I'm hosting, today, a promo on Prescott Lane's latest contemporary romance release, To the Fall, as a part of the ongoing VBT. Also find an excerpt for your enjoyment. Note that To the Fall is free on kindle unlimited!!
To the Fall
Prescott Lane
Published: March 8, 2018
Prescott Lane
Published: March 8, 2018
You know the story.
Boy meets girl, they fall in love, two kids, white picket fence.
This isn’t that story.
This is more like . . .
Man meets woman. Man sleeps with woman.
Man meets another woman, sleeps with her.
And so on. You get the idea.
I own a small boutique hotel in New Orleans, the Kingston. I’ve seen men do some stupid stuff in the name of the woman they love, or at least the woman they love for the night.
That’s not me. I’m always in control. You’d be surprised how much you can get away with on just good manners and a smile. It’s the only way to keep my secrets safely locked away.
And my smile hides a lot. Until her.
She turns me down flat. Playing hard to get is my favorite game. It’s the thrill of the chase.
Only problem is, I think it’s me that’s getting caught.
Boy meets girl, they fall in love, two kids, white picket fence.
This isn’t that story.
This is more like . . .
Man meets woman. Man sleeps with woman.
Man meets another woman, sleeps with her.
And so on. You get the idea.
I own a small boutique hotel in New Orleans, the Kingston. I’ve seen men do some stupid stuff in the name of the woman they love, or at least the woman they love for the night.
That’s not me. I’m always in control. You’d be surprised how much you can get away with on just good manners and a smile. It’s the only way to keep my secrets safely locked away.
And my smile hides a lot. Until her.
She turns me down flat. Playing hard to get is my favorite game. It’s the thrill of the chase.
Only problem is, I think it’s me that’s getting caught.
Dr. Lorraine laughs and pulls out her prescription pad. Scribbling something, she turns it to me. The title reads: The sex diet.
I bust out laughing. “You’re writing me a sex prescription.”
“Sort of,” she says. “You ever gone on a diet before?”
“No.”
“The thing with diets is, you usually start off strict.”
“How did I know that?”
“No touching by either party, not even kissing.”
“Wait, not even a hand job?” I ask.
“You’ve got your own hands. Use them.”
She writes jerking off on her script pad, then puts a checkmark beside it. This is the craziest shit.
“Once a day as needed,” she says, writing that down.
“I’ll never make it.”
“How many times do you want?” she asks.
“At least twice, morning and before bed.”
She shakes her head. “Okay, twice a day,” she says and points her pencil at me. “That’s it.”
“I really don’t think I need . . .”
“You won’t be released from therapy until I’m satisfied you’ve completed this,” she says.
She has me by the balls, and she knows it. I can’t believe I’m being forced to agree to this, but what choice do I have? “I haven’t had sex in a couple days. Can I get credit for that?”
“No,” she laughs out. “Start fresh today.”
“Porn?”
“What about it?”
“Can I use it?” I ask.
“You don’t have enough memories to sustain you?” she asks.
“Good point.”
She gets to her feet and sticks out her hand. “Good luck.”
Shaking her hand and smiling, I’m sure I’ve got this.
I bite the inside of my mouth, realizing the old lady has tricked me. It’s Thursday. I’m not seeing her again until Tuesday.
That’s five days! Shit, what have I done?
I bust out laughing. “You’re writing me a sex prescription.”
“Sort of,” she says. “You ever gone on a diet before?”
“No.”
“The thing with diets is, you usually start off strict.”
“How did I know that?”
“No touching by either party, not even kissing.”
“Wait, not even a hand job?” I ask.
“You’ve got your own hands. Use them.”
She writes jerking off on her script pad, then puts a checkmark beside it. This is the craziest shit.
“Once a day as needed,” she says, writing that down.
“I’ll never make it.”
“How many times do you want?” she asks.
“At least twice, morning and before bed.”
She shakes her head. “Okay, twice a day,” she says and points her pencil at me. “That’s it.”
“I really don’t think I need . . .”
“You won’t be released from therapy until I’m satisfied you’ve completed this,” she says.
She has me by the balls, and she knows it. I can’t believe I’m being forced to agree to this, but what choice do I have? “I haven’t had sex in a couple days. Can I get credit for that?”
“No,” she laughs out. “Start fresh today.”
“Porn?”
“What about it?”
“Can I use it?” I ask.
“You don’t have enough memories to sustain you?” she asks.
“Good point.”
She gets to her feet and sticks out her hand. “Good luck.”
Shaking her hand and smiling, I’m sure I’ve got this.
I bite the inside of my mouth, realizing the old lady has tricked me. It’s Thursday. I’m not seeing her again until Tuesday.
That’s five days! Shit, what have I done?
About the Author:
Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She's got six other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, Wrapped in Lace, Layers of Her, and The Reason for Me. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University.
She
married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans
with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at
the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her
father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because
there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.
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