Jennifer Skully, Jasmine Haynes -- NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
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Pretty in Pink Slip  -- Jennifer Skully
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Jennifer Skully

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The Girlfriend Experience -- Jasmine Haynes
Courtesans Tales
Jasmine Haynes

 

Unlaced -- Jasmine Haynes

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Unlaced
Jasmine’s story “Undone,” Winner National Readers Choice Award, Best Novella
Capa Award Winner Best Anthology

“one heart-melting read”
Wild on Books

Every older woman’s fantasy...

Four authors of erotic romance present wild and irresistibly dangerous fantasies in this sensational anthology of lust and lingerie…

Unwind with Jasmine Haynes…A woman arrives at the perfect solution for exploring sensual freedom: open herself up to an amateur photographer with no limits—and an uncensored appreciation for the female body.

Come undone with Jaci Burton…Sixteen years is a long time to carry a torch for your ex. It’s high time they act on long-dormant desires and reignite the flame that still burns inside them both.

Let loose with Joey Hill…What does a hiker do when he comes upon a girl wearing only ivory panties, and stretched out invitingly on the warm leather seat of a Harley? Anything she tells him.

Submit to Denise Rossetti…As the laces of a stunning ruby-trimmed corset tighten, so too does the grip of an inescapable sorceress’s curse—one with the power to transform any woman into a dominating femme fatale.

Read Excerpt

This excerpt contains explicit sexual content

Read an excerpt of Jasmine's story:

This little scene takes place less than a quarter of the way into the story. Dirk is an amateur photographer preparing to take boudoir photos of Margo in a corset.

“I want to get naked,” she purred.

This was the woman he’d hoped to release once she stepped in front of the camera. Hot. Ready. As if she were anticipating a man between her legs. It hadn’t taken her long to feel the lure of being naughty for an inanimate object.

He was so damn hard he needed a slug of beer to cool off. He positioned his camera back on the tripod.

“I have something I want you to wear.”

She startled as if she’d forgotten there was a man behind the lens. Turning, she held her arms across her abdomen, looked down, realized the defensive posture, and dropped it. She wasn’t quite as assured as she’d like him to think.

Opening a drawer of the vanity, he pulled out his prize.

“What”--she pointed, coming closer--“is that?”

“A corset.”

She laughed. He was beginning to get that she laughed when she was a tad nervous. “You mean like a real corset?” She put out a hand to touch the fabric, then one of the stiff bones.

“I want you to wear it.”

She tipped her head and eyed him, a taste of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “Is this some sort of fetish thing?”

“There’s something sexy about a garment that a woman needs a man to help her get in”--he raised a brow--“and out of.”

She snorted out a little puff of air. “She doesn’t need a man, just a maid.” She said it with the slightest edge and had him wondering about her real life.

“Consider me your servant for the time being.” He unfolded it as far as the bottom laces would allow. “Game?”

“Isn’t it hard to breathe with one of these things on?”

“I won’t lace it that tight.”

She clucked her tongue softly. “It’s kinky.”

He chuckled. “Hell, asking you over here is kinky.” He itched to lace her up. He could do it without touching skin, but she’d be close, so close. Just achieving something different on camera had been his original intention, but now, the idea of her sweet body in the corset had become a need, the ultimate in sexy.

The camera would adore her figure, her waist tiny, her breasts small but plumped by the corset’s stays.

Easing her in front of the vanity mirror, he stood behind her, her body heat a hair’s breadth between them. Then he leaned in to whisper, “Take off your clothes.”

She swallowed, her throat tensing in the reflection. Then she reached down, grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulled it over her head, and tossed it aside. Her hair settled back around her shoulders in a sexy muss. Her scent, sweet shampoo and fruity body lotion, rose up. He almost closed his eyes to breathe her in, then he looked in the mirror.

Holy hell. Her breasts beneath the black lace bra were everything he could have hoped for.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

Her nipples beaded. He knew it was what she needed to hear when her fingers went to the back of her skirt. He held her gaze in the mirror as the light rasp of her zipper filled the air, then she dropped the skirt and kicked it aside.

Her stomach was slightly rounded, there was a dimple or two in her skin that she probably hated. She had a nipped-in waist and a flare to her hips that might not have been the height of fashion in a world that demanded no woman should bear a single extra ounce. She was his ideal.

“The corset’s going to love your curves,” he whispered. Her breath whooshed out as if she’d been waiting for his approval.

Her eyes on his in the mirror, she undid the front clasp of her bra, shrugged, and the lacy confection fell to the carpet. Clad only in her satin thong, thigh-highs, and heels, she stole his breath.

He held the corset in front of her. The flower print on a cream background enhanced her skin. She glowed with vitality.

“Just step into it.” He’d left the bottom laces in the eyeholes so that he wouldn’t have to fiddle once she held the garment to her. Taking the two edges from him, she put one foot through the laces, the round curve of her ass coming perilously close to his cock.

“Hold it at your waist so I can thread the rest of the loops and tighten it.”

She looked at him in the mirror. “Have you ever done this?”

“No. But the salesgirl said to lace it like a tennis shoe.”

“Hah. So now I’m an old shoe.” Her laugh was genuine, but again he recognized that touch of vulnerability.

“Not old and not a shoe.” He stopped to give her body a long, savoring look. “A sexy woman.”

“Darn tooting,” she whispered, then held the corset around her at the waist as he began threading the holes.

He felt almost clumsy as his fingers brushed the skin at the base of her spine, just above her ass. Her body heat almost singed. The scent of her lotion wafted up, and something else, a faint aroma of woman, a touch of arousal.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” He’d stoked the wood-burning stove earlier, and he was toasty. She, however, was damn near naked.

“No, it’s fine.” Her cheeks deepened their rosy tint.

The shiver had nothing to do with room temperature, and everything to do with bare skin. Looking down to the gape of the undone corset, he found her nipples hard, pearled. “I can put on another log,” he said as he pulled the laces together.

She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “No, really.” Then she laughed softly. “I’m hot enough.”

He allowed himself a smile at her obvious pun.

He laced another couple of loops, and her skin’s warmth began to seep through the material. “The fit will get tight now.”

“I’ve heard that a tight fit is a good thing.”

Oh yeah, she was getting into it with him. He’d imagined touching her like this, soft, accidental caresses. He’d imagined himself with a hard-on as she fell into the heat of arousal. But he’d never considered how badly he’d need to be a part of it, not just an observer, but a participant. Her skin was smooth, soft to the touch. Her scent made his mouth water. He brushed aside her hair, baring her shoulders, though the length wasn’t at all in the way of the laces. He simply craved a touch.

Four eyelets left, he tightened. She gasped.

“Too tight? Can you breathe?”

“I’m okay. It’s just”--she tipped her head to one side--“it feels good in an odd way, makes you stand straighter.”

Another eyehole, and the corset plumped her breasts. Though barely covering her nipples, it effectively hid them from view. Too bad. “A couple more laces, can you handle it?”

“I’ll let you know when you’ve done it all the way up.”

He threaded and pulled, but with none of the strength Mammy had used on Scarlett in Gone with the Wind.

Tying the laces off with a neat bow, he stepped back. In the mirror, the effect was perfect. Her enticing breasts plumped above the lace edging of the corset. Cinching in her waist, the bones gave a luscious flare to her hips. Over her flattened abdomen, the point in the front arrowed down to her black satin thong. The globes of her delectable ass begged for his touch, and the back-seamed thigh-highs were a sexual hedonist’s fantasy. Her blond hair had fallen to frame the upper swell of her breasts. He raised his gaze to her green eyes. The artist in him needed to photograph her like that, while the man in him wanted to bend her over the vanity and bury his cock in her.

“So how’s the fit?”

She drew in a shallow breath, her breasts rising. “Just don’t make me run or try to touch my toes.” She smoothed a hand down her stomach. “But I like it. Though you can certainly see why the women didn’t eat much at their big galas.” Grinning at the mirror, she added, “But it makes me feel sexy.”

But could she make herself come for him? More than anything, Dirk wanted to capture her face aglow with ecstasy.

Turning this way, then that, she cupped her breasts, plumping them higher. Reaching around her, Dirk gave a slight tug on the bottom, and the tops of her nipples peeped out. It was the ideal combination of gentile lady and sexy woman.

How had he gotten so lucky? Margo was more than any woman he could have fantasized.

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