Coming In Hot Paranormal & Contemporary Medical Romance Boxed Set
Paramedical meets paranormal:
Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, and More!
Paramedical meets paranormal in this steamy set filled with doctors, nurses, paramedics, shifters, werewolves, vampires, and more!
***BRAND NEW & EXCLUSIVE***
shadows of the night could be hazardous to your health
for her sister’s murderer. Drugs and alcohol drove her twin to prostitution in the
shadows and rat holes of the underbelly of North Beach society. Brianna lived her sister’s life on the tight
edge of the raw reality until she pushed someone too hard, too fast.
underground society, but to who’s destiny—her own or Tatianna’s?
pool halls the midnight scum frequented. She fascinated him with her
Mediterranean beauty and her disdain. She was fast, unapologetic, but her
curves were slow and yielding. He ached for her until one night slithered into
the wee hours of the early morning at Blu’s Balls. The smoke in the pool hall
hung in the air like a noose from the ceiling.
blue-eyed man with the heart-shaped face and the gentle mouth more, first.
EMT’s brought her into his ER. He hadn’t seen her since that night—the night
she picked him.
Muffy was born in Texas to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family “princess,” indulged and pampered. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and ‘came of age’ in France which forged her joie de vivre and love for books and writing. Married and living in the tropical paradise of SW Florida along the Gulf Coast, Muffy writes and enjoys life in the sun with her husband and wee Havanese pup, Burt.
Join Muffy’s mailing list to get the scoop on her new releases and special promotions at www.MuffyWilson.com. Follow her on Facebook at facebook.com/wilsonmuffy or /MuffyWilson.com and on Twitter at @SexyMuffyWilson. Muffy also blogs daily here: http://muffywilson.blogspot.com ~ Contact Muffy at Muffy@MuffyWilson.com. ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion
sheets, like most of my underwear. It is a mindset. I was independent,
self-reliant and did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted—pretty much like the
men I worked with at the time. I was the Midwest Regional Director of the Real
Estate and Construction Division with IBM. I worked hard, travelled frequently
and had to check hotel menus often enough to find out what city I was in! There
was always a bar and a restaurant downstairs and the temptation the anonymity
offered was often too much for me to deny. Anyway, I valued the sanctuary of my
home and my own bed along with the indulgence of silk sheets. I know! You
thought it was the other way around and that I did all my catting on my silk
sheets…hahaha! Well, sometimes I was indiscriminate and I did. But, my silk
sheets were like my little self-indulgence, like Belgium Chocolate, Irish
butter and Chevas Brothers Lochan Ora. Some things were just for me. Anymore,
after thirty years of marriage, I am afraid we would find ourselves slipped to
the floor like molten lava if we slept on silk sheets.
I am in a spaghetti strapped black summer shift (it is nearing 90 here in SWFL
on this early morning with the sun reflecting off of the pool) and I’m barefoot. My face
is scrubbed and I am not wearing any undies, not even a thong! There are
blessings to an empty nest!
evenly and deliciously in bed. It is never far from my nightstand. Something’s
never change. Even though there are no more silk sheets, there is always
Belgium chocolate and Cristal Champagne, the Wine of Tsars and Stars, both of
which I am, or can be, in bed.
fun pack and the other just the remote and not too virginal vibrating
balls! Let’s just go for the fun pack and hang the suspense! As you would
expect, there are extension cords and spare batteries (just in case), a few
favorite toys (some are the dog’s!), the real stash is in the dresser (!) and a .38 snub-nosed
revolver and no it is not a “Midnight Special”. There are creams and ointments
and my collections of silk and satin scarves, a throwback from my traveling
covers off during the night?
inspiration floating in from any source. In Florida, I sleep in light shorty lingerie without
blankets. In the north, I curl up, my husband tells me, near the foot of the bed wrapped in
the warming comfort of velour blankets. My blood has gotten thinner down here
and I have a low tolerance for freezing temperatures anymore. But, I do have to admit, it is certainly
more conductive to warm-up sex!
convenience, in a big way, and perhaps more than once! Clearly, we have to get
your blood warmed up and moving around and around—even back and forth!
Although, you might consider a cold-toe fuck, another fine way to
warm up your pinkies.
a long time!), read, and maybe roll-play some saucy little highlights from this randy boxed set, ‘Coming in Hot’, written with some of my dearest, most talented friends. Here, let’s read an excerpt from my novella featured in the collection. C’mere…
gets what they deserve. Everybody knows that.
it didn’t matter anyway.
was the wee hours of the morning and Brianna was all alone on the barren,
black, wet streets. Curiously, she was unafraid to walk the night between the
underbelly of society that lives in the darkness.
was probably just like the night her sister was murdered. She was probably
troubled by the same things—haunted by the depths of her own depravity. The clack-clack-clack
of her heels on the sidewalk announced her approach as she headed…where? Home?
That was a laugh. It made her think of the first time—her first time, maybe her
sister’s first time—on the streets and in the black flesh pits of San Francisco
that served up watered down whiskey, easy women and the finest drug connections
money could buy, steal or cheat. Shrouded in the black lies hidden by the
night, she did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted and with whomever she
wanted. The rain always had that effect, kept the good ones home while the
creeps washed out of every skank black hole.
was like that her first night…and he was a creep. But she did him anyway,
holding her breath as he huffed, thrust, and panted into her young pink mouth.
She thought of her kid sister. Was he the one?
police didn’t know and had no more leads. What was she to do? She had to find
out; she had to help. At least, she had to try.
she got swept away in the trying.
she had any doubt about what she had become, it vanished with that blow-job
stuffed into her sweet Mona Lisa smile. Every night since, her skirts got
shorter and the nights longer and the creeps, well, the creeps were all still
was getting harder to remember what her kid sister looked like and why she was
here. It was getting harder and harder…and easier, too. There were nights she
didn’t care who killed her sister and there were nights she could think of
line between purpose and obsession became obscure.
could question how she wound up on the streets, but she already knew. It was a
matter of choice—her choice—and the men, the trail of men in her life, were a
matter of choice too—her choice and hers alone. She picked them; they didn’t
pick her. Still…It was just a matter of time before she would call one of those
black rat holes home to curl up with the viper that lived within.
was a wild thought afloat that nothing positive ever happens until you hit the
very bottom of the abyss. Nothing positive had even begun to happen in her
life. Guess she had further to fall, since she clearly had not hit rock bottom.
Could be. Until then, she entertained herself with the fine parade of men. The
steady stream of eager lovers had only one thing wrong—there was no love
involved. No names, no “what do you do for a living”, no talk about wives,
lovers, divorces or kids. Those were her rules and if you wanted to fuck her,
you did it on her terms. Clear, simple, no muss no fuss…and no kissing. She
didn’t want to kiss the underbelly of society. They were all scumbags and she
liked it that way—on the edge, the tight, unforgiving edge.