World Exclusive!!!!

I'm so freakin' excited, if I were a dog I'd have three tails and they'd all be wagging at 1,000 mph.

Today I have the pleasure, the honor, the... dammit, can't even find the perfect superlative...the privilege to debut a sexy excerpt of the amazeballs Cynthia Sax's soon to be released He Watches Me, book one of the Seen Trilogy! It's already up for pre-order, and will be released in three weeks, on July 2nd. I can't wait!!! *bounces*

Book two, He Touches Me, and book three, He Claims Me are also available for pre-order, so get them now!

Enjoy the excerpt, but be warned...it's HOT!

Blurb

She desires to be seen. He wants to watch.

Anna Sampson has a naughty secret. Every night, she slips into her neighbor’s yard and swims naked in his pool. She fantasizes that the dynamic young billionaire watches her nightly nude aquatics, his brilliant green eyes gleaming with lust.

She discovers this isn’t pure fantasy. Gabriel Blaine has been watching her via his security cameras, and now that he has returned to L.A., he doesn’t plan to stop. That’s all he wants—to watch. Anna knows she shouldn’t allow him and she certainly shouldn’t want more, but she craves Blaine’s attention, needing his gaze fixed on her body.

Excerpt

I pick up the towel and I pad to the edge of the pool, my flip-flops bending the grass as I walk. I pause and look around me, having the peculiar feeling someone is watching me.

I see nothing. Blaine’s mansion is outlined against the indigo sky. The moon hangs full and low, its light reflecting off the glass in the windows. The water ripples, tempting me.

I spread the towel on a nearby lounge chair, my body warming with excitement, this small act of rebellion keeping me sane during days of monotony. I kick off my flip-flops and I wiggle my toes, the stone cool and hard against my soles.

I pull my camisole over my head, the action freeing my hair from the ponytail. Yet another elastic band is lost in the grass. I drop the worn garment on the stone, planning to retrieve it later. My nipples tighten, the breeze caressing my bare skin, its touch lighter than my fingers, the only touch my breasts have known.

I’m a virgin priestess honoring the night. I arch my spine and cup my small breasts, offering them to the stars. They twinkle their approval above me. Maybe on a distant planet an alien is gazing down on the Earth, watching me, wanting me, small breasts being desirable in his culture. This fantasy excites me. I swipe my thumbs over my taut flesh and tremble at the sensations flowing over my body.

My pussy moistens. I shimmy out of my bleached white boy shorts and leave them in a puddle around my bare feet, enjoying the decadence of being naked in Gabriel Blaine’s backyard, a creature of nature, wild and free.

I face the pool and my pale body reflects in the surface, my form slim and supple. My breasts are small, slight ivory curves tipped with tight pink nipples, and my private hair is full, untrimmed and untamed. Both are frowned upon in L.A., the land of waxing and silicone, and I normally conceal my unpopular silhouette under layers of clothing.

Not that anyone looks at me, which is a good thing … I suppose. I’ve been ignored and I’ve been ridiculed. Long ago I decided being invisible was preferable. Michael Cooke, the charity’s resident hottie, might walk past me as though I was a piece of office furniture, but at least I never see disgust in his sea-blue eyes.

Now, I’m free to be hairy, flat-chested Anna Sampson. No one is here except me and the stars and—I glance upward—perhaps a horny alien. I extend my arms, bend my knees and dive into the water. I shoot across the pool, undulating, cool liquid streaming over my shoulders, breast, thighs, ass.

I curve upward and break the surface. I gasp and then laugh, unable to contain the joy bubbling within me. The stresses of a job I want yet can’t do, student loans I don’t know how I’ll ever pay back, and a life lived alone rolls off my shoulders.

I tread water with my feet and the waves lap at my breasts, slapping against my nipples, escalating my reckless need. I’ve never had sex, but that’s due to being distrustful of other people, not because of lack of passion. I burn. I need. Constantly. I run my right hand over my chest, across my flat stomach and between my legs, seeking relief.

I stroke my folds, brushing my fingertips over my clit, bobbing to the rhythm of my hand, adding my juices to the moisture surrounding me. I picture Michael with his shaggy blond hair, broad shoulders, and tight khaki-clad ass, imagining his blue-eyed gaze fixed on me and only me. I envision a giant purple alien watching me masturbate, his humanoid body naked, his cock overly large and extremely hard. And for some unknown reason, I conjure up piercing green eyes in a too-rawboned-to-be-handsome tanned face, a wayward lock of black hair falling forward.

“Gabriel Blaine.” I try out the technology billionaire’s name, my voice husky and low. “Blaine,” I repeat, liking the sound. I’m in his backyard, in his pool. It is only right I honor him with my impending orgasm. I work my pussy harder and harder, passion coiling around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Will he suck my breasts with that sternly-set mouth of his? I pinch my nipples, the pain sharpening my pleasure. Take me doggy-style in his big limousine, pounding into me hard and fast? I pull at my untamed private curls. Because he can’t wait to find a bed? I ruthlessly ravish my pussy, rubbing and writhing. Rivulets of liquid streak down my cheeks and into my panting mouth, my wet hair plastered to my face.

In my fantasies I’m not ignored. I’m a femme fatale, a woman no man can resist, a woman guys fight for, come to blows over. I reach deeper inside me, stretching me open with one, two, three fingers, savoring the fullness.

As I pump my pussy, the sensation of being watched intensifies. Instead of dousing the flames of desire, this fuels the heat between my thighs.

I tremble and shake. “Yes, Blaine,” I cry out, the waves surround me growing rough, my body tossed on a sea of sweet turbulence. “Yes.”

I thrust hard, slam the heel of my hand against my clit, throw back my head and scream. The darkness bursts with color and light. The stars spin around my head. My pussy clenches down on emptiness. I kick my legs, pushing my body out of the water. Droplets dapple and glisten on my skin.

My breathing steadies, the water flattens once more, and I still, my form loose and relaxed, my passion temporarily sated. I float lazily on my back and gaze up at the full moon, wishing I could take care of the other problems in my life as easily as I soothe my desires. “That was wonderful.” The words echo in the silence.

“I agree,” a deep voice drawls.