All Souls' Night - Renee Rose Page 0,153

first time in my life, I’m truly happy.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

The End

Want more Midnight Doms romance by Lesli Richardson? Click here to read Dexter & Blue’s story, Her Vampire Obsession.

About the Author

Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific and USA Today Bestselling Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region with her husband and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage. Lesli is a part-time Viking shield-maiden in training who loves to shoot skeet and play D&D. She’s also the author of over one hundred and sixty books, and counting. She lives in her own little world, but it’s okay—they all know her there.

Also by Lesli Richardson

Bite Me Baby One More Time

Alexis Alvarez

Chapter 1

His dark head dips down and his lips hover an inch from mine. Those unusual dark eyes, nearly purple, burn into mine as he smiles.

“Take off your dress,” he murmurs. He runs a hand down my bare shoulder, then leans in and nips my neck, making me catch my breath. “Now. You know what I’ll do if you delay.”

My pulse pounds. “What exactly will you do? I’d like a description first before I make up my mind.”

He laughs, a dangerous sound. “Perhaps I’ll just show you.”

“Please do.” I reach out and flick the collar of his shirt. One button is open, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. He’s slim but muscular, and gives the impression of ultimate fitness.

He leans in to whisper into my ear. “Keep in mind I know every dark and dirty fantasy you have, Miss Garcia.”

He nips my neck again, a bit harder, and sends sparks all the way through my body. He sucks the spot where he bit, and I’m nearly ready to orgasm. God knows why my neck is so sensitive—and hickies are a hell of a thing to hide—but what can I say? I just love it.

He grabs me closer. “I’m going to make you beg me for what you want, Miss Garcia.”

His wicked grin tells me he knows I want all the dirty, humiliating things that a good girl doesn’t do. That he’s just the right man to teach me how to submit… and what an eager pupil I can be.

“Miss Garcia. Miss Garcia.”

Why does he keep saying my name?

His voice echoes. “Miss Artemis Garcia?”

What?

I start and blink my way back to reality, which is a classroom that holds the evening class of Photoshop 101, one of the first courses for my Associate’s degree at Pima Community College.

The hot professor, Dr. Antonio Locke, has made his way directly to my table, and stands right in front of me and my laptop. He memorized our names the very first day, unlike the other professors, who refer to a printout of our ID pictures.

“If you’d be so kind as to join us, I’d be quite curious to know if you can answer the question.” He crosses his arms and raises a brow. His dark hair really sets off those amazing eyes.

My cheeks burn as much from my inattention as my daydreams, and I’m frustrated at myself: instead of impressing him with my wit and wisdom, I fell asleep in his class for the second time in a week, while fantasizing about him. “Ah. I’m so sorry. Can you repeat it?”

“I’m sorry I can’t quite keep your attention,” he says. “Almost makes me wonder if I need to rethink my teaching procedures.”

Oh, fuck me. The way he said ‘procedures’ just set off a cascade of new fantasies in my head.

He stares at me, and for a split second I wonder if he can read my mind, because his lips quiver into a smile that seems at once sexy and a little dangerous.

But his words are anything but erotic. “I asked if you could tell me which keyboard shortcut one might use to quickly increase the size of a brush.” He points to the front of the room, where his laptop screen is duplicated, billboard size, to display a test document.

I can’t help it, but my mind goes immediately to ‘increase’ and ‘command,’ and my cheeks get even hotter. I’m still caught up in that fantasy, and the chronic lack of sleep is getting to me. “Ummm…”

I think I see a flicker of disappointment on his face before he turns away. “Mr. Ruiz?”

Next to me, the eighteen-year-old guy who knows every fucking thing in the world says in a smug