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Vanilla
Megan Hart
It's an acquired taste…he just has to acquire itElise knows what she wants in the bedroom, and she makes sure she gets it. Her thirst for domination has long been quenched by a stable of men only too happy to bow down before her.But sexual satisfaction isn't the same as love, and she's been burned in the past by giving her heart too freely.Niall is handsome, smart, successful and sweet–sweet as vanilla. When they meet, their romantic connection is electric, even though he's way on the opposite end of the kink spectrum. Despite how she fights it, Elise falls for him–but how can a relationship work when both lovers want to be on top?"Hart wields her pen like a scalpel…in this soul-searching, emotionally sensitive story. Strong characterization and smooth, yet forceful, writing captures your attention and holds you hostage."–RT Book Reviews on The Space Between Us
It’s an acquired taste…he just has to acquire it
Elise knows what she wants in the bedroom, and she makes sure she gets it. Her thirst for domination has long been quenched by a stable of men only too happy to bow down before her.
But sexual satisfaction isn’t the same as love, and she’s been burned in the past by giving her heart too freely.
Niall is handsome, smart, successful and sweet—sweet as vanilla. When they meet, their romantic connection is electric, even though he’s way on the opposite end of the kink spectrum. Despite how she fights it, Elise falls for him—but how can a relationship work when both lovers want to be on top?
“Hart wields her pen like a scalpel…in this soul-searching, emotionally sensitive story. Strong characterization and smooth, yet forceful, writing captures your attention and holds you hostage.”—RT Book Reviews on The Space Between Us
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Megan Hart (#u9d4c904c-b525-550f-832d-0eda144ff4af)
“Meticulously sensual details and steamy interludes make this an achingly erotic read.”
—RT Book Reviews on Flying
“Hart’s beautiful use of language and discerning eye toward human experience elevate the book to a poignant reflection on the deepest yearnings of the human heart and the seductive temptation of passion in its many forms.”
—Kirkus Reviews on Tear You Apart
“[Hart] writes erotica for grown-ups… [The Space Between Us] is a quiet book, but it packed a major punch for me.… She’s a stunning writer, and this is a stunning book.”
—Super Librarian
“Naked is a great story, steeped in emotion. Hart has a wonderful way with her characters…. She conveys their thoughts and actions in a manner that brings them to life. And the erotic scenes provide a sizzling read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Deeper is absolutely, positively, the best book that I have read in ages…the writing is fabulous, the characters’ chemistry is combustible, and the story line brought tears to my eyes more than once…. Beautiful, poignant and bittersweet…Megan Hart never disappoints.”
—Romance Reader at Heart, Top Pick
“Stranger, like Megan Hart’s previous novels, is an action-packed, sexy, emotional romance that tears up the pages with heat while also telling a touching love story…. Stranger has a unique, hot premise that Hart delivers on fully.”
—Bestselling author Rachel Kramer Bussel
“[Broken] is not a traditional romance but the story of a real and complex woman caught in a difficult situation with no easy answers. Well-developed secondary characters and a compelling plot add depth to this absorbing and enticing novel.”
—Library Journal
“An exceptional story and honest characters make Dirty a must-read.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Vanilla
Megan Hart
www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk)
This is for you
You know who you are
Contents
Cover (#ubea6ca33-734f-5a45-925d-72534ac75dd9)
Back Cover Text (#u86948fef-0619-58db-82a2-31c93ddc15ba)
Praise
Title Page (#ubdd3dcca-016b-5152-b787-b5fe1d3be959)
Dedication (#u9af6e202-4cc8-5ea1-8d7b-9000b8640a3f)
prologue (#ulink_9bcfeaf1-ac16-568c-9311-fa36502e5018)
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Author Song List (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
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prologue (#ulink_bbcb89f1-2f86-5a28-b5ed-dfe3c38642db)
The hum and the sting.
The artist bent over my wrist, tracing the outline of the simple design with the needle, the gun. Filling in the lines with ebony and shadows. My skin soaked up the ink in a way that made the girl murmur appreciatively.
“This is going to look great,” she told me. “Super fucking cool.”
It hurt. Of course it did. Tattoos always do—it’s not like they’re licked on by baby unicorns with tongues made of kittens for fuck’s sake. I had two others, a small Jewish star on my right hip and a somewhat-but-not-entirely regretted tramp stamp of a flaming sun on my lower back. This one on my wrist burned worse than the others had. Ink always hurts, but it’s a clean sort of pain. An on-purpose ache that lingers when the tattoo is finished and healing, and sometimes even long after, like your skin forever wants to remember how it felt to be so marked.
“What do you think?” She sat back and wiped my skin again of any excess color.
I didn’t need a mirror to see the inside of my left wrist. I’d picked that place because I would always be able to see it, whether I wanted to or not. The design there, no bigger than a fifty-cent piece, was simple. Black and gray. Stylized lines and curves that nevertheless clearly made a picture. The skin around the edges of the design was still a little raised and red the first time I saw it. Still stinging. Looking at it would always sting.
“Why a rabbit?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “I don’t usually ask, to be honest. I mean, it’s personal, yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“And far be it from me to judge,” she continued. “I mean if you’d wanted a butterfly or a fairy or a flower, I wouldn’t even ask. But a rabbit’s cool. What’s the significance?”
“It’s so I don’t forget,” I told her.
She grinned and didn’t ask me what I needed to remember. “Fair enough. You’re satisfied, then?”
Satisfaction wasn’t exactly what I’d been going for. Pain and permanence, yes. An eternal reminder. But since I’d been given those things, and the design we’d worked up together was exactly as she’d drawn it, I had to nod.
“Yes,” I told her. “It’s perfect.”
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There’s something so lovely in the curve of a man’s spine when he is on his knees, head bowed, hands behind his back. The back of his neck, vulnerable and exposed. The splay of his toes pressed to the hotel carpet that rubbed at his knees and would scrub them briefly red. I would leave my own marks on him, careful to be sure they’d fade as fast as the rug burns. I couldn’t leave anything permanent on him. We’d agreed on that from the first.
I didn’t want to hurt him much anyway. That had never been my game. A little sting, here or there. The slap of leather on his bare skin. The press of my teeth or scrape of my fingernails—those were things to make him shudder and moan. I would always rather get what I wanted by promising pleasure instead of pain. That was what worked for us.
