It’s a little hard to get off with a chick who’s wearing a librarian bun.
I beg to
differ. I mean look at Margot Robbie. That is one hot librarian bun. I have
illustrated just how sexy a bun can be in the prologue of my new novel The Demon Duchess (out now, excerpt
below). The chignon (fancy name for bun) has always been one of my favorite
hairstyles. I’m such a fan of the elegant coif that I have built an entire
character around it. And I love her almost as much as I love her perfect low-riding
knot. Ah, to wear a chignon—to have hair so silky and pale that it shines like
platinum—to be an ice queen like my beloved Baroness, with slender proportions
and a cool wit. And oh, her fascinating coil.
My heroine
may have a fascinating coil, but she is also a giant pain in the ass. No one
knows this more than her horse trainer, Jack Johnson, who is trying to make
love to her. If I had a man like Jack Johnson in my bed, I wouldn’t be so
difficult, but then again I’m no baroness.
Even
though he had just agreed not to touch her, his hand went to her hair next, disentangling
the tight knot at the base
of her neck.
“Leave
it,” she hissed.
“It’s a
little hard to get off with a chick who’s wearing a librarian bun.”
“It’s a
chignon, you horrid man. And I’m not a librarian—I’m a bloody baroness.”
They
squabbled and griped at each other as they conjugated, shifting and fidgeting,
grumbling and swiping at each other to get somewhat comfortable, or as
comfortable as two people could be who detested each other but found their
sexual organs mutually involved.
“I don’t
suppose I need to tell you I quit.”
“Quite
right, you’re fired.” She said as she picked up the pace, posting over him with
excellent posture.
“Your heels
are digging into my thighs,” he complained. “I hate your fucking shoes.”
“That
makes two of us.”
“Take
them off, goddamn it.”
His
hands slid into the pumps, grabbing her under her delicate arches. She bucked
and screeched and he immediately withdrew his hands.
“Mr.
Johnson—I’m terribly ticklish!”
She
broke into a fit of spasmodic giggles. He cracked up too at the ridiculousness
of the situation.
Jack had
almost forgotten they were having sex. All the arguing had thrown him off
course, but their shared laughter had relaxed things. He wasn’t sure he’d ever
seen her smile. She’d stilled her rocking hips and her hands came to rest on
his shoulders. His attention was brought back to the lavish feel of her body
around him, the feminine scent of her and the way her cat-eyes grew luminous when
she was more at ease.
“Let’s
start again,” he suggested softly.
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