ISBN -10: 9781784304119 
Vegas Mythbehaving series

Mr Muse

Second book in Vegas Mythbehaving series: Mr. Muse. Due out early January 2015.

Book Two: Mr. Muse features Missy and Eric.

What do you get when you cross crazy Greek Gods, a romance writer in need of inspiration, and someone out for blood?


The only problem writer, Missy Duncan, has -other than her divorce- is trying to write hot love scenes. Now she's been blown up, has a naked, hunky, Muse Eric Elonikas protecting her body, someone trying to kill her and oh yeah. she may have just fallen in love.

Can this day get any more complicated?




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Copyright © Kelly Ethan 2015. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.


“She caressed his strong, iron shaft with her delicate virgin fingers, all the while trembling in pleasurable terror.”

Missy snorted in disgust at her purple prose. Damn it, this sex stuff wasn't easy—especially when you'd split with your cheating husband. Besides, what was the big deal? A stuck his appendage in B and most of the time, B faked it.

Resting her head in her hands, Missy tried to picture something romantic. Anything! Hot sold books. Sales meant money in the bank and security. She thumped her head on the desk. “Heat, sizzle. Vavoom. Think, Missy.”

Walks by the beach, chocolates, flowers… Argh. None of it made her want to rip her clothing off.

Her agent had demanded hot sex scenes. Sizzle sold and her normal, close-the-bedroom-door scenes weren't selling in the current market. One reviewer went as far as to call her an old prude. Old. So she'd gone ahead and tried to put the sizzle into her writing. Now the damn book wouldn't flow right.

Anyway, after her divorce, what did she know? The only orgasms that raced her way were the ones her vibrator, Mr. Happy, gave her.

“Okay, girl, suck it up and get on with it.” Missy started again, but her purple prose sat there blinking, mocking her. Staring up at the beige roof above her, she sent a mental prayer to the heavens. Please, please, send a Muse here. Because unless I can write scorching sex scenes, I'm out of a job.

Breathing deeply, she rested her hands on the keys, closed her eyes and let the words flow out of her mouth.

“The blunt head of his hard, twitching erection drew her. Mouth moistening, she imagined slaking her thirst with the single bead of cum that glistened on the head of his cock. His hand sought her, parting the folds of her center—delving deep inside. First one finger, then another. She arched her back and drove his fingers deep. His wet thumb stroked her round and round.

“Her entire passage, soaked in desire, released the musky scent of heaven into the air. She clenched in mini paroxysms of pleasure. An interlude to the main concert. He flipped her over until she lay flat on her stomach, submissive to his dominant. His teeth stroked her backside and his finger disappeared to be replaced by his heated mouth and lips. She throbbed like a drum when his mouth parted her and his rough tongue thrust savagely inside. A high-pitched scream ripped out of her. He suckled hard and she came apart in his arms, crying his name.”

Missy breathed heavily and stared at what she'd written. “Oh. My. God.”

She scanned the passage again. Where had that come from? She'd never experienced that sort of release in her life, let alone written about it. How on earth…?

She noticed something else. Her panties were completely soaked. It'd been six straight months without sex and almost two years without good sex. She had to be repressed if only a couple of paragraphs could have her like this. Without her brain consciously giving the order, she ran her hand across her breasts, lingering on her nipples. The plain cotton of the sports bra rubbed against her skin and caused her breath to shorten. She eased her other hand down her body and under her panty line.

Moving her fingers in a rapid rhythm, she arched her hips. All thoughts of her cheating husband, her manuscript and Mr. Happy, her vibrator, evaporated. She throbbed in time to the movement of her fingers and came in hard bursts of pleasure.

The feelings were so intense, for a moment she imagined a tall, dark, long-haired man standing to the side of her with his hands clasped around his large erection. Wow, she was more in need of a good fuck than she'd thought if make-believe men were appearing.

Her chest rising and falling like she'd run a marathon—an orgasmic one—Missy slumped forward onto the desk, knocking her keyboard and wiping the work on the page. “Shit, I forgot to save. I guess I'll have to write it again.”

Giggling, she twitched her clothes back into place and settled herself to write the scene again. Who needs a man when you can have a good old-fashioned hand job? Now if she could keep it up for the rest of the book…







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