fingers atop the little piece of Heaven that I’d die to claim right now, and the sarcastic dare falling from her mouth. My mind wanders to what exactly those fingers would look like nestled between those folds of flesh, and I have to stifle the groan at how fucking hot that would be. And I think that’s exactly what she’s trying to do—tease me with what she won’t give me. With what I can’t claim yet.
She wants to play huh? Oh, I am so fucking game right now. Ready to knock it out of the goddamn park.
“Baby, if you’re trying to get me to stop, then you shouldn’t throw around comments like that.” I shift in the bed and accidentally roll my hips again, feeding into the pleasurable pain as my aching cock rubs against her tempting heat yet again. And this time I know I’ve hit her right where it counts because she throws her head back and the soft sigh that falls from her mouth is a dead giveaway no matter how unaffected she’s trying to play it.
I can’t take my eyes off of her. The sight of her tits, weighted globes of perfection, right in front of my face. I force my eyes to move upwards and meet the challenge in hers. “If you think I fuck like I drive, you should see me drop the hammer and race you to the finish line.”
I see her breath catch and her body stutter in it’s motion momentarily before she quickly recovers and regains her composure. My mind starts to try and figure what I just missed but my thoughts are pulled out from underneath me when she spreads her legs apart further, evidence of her obvious arousal on the damp patch of her panties. My fingers rub together, itching to touch.
“I thought racing wasn’t a team sport,” she says coyly. “You know, more of an every man for himself kind of thing.” Her eyes hold mine as her fingers slip beneath the band of her red, silken panties and still, my eyes darting between the two, waiting for her to move them. Begging her to move them. The visual consuming my thoughts.
I force myself to look away, to work a swallow in my throat that’s suddenly become dry. “Every man, yes,” I finally am able to get out. “It can be very dangerous too, you know?”
“Oh really?” She asks, eyes locked on mine, the moan of pleasure that falls from her lips has my breath laboring as I look down to watch the movement of her fingers beneath the fabric in front of me. Sweet fucking Christ. I can’t handle the unknown, needing to see for myself the show on display, and the fragile fabric of her panties is snapped and dropped in an instant without a second thought.
And Rylee doesn’t even skip a beat.
Oh fucking my. The white French tips of her nails are a mind-dizzying contrast to the darkened pink flesh they dance across. Perfection. Addiction. Absolution. I glance up knowing she’s going to have that taunting smile on her lips and for the second time in as many seconds I’m knocked breathless.
Fucking kryptonite.
Rylee’s head is thrown back, curls tumbling all over the place, lips parted, tits pushed out and the sexiest moan coming from her lips as she doesn’t just revel in the moment but becomes the fucking moment. Fuck me. The woman who used to tighten the sheet around her months ago in modesty now sits astride me in all of her glory, owning her body and sexuality with such a confidence that I’ve never thought her to be more sexy, more sensual, more everything than right now.
She lifts her head back forward, her hand sliding out from between her legs, moisture glistening off of her fingers for me to see. “Well it looks as if I know how to handle the chute with perfection when it’s slick with moisture.” She smirks that smug smile I want to fuck off her face right now just before she slips her arousal coated fingers into her mouth and sucks on them, eyes taunting me all the while.
Is she trying to kill me right now? Fucking voodoo pussy is back with a vengeance and fuck if I’m not ready to be the first and only victim. The woman has me strung tighter than a hair string trigger—volatile and ready to blow. My balls tighten, my body tenses wanting her so desperately right now but my stubborn streak tells me I have to hold out, take the reins when the time is right. My body screams that time was ten fucking minutes ago while my head loves when Ry gets feisty and defiant. When she makes me work for it like no one else ever has.
“Fuck yeah, you do,” I tell her, my eyes watching as she pulls her fingers from between her very fuckable lips and follows the descent back down south. She adds torment to her tantalization by parting her folds with one hand so that I can more than handily see her other fingers add the friction her sighs say is more than pleasurable.
Fuck me this is brutal to watch and not partake in when all I want is to do is urge her hips closer to my face and have her sweet taste on my tongue again. For that alone, it’s time for me to mess with her a little more and knock her out of the pleasure inducing coma that’s darkening the violet in her eyes.
“You know, sometimes in racing in order to reach the finish line, rookies like you have to tag team to get the result you want.”
Her head snaps up, lips parting, and eyes flashing with shock momentarily until she regains her composure. Perfect. Threw you there didn’t I sweetheart?
“Sorry Ace, but this engine seems to be doing just fine running solo.” She smirks at me, so arrogant that she thinks she dodged the proverbial bullet.
“It can get pretty dirty out there too,” I reply, fingers trailing up her thighs leaving visible goose bumps in their wake, her body angling toward me the higher I go. Fuckin’ A straight. She can play the aloof card all she wants but she can’t deny that her body readily submits to me when I want it to. And fuck, how I want it to is right now.
“Oh, I most definitely can handle dirty,” she taunts as she trails a finger up my chest and rubs some of her moisture across my lips. My tongue darts out, unable to resist the temptation to taste what I’m craving and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to flip her over, cuff her hands over her head, and fuck the defiance out of her until she’s screaming my name and owning my heart more than she already does.
She grinds her hips down, that smarmy smile still teasing the corners of her mouth, as she rocks back and forth over me and leans forward, her breath a whisper against my ear. “Rubbing’s racing, right?”
And I can’t take it anymore. Hair trigger pulled and control shot. Within a beat, I’ve pushed her back up to sitting, pulled her feet flat on the bed beside my ribs and knees spread wide because if I’m watching the feature presentation, I better have a goddamn front row seat.
“I’m shifting gears because it’s my car to drive sweetheart.” My hands slide up her thighs again until they reach the juncture of her thighs. My thumbs brush over her tight strip of curls before I readjust and tuck my fingers into her. She cries out, the velvet of her walls flexing around me and milking against my fingers as they stroke the nerves within. Her wet fucking heat on my fingers and the memories of her gripping my dick has me pre-cumming like a fucking adolescent school boy but fuck me, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can from her because Rylee? She’s fucking everything.
She doesn’t take long to climb because she’s so addled with pent up need—and the fact that it’s only for me is not lost in the frenzied moment. Her fingernails score my shoulders, body tenses, and pussy convulses as the broken cry of my name fills the room around us.
My name moaning from her lips. God-fucking-damn is that not the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
I give her a moment to gain her breath, the senses I’ve just finger fucked out of her, and when I think she’s coherent enough, I let her know that even though she’s just come, I’m the one who just won the race.
“Hey rookie?”
She lifts her head forward and looks at me from beneath eyelids weighted heavy with desire. “Hmm?” is all she can manage and I fucking love that drowsy just-been-fucked-right look on her face. The one that only I can put there.
“I’m the only one that’s allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag.”
She just throws her head back and laughs, cheeks flushed, tits jiggling.
Fucking gorgeous.
Like I said, she’s everything.
The holy motherfucking grail.
———————————–
I won’t ask if that’s enough, because I know the answer will be NO….but I could have kept this all to myself and not shared…hope you enjoyed it!
Kristy
March 29, 2014
CRASH Dash POV correction
Okay so we had a little mix up with the POV being posted. Yesterday and today’s on the blogs are the same. What it should read is this:
Yesterday:
Yeah, my dick stirs to life—it’s Rylee isn’t it? But so much more stirs and swells and hopes that I don’t even fight the tears that well in my eyes. For the second time in more years than I can count, I let the tears fall. Silent tracks of impending devastation staining my face.
Who knew that doing what was right for someone else could feel so incredibly wrong? Could break the strongest man by weakening his heart?
Will reduce me to nothing?
Today:
I know she can give me what I need—quiet the demons in my head that torment my soul and parasitic heart—like the adrenaline of losing myself in the blur at the track, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t in good conscience hold on to her so tight in order to lose my demons when it’s causing hers to invade her sleep. I can’t take the pleasure when it’s causing her all of the pain.
Before, I could. I would have. But this is Rylee here. The selfless soul who means too fucking much to me. So, no I can’t.
Not now.
Sorry about that!!!
Yesterday:
Yeah, my dick stirs to life—it’s Rylee isn’t it? But so much more stirs and swells and hopes that I don’t even fight the tears that well in my eyes. For the second time in more years than I can count, I let the tears fall. Silent tracks of impending devastation staining my face.
Who knew that doing what was right for someone else could feel so incredibly wrong? Could break the strongest man by weakening his heart?
Will reduce me to nothing?
Today:
I know she can give me what I need—quiet the demons in my head that torment my soul and parasitic heart—like the adrenaline of losing myself in the blur at the track, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t in good conscience hold on to her so tight in order to lose my demons when it’s causing hers to invade her sleep. I can’t take the pleasure when it’s causing her all of the pain.
Before, I could. I would have. But this is Rylee here. The selfless soul who means too fucking much to me. So, no I can’t.
Not now.
Sorry about that!!!
March 26, 2014
March 22, 2014
CRASH Dash Day 7
COLTON P.O.V. for Day 7
But the thought I can’t shake keeps tumbling through my obviously screwed up head. If she’s my fucking pleasure, how in the hell am I going to bury the pain when I push her away? From pushing her away? I shake my head unsure and welcome the stab of pain from the action because it’s got nothing on what’s going to happen to my heart.
But there’s no other option. Especially after overhearing her on the phone with Haddie last night when she thought I was asleep. Hysterical hiccupping sobs.
CRASH Dash Task # 7
You must take a picture of yourself by a sign that has “ACE” in it
But the thought I can’t shake keeps tumbling through my obviously screwed up head. If she’s my fucking pleasure, how in the hell am I going to bury the pain when I push her away? From pushing her away? I shake my head unsure and welcome the stab of pain from the action because it’s got nothing on what’s going to happen to my heart.
But there’s no other option. Especially after overhearing her on the phone with Haddie last night when she thought I was asleep. Hysterical hiccupping sobs.
CRASH Dash Task # 7
You must take a picture of yourself by a sign that has “ACE” in it
March 21, 2014
CRASH Dash Day #6
COLTON P.O.V. for Day 6
She sighs softly shifting in her sleep, and a curl falls over her cheek. I give into the need—the one that is so inherent now thatI’m fucking scared to death of how I’ll be able to lessen it in the coming days—reach out and move it off of her face. I curse my fucking fingers as they tremble from the after effects of what we still hope is just swelling. They stop shaking and so I let them linger, enjoying the feel of her skin against my fingertips.
What the fuck is going on with me? How is it I fought my whole life to not need, to not feel…and now that I do, I’ll gladly take the pain so that she doesn’t have to?
CRASH Dash Task # 6
Take a picture of you with something “Matchbox 20″ …either the group or a matchbox and 20 of something
March 20, 2014
The Bend Anthology
So several of us erotica authors have gotten together to write a few short stories and combine them into one smoking hot anthology for 99 cents. My contribution is titled “UNRAVELED” and here is the blurb:
——————
UNRAVELED
One night.
One mistake.
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and bound.
Shamed she liked it.
Doomed to want it.
Limits tested.
Boundaries pushed.
Desire awakened.
Inhibition unleashed.
An identity unraveled.
Lives changed forever.
——————
BEND is up for pre-order right now HERE and will be available on Amazon, Nook, and iBooks on May 5th
——————
UNRAVELED
by. K. Bromberg
One night.
One mistake.
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and bound.
Shamed she liked it.
Doomed to want it.
Limits tested.
Boundaries pushed.
Desire awakened.
Inhibition unleashed.
An identity unraveled.
Lives changed forever.
——————
BEND is up for pre-order right now HERE and will be available on Amazon, Nook, and iBooks on May 5th
March 16, 2014
Are you ready for C.R.A.S.H. Dash?
Are you ready for Colton & Rylee’s Awesome Scavenger Hunt (CRASH) Dash? It starts today!!!!! Check out all of the information and details here:
CRASH DASH INFO
CRASH DASH INFO
March 3, 2014
Facebook/Twitter Unpublished
I am receiving many emails in regards to the sudden disappearance of my Facebook Author Page and Twitter … I have been forced to temporarily ‘unpublish’ my social media sites….I know it is the worst time possible to not be connected to you all, but it is the goal of a few to ruin the release of Crashed.
Some completely, untrue, unfounded, and heinous accusations have been made about myself and my family over the past few days. The accusations have no bearing and the group’s sole way to try and make their point, is to bully and attack my pages, privately PM my readers harassing them and spread lies and rumors…
This from their page:
Congratulate me everyone…author K. Bromberg on her Facebook page has BLOCKED ME!!! I just tried to look at her page to see what was still there from my friends and I keep getting kicked back to my home page. She’s trying to keep us away so that we don’t ruin her book debut…
If you have tried to get through and get blocked please let us know here. You are all breaking though and we are making a difference, piece by every little piece. Keep it up everyone and as always THANK YOU!!!
And then: “And her book comes out tomorrow can’t wait to see the reviews…”
And then: “We should blow up her twitter account too…”
I am at a loss for words on how to go forward at this time but to ask to not engage with anyone who PM’s you with links, immediately report and slanderous reviews that you come across on Amazon as well as send the link/screenshot of the comments/harassment to me so that I can pursue a slander/defamation case on each individual that chooses to partake in the defamation of my character as well as my family’s.
Thank you for all of your support,
Kristy
Some completely, untrue, unfounded, and heinous accusations have been made about myself and my family over the past few days. The accusations have no bearing and the group’s sole way to try and make their point, is to bully and attack my pages, privately PM my readers harassing them and spread lies and rumors…
This from their page:
Congratulate me everyone…author K. Bromberg on her Facebook page has BLOCKED ME!!! I just tried to look at her page to see what was still there from my friends and I keep getting kicked back to my home page. She’s trying to keep us away so that we don’t ruin her book debut…
If you have tried to get through and get blocked please let us know here. You are all breaking though and we are making a difference, piece by every little piece. Keep it up everyone and as always THANK YOU!!!
And then: “And her book comes out tomorrow can’t wait to see the reviews…”
And then: “We should blow up her twitter account too…”
I am at a loss for words on how to go forward at this time but to ask to not engage with anyone who PM’s you with links, immediately report and slanderous reviews that you come across on Amazon as well as send the link/screenshot of the comments/harassment to me so that I can pursue a slander/defamation case on each individual that chooses to partake in the defamation of my character as well as my family’s.
Thank you for all of your support,
Kristy
