Single Volume One
Lyra Parish
After failing miserably at love, Roxane VanBuren swears off men but not before her determined best friend shows her all the advantages of being single. After a wild weekend full of sex, old-flames, and secrets, Roxane is desperate to forget it ever happened. But she learns it isn't that easy.
Since becoming the President of VanBuren Investments, she knows how important it is for her professional and personal life to remain separate from one another. If the two were to mix, the rumors could possibly ruin her reputation, which is bad for her and bad for business. To avoid that, Roxane allows rules to define and guide her every move. Unfortunately for her, Parker Williams is determined to break them all, one at a time.
Excerpt #1 
Oh. My. God, I thought as Mr. Sex-on-legs leaned in and nibbled on my bottom lip like we were lovers. Though we've talked for weeks through a messaging service on an online dating site, tonight was the first time we had met in person, and I was sure it would be the last. Yes, the last. This decision wasn't made because Alex was boring or bad looking—he was far from either. I decided this because of the rules I’d set in place to ensure that there would be no sort of relationship in my future.
With a raspy voice full of sex appeal, he said all the right things to progress the inevitable, and he was confident about it. Whether what he said was truth or lies, I didn't care. My intentions were purely physical, not to learn every detail about him or fall in love. That wasn't possible anyway. Love was an emotion that took time, an investment, and I didn't believe in love at first sight. It always seemed like a silly concept to me. Love is a complicated emotion within itself. Add the first-sight bullshit to love, and I become completely lost on the subject.
As I sat there listening to Alex talk in depth about architectural design, a thought crossed my mind: I didn't know if Alex was actually his real name or not, and if it wasn't, then the playing field was even—because I didn't give him mine. There were rules to the game of potential one-night stands in the Internet dating world, rules that I followed religiously. I had a reputation to uphold, and there were too many stalkers and psychos around.
First rule: Never give your real name.
Second rule: Use the same fake name, so you won't forget who you are.
Instead of being Roxane VanBuren, the President of VanBuren Investments, tonight I was Katie, the girl who had one goal in mind. The girl who refused to talk about where she worked, and who also happened to love tequila and dirty martinis. Katie's favorite place to meet men she chatted with on the Internet was the Hilton Hotel Bar downtown. The location ensured there wouldn't be far to go if the night progressed into something else.
Third rule: Never bring men home.
It didn't take long for him to confirm that the night would be full of sex. A few drinks smothered with innuendoes, and we couldn't keep our hands and lips off of one another. After the last-minute booking of a room and the swipe of his credit card, we were stumbling through the hotel between kisses. Once inside the room, every single piece of clothing on our bodies disappeared from pure desire.
I ran my fingers through his blond hair as he pulled me closer to his strong body. Teeth grazed my neck, then he laid me down on the bed. Gently, his lips moved over my breasts. He flicked and nibbled on my nipple, then licked up my chest. I laughed because no one had ever licked from my belly button to my mouth before. No, definitely not.
We were ravenous for each other, and I wanted him to devour me with his tender touch and generous mouth. Before we went any further, Alex stood long enough for me to admire him. Muscles rippled down his stomach and his ass. Then he caught me staring and lifted an eyebrow as he quickly rolled a condom over his dick. Well, it was the best muscle on his body.
Fourth rule: Always have protection available. Safe sex is important.
Prepared. I love a man who is perpetually ready for his next adventure. Alex pulled me to the edge of the bed, and that was when I really noticed the dimple in his chin. Yes, a fucking dimple, and it was cute.
"That brown hair . . . are your eyes two different colors?"
I stopped kissing him. "Yeah. Green and brown."
"You are so fucking sexy, Katie," he whispered as he guided himself inside of me. Ready didn't fully describe how my body took him. It had been months since I felt that.
At first, he went slow. He gave me deep thrusts, long and hard. Out of nowhere, as if he switched bodies with a virgin, he was in and out so quickly that I thought it was a drive-by sex session to see how quick he could fuck. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over, again and again.
I felt like I had been pranked. The foreplay was amazing, but the actual act after the warm-up thrusts lacked in several areas. If I were to rate it, I'd say a strong two. I sarcastically moaned as I mentally counted in my head. My body desperately craved the release of an orgasm, but I wasn't even close. Actually, I was completely turned off.
Before I could even attempt to get myself there, he was bucking and moaning with his mouth wide open. "Oh. Oh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Oooooooooooh," he said, as he pushed a little deeper into me and finished his powerful orgasm, robbing me of mine.
I looked over at the clock on the table.
Five minutes.
It took him a total of five damn minutes before he came.
I sighed as he climbed off of me, tied the condom in a knot, then threw it in the trash. A huge smile filled the bastard’s face as he laid down completely satisfied. I wasn't sure if that really just happened or not. It was
not supposed to happen like that. Both people were supposed to be satisfied.
"God, that was soooo good. Your pussy is perfection, Katie.
That orgasm. Best one I've ever had," he said as I stared at the ceiling, trying to determine what the fuck just happened. Never in my life had someone fucked so fast that it left me speechless.
"Want to go for round two after I catch my breath?" he asked, then turned and looked at me.
I sat up in bed, wondering if he was fucking kidding. When I looked over at him, I realized he wasn't.
"Wait. Wait a damn second," I said.
"It was just as good for you, wasn't it?" He tried to pull me close to him so we could . . .
wait for it— cuddle.
Fifth rule: No cuddling. It gives false hope and triggers emotions.
I pushed away from him and sarcastically laughed. It was almost hard for me to comprehend the absurdity of this situation. Obviously, he had not experienced the same five minutes of horrible sex that I just had, not by the smile on his face and the lingering hardness of his dick.
"No. Just, no. Actually, I think that was the worst five minutes of my life. I didn't even come. I wasn't even
fucking close." I stood, exasperated by the fact that he wanted me to experience that again. I shook my head, and searched for every piece of clothing that I had quickly removed ten minutes prior, then grabbed my high heels and slipped them on.
"I thought you had. You were just so tight."
I wanted him to choke on every word I had said. After another moment, he finally understood what had taken place. "Hey, it was longer than five minutes. Let me make it up to you. Round two," he pled.
"Not happening. And just a pointer—
fucking isn't a race. Next time, when some other idiot decides to fuck you, which I can guarantee will
not be me, try to go for the marathon session and make sure she actually gets off. It makes you look like a selfish asshole, otherwise. Women don't like that."
"And you . . . well, you're being a bitch."
"Not the first time I've been called that, and I'm sure it won't be the last." I glared at him as I zipped my skirt. If looks could kill, he would have disintegrated instantly. Without taking a glance back at him, I slammed the door and walked furiously to the elevator. I stepped inside with hopes of forgetting what just happened, but somehow I couldn't. The images of him fast-fucking me were already replaying in my mind.
Dammit.
Two weeks ago, when we started chatting online, or even two hours ago, when we first met in person, I never suspected he would be the one to deliver me the most
regretful sex of my entire life. He said all the right things, had a little swagger, a nice ass, and a fit body. What a waste of a good-looking man. No wonder he was single.
From that point on, I was convinced that there would always be something wrong with people who searched for love, or even just sex, online. So, I needed to figure out my issue and fix it, otherwise, my future might be doomed to speed racers.
When I got home, I took a shower with hopes of removing the entire situation from my body. After I lay down in bed, I slipped my hands down below and tried to relieve myself . . . but I couldn't. Frustrated both physically and mentally, I tried to force myself to sleep, deprived of the stress-relief that sex delivered and that I desperately craved.
Eventually, I would learn that playing with lust was like playing with fire; sometimes one got burned, while other times, one just enjoyed the warmth. Tonight, I was scorched.
Before I fell asleep, I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend, Stacey.
Me: I'm officially giving up on men. I'm done.
There was no reply.
Excerpt #2
I was everything. I was nothing. I was weak, crumbling, melting into little pieces each time his tongue touched mine. We didn't rush. My world crashed down around me one touch at a time. This was my own personal doomsday, with an attack on my emotions, but I didn't prep. I wasn't ready to feel like, this but somehow I did.
He pulled me closer, so close, and his kiss deepened.
Parker.
His name was on my lips, but his lips were stealing my words, only allowing my thoughts to burn within me. I couldn't focus. I was losing everything that I was, that I stood for, and that I believed in. Relationships and Roxane didn't go together. What the hell was I doing?
About Lyra Parish
Lyra Parish loves to write, glamp, and sing obnoxiously loud at the top of her lungs in the shower. Sweet love stories (along with the dirty ones) make her gush. She is a firm believer that a person can never have too many cups of coffee, cats, or happily ever afters. When she isn't busy writing, she can be found sipping various beverages from her non-alcoholic drink buffet, pimp slapping excel spreadsheets, or riding her bike. Lyra lives in Texas with her glassblowing, guitar-playing hubby and black cat named Nibbler.
For more information or to contact, please visit: lyraparish.com
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