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Flirting With The Law

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Madison Faye

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B06X8ZRDT9
Book Information:

She’s been tempting us for longer than she knows. Now it’s time to find out what happens when you cross the law.
Samantha:

Getting pulled over is the last thing I need after I find out my scumbag of a fiancé is cheating on me.

But that’s before I see the cops who step out of that squad car.

They’re dangerously gorgeous – rough looking and tattooed, not to mention dominant and demanding. Even more, the way they look at me stirs something dark inside of me that’s just dying to get out.

And I know I should be scared, or furious at their rough, hands-on treatment when they make me bend over the hood of the car and submit. I know I definitely shouldn’t be turned on when they cuff my hands behind my back and put their filthy hands on me.

And I definitely shouldn’t want them to keep going. I definitely shouldn’t want more…

Flirting With The Law is a quick and filthy book involving two utterly obsessed alpha heroes, one sassy heroine, and enough insta-love, steam, and sugary-sweetness to make your Kindles melt. This mfm romance is all about her – no m/m. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty stories, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!

Books by Author:

Madison Faye Books

1

Samantha

I groaned as my eyes opened in the darkness.

Making a face and feeling the shroud of sleep lifting from me, I glanced at the clock and cursed under my breath. It was way too early to be up, but I’d been having the hardest time sleeping in these days.

I swung my long legs out of the bed and stretched in the early-morning darkness. Behind me, Tim snorted groggily and turned heavily in his sleep, a rattling snore tumbling from his mouth. I wrinkled my nose as the smell of alcohol drifted over to me from his sleeping, grumbling form. I let out a deep sigh.

I didn’t remember him coming home last night, but apparently, he’d had another late one — a “networking event” he called it. “Getting drunk with his pals,” was probably a more apt title for my fiancé’s recent nighttime excursions, I thought with a frown.

The layoff had been tough for him, I knew that. And at first, I’d been as sympathetic as I could be. I played the dutiful fiancée and the supportive partner when the law firm had let him go not long after his promotion. But as weeks, then months, went by without so much as a peep about even looking for another job, it seemed more and more that Tim was liking his new-found freedom from the work-week grind.

Really, it wasn’t that he was unemployed that bugged me, it was the bullshit from him that came along with that.

I stewed over this as I scooped grounds into the coffee machine. It was much too early to be worrying about big-picture stuff like this, I decided, groaning at the smell of the coffee beans wafting out of the can.

It was quiet as I sat at the kitchen counter, silent but for my thoughts and the low gurgle of the coffee machine.

I sat there, sighing and sliding my fingers through my long dark hair. I had my writing, not that it payed much, and after the layoff, I’d suggested that I could always go back to teaching. I’d enjoyed teaching, however brief it was before we got engaged and moved to the west coast for Tim’s new job. And after that, I didn’t really have to work anymore since he was bringing in so much.

But Tim thought that was “below” us now, now that we lived in a higher tax bracket, a better neighborhood, with higher bills. None of which we could afford for much longer without work. But he also refused to look at anything that was less than the position he’d had before, which was looking more and more unrealistic. I sighed again into the darkness of the kitchen and reached for the coffee.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud ping from across the counter. With a frown, I glanced at the origin of the sound as it went off again.

Tim’s phone, left downstairs next to his half-drunk beer from his late-night arrival. Blinking in the semi-darkness, I reached for it to find the volume switch, and then went totally still has my blood chilled in my veins.

There, lit up across the screen of his phone, was a photo of a pair of nude, perky tits.

Tits that were decidedly not mine.

The room went silent around me as I felt my pulse pound in my ears.

The phone pinged again, this time a text popping up on the screen:

Hey honny, thought u were cuming ovr last nite.

What. The. Fuck.

My face went leaden and hard, coldly emotionless, and I felt as though the wind ws slowly going out of my sails. There was a tightening, like a knot, in the pit of my stomach, and for a minute I almost felt like I was going to throw up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

My face felt numb as I hissed it into the empty kitchen.

The real shitty part was, I wasn’t even surprised. Part of me could have almost guessed this was going to happen. I didn’t think Tim stepping out had started until after the job loss, and since then, it’s almost like he hadn’t even been trying too hard to hide it. That and the fact that he’d barely touched me at all in months had made it something I was almost expecting to happen.

It hurt — a lot — the first time I’d smelled perfume on his shirt, or found a phone number scrawled on a bar napkin in his pocket. But it was always something passing, something that could probably just be explained away, even if I knew deep down what was going on. So instead, I guess I’d just internalized it, as if never talking about it made it something that was just in my head.

But, this text message — yeah, there wasn’t really any denying this.

I glanced back at the phone on the counter, paused, and then reached down to unlock his screen, bringing up his messages. I looked at text again — at her tits — and felt the rage searing up inside. I tried to picture the little tramp attached to those breasts who was texting my fiancé at this hour.


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