Author: Erica Chilson
Series: Rusty Knob #2
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance, LGBTQ themes
Release Date: October 13, 2015
Royce Kennedy believes he has the town of Rusty Knob and its citizens in the palm of his hand. For altruistic reasons, of course. A real man takes care of his land and the people on it, whether they want to accept the help or not.
After fostering an orphan, adopting underprivileged kids, creating businesses to bring jobs back to the area, donating his time, energy, and money by founding the Community Growth: Life Skills Center, people are beginning to wonder if the man is running a campaign to earn the status of a saint.
Royce’s family is getting frustrated by idly watching their patriarch spread himself too thin, because he won’t allow them to shoulder his burdens or their own. Drastic measures are taken before the man can see reason. When the dust finally settles, Royce realizes he’s been taking care of everyone but himself.
But there’s a problem with sorting out your issues, with the clarity of mind, you can’t hide from the good, bad, and downright filthy secrets buried in the depths of your past.
With dark, violent, depraved skeletons, Rusty Knob’s patriarch isn’t as pure of soul as he appears to be. Will he finally surrender and accept the help to buff the tarnish away?
Just because it’s the moral thing to do, doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for you.
I whisper into Willa’s ear, and a miracle happens. She goes completely lax and releases the dirtiest moan I’ve ever heard. I press my lips to her ear and she groans for me. “Are you wet for me, Willa,” I flutter against her ear. “Do you want me to show you what to do with your sweet honey?”
“Yes,” comes in a breathy moan. “Please,” she begs, and I really, really like the sounds of that.
“Don’t judge me if I spontaneously erupt in my pants.” In my drunken haze, not only do I experience a total lack of inhibitions, I experience verbal diarrhea too. “It’s been years since a woman has come apart in my arms, and I’m not going to be able to handle it. But I’ll try to behave myself.”
Arching her back, rubbing her tight ass against my stiffy, Willa moans like she’s already coming. “Don’t.” Shimmy of her hips. “Bother.” My hands grip her hips to stop her, but end up controlling the rock of her ass against me. “Misbehave with me,” she pleads, and I lose my shit.
Gripping Willa’s hips hard enough to leave fingertip bruises, I shift her around until my bulge is cradled in the curve of her ass. “This is how you fuck in this position.” My hand slides up her inner thigh, raising her dress as I go. A hiss is torn from both our throats at the feel of my bare skin touching hers. Fingertips dimpling in, I grip her thigh to prop it over my hip. Then I dip my hips, getting right up in her, grinding my cock against the saturated seat of her panties.
“This is how sex should be.” I pant, thrusting and rolling my hips against hers. “Arch your back more, tilt your hips, spread your thighs farther apart, and grind into me like you’re desperate for a baby in your belly.”
Voice forced from a craned neck, “Royce!” Willa shouts, so fucking close to coming that I can scent it in the air. This girl’s got a hair-trigger. I bet I could force five or six orgasms out of her if she was mine.
Snapping, I doubt I could even stop if Donny was standing over the sofa threatening to kill us. “I’m gonna make you feel like a woman, little girl.”
My hands seek Willa’s, palms resting over the backs of her hands. Fingers woven together, I direct her how to touch herself. Starting at her neck, I force her to arch so I have better access to her ear. I suck on her lobe while our hands explore. Willa’s keening by the time I reach her breasts, so tiny they fit into her palms. I run our fingertips over and over her nipples until she’s writhing so hard we almost fall off the cushions.
“Imagine my cock is buried inside you as deep as it will go,” I breathe into Willa’s ear, driving her wild. Bucking her hips into me, I almost blow the top off my cock. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you dirty girly?”
“Y–e–s…” rolls out her throat, vibrating against my lips. Clenching my hands, I clench hers around her small tits, gripping tight enough to hurt but she thrives on it.
Hands roving down her belly, we dip beneath her dress. Together, our fingertips slip beneath the waistband of her panties, going lower and lower until springy curls tickle our skin and moist heat beckons us forward.
“Christ.” A shudder rolls up my spine at the first touch– scorching hot and smooth, Willa’s so damn wet her cream is dripping off our fingertips. “This is why you wanna be wet.” Without thinking through the ramifications of my actions, we slide silky smooth down her slit, and then press our fingers inside her narrow pussy.
“Deep?” We press in to the first knuckle. “Deeper?” We press in to the second knuckle. “Deeper?” We press in until we bottom out. “Promise land?” We curl our fingers forward, and then pull down sharply, fingertips hooking on her g-spot.
With a low grunt, Willa jackknifes in my arms, quivering and shuddering, spasms rolling through every muscle in her body. I slip our fingers free from her body, moving upward. “Willamina,” I purr into her ear, lips wrapping around the lobe. “Meet your clit– the instant orgasm spot.”
We roll our fingertips across the swollen bud, all that dampness paving our way, and Willa screams my name so loud she wakes the dead. Laughing, I can’t believe I’m doing this. So depraved. So wrong. But it feels so fucking good.
Erica Chilson does not write in the 3rd person, wanting her readers to be her characters. Therefore, writing a bio about herself, is uncomfortable in the extreme.
Born, raised, and here to stay, the Wicked Writer is a stump-jumper, a ridge-runner. Hailing from North Central Pennsylvania, directly on the New York State border; she loves the changes in seasons, the humid air, all the mountainous forest, and the gloomy atmosphere.
Introverted, but not socially awkward, Erica prides herself on thinking first and filtering her speech. There are days she doesn’t speak at all. If it wasn’t for the fact that she lives with her parents, giving her a sense of reality, she would be a hermit, where the delivery man finds her months after expiration.
Reading was an escape, a way to leave a not-so pleasant reality behind. Reading lent Erica the courage she gathered from the characters between the pages to long for a different life. Writing was an instrument of change, evolving Erica into the woman she is today- a better, more mature, more at peace thinker.
Erica has a wicked mind, one she pours out into her creations. Her filter doesn’t allow all of it to erupt, much to her relief. Sarcastic, with a very dark, perverse sense of humor, Erica puts a bit of herself into every character she writes.
Rusty Knob #1