The Wildest Roller Coaster Ride Ever
Hi Erzabet! Thank you so much for inviting me to your blog today! Readers have been tagging along on my blog with Lucy’s sexy fun road trip route in Who Is Candid?, going places on the same days she visits them in May and June. Today let’s share the fun! Lucy is at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota, just outside Minneapolis/St. Paul.
We’re eavesdropping on a very sexy, very fun ride on the roller coaster! Yes, there’s a roller coaster right inside the Mall, and Lucy has the ride of her life!
EXCERPT
A few minutes later I bought a ticket to ride the roller coaster. It isn’t large, but the thought of riding one indoors excited me. I climbed into my seat and waited for the train to fill. As we were about to take off, a scruffy young man climbed in next to me. Twenty years ago, he would have been called a beatnik. Though he looked messy, with a long ponytail, torn jeans and several piercings, his hands were spotless and his odor faintly Old Spice. I smiled and the ride began.
As we went up the first incline, he spoke.
“You want to try something fun?”
“What?” I could barely hear him.
He didn’t answer me, but put his finger to his lips and slid his hand under my skirt to my knee. I was too surprised to protest and then we crested the peak and swooped down the first descent. His hand slid naturally up to my crotch. I couldn’t stop him. I was too busy holding onto the railing and gasping for breath.
“Having fun?” he shouted in my ear.
The momentum of the coaster whipped my head forward in a nod. He squeezed his hand on my crotch. As we climbed the next hill, he slid past the thin barrier of my panties and slipped a finger inside me. When the coaster peaked I tried to brace myself but the jolt when his finger slammed deep inside me crushed my clitoris and bruised my labia and sent me into a brief and hectic orgasm. We went up and down two or three more hills and I peaked on the down slopes with climactic regularity. When the train finally slowed, I leaned forward against the railing. He slipped his hand from my crotch.
“Wanna go again?” he asked, a grin splitting his face.
“Sure,” I agreed, still limp. He left to pay, warning me to save his seat.
The second ride was much like the first, though my orgasms were stronger. As we waited for the third ride, he suggested we try the real thing.
“Is there time?” I asked.
“I’m quick,” he assured me.
“How can we do it?”
“As soon as the ride starts, you climb on my lap facing backward.”
“Won’t everybody see?”
“They’ll kick us off, but not till the ride’s over. They’ll think we’re a couple of dumb kids being dangerous.”
“We are.”
We did it. As soon as the train started, he unbuttoned his jeans and rolled a condom down his well-engorged penis. I slipped off my panties and put them in my purse. I crawled over onto his lap as the coaster climbed the first hill; he slid inside me as we crested the peak. The down slide slammed me into him. My chest hit his and drove the air from my lungs and mashed my breasts into his ribs. His penis jammed into the back of my vagina with an unholy force. I had an orgasm majeur.
It was the inevitability that excited me. Each panting, resting climb would be followed by a slamming, jolting, orgasmic descent, whether I was ready or not. And the less I was ready, the harder the climax hit. On the fourth hill, he came. As we climbed the fifth hill, he put back his head and howled.
Download a copy of Who Is Candid? to find out what happens next...
How about it readers? Have you ever tried sex on a roller coaster? It’s a bit like sex on a swing on crack steroids! Take a peek inside Who Is Candid? for more of Lucy’s wild and crazy adventures as she crosses the United States from Seattle to New Orleans. Are they real? Or does Lucy have a VERY vivid imagination? Will she ever admit her love for the patient, hot hunk nerd Dick? Or will the paparazzi, now dogging her every footstep, spoil everything?
Erzabet, how about if we give one person who comments a free e-copy of Who Is Candid? Woohoo! Have a great Thursday, everybody! You know Lucy is!!
Who
Is Candid?
Carole Remy
Genre:
erotic romance
ASIN:
B00BG0WYNO
Number
of pages: 226 estimated, 404 KB
Word
Count: 70,000
Cover
Artist: Catalin Petolea through Shutterstock, model release signed
Cover
Designer: Marissa Lepe Preciado
Book
Description:
Teaser
Description:
Lucy, aka Candid, is a naughty girl who
takes a sexy fun road trip across America, and tells everybody all about it!
In
the spring of 1998, recent graduate Lucy Ralph decides to rebel. The NSA is
blocking her job applications, her best friend Dick is a frustrating hunk of
gorgeous, and her mother is driving her crazy. Worst of all, she’s still a
virgin!
Lucy
takes off on a road trip across America, and reinvents herself as 'Candid,' a
naughty girl who has sexy fun with just about everybody she meets, and tells
the world all about it! Her explicit 'Candid' Internet posts go viral
overnight. The National Security Agency, the entertainment media, the
paparazzi, and soon the entire nation are on her tail! While she spins a modern
day sexual Arabian Nights, she's also being tracked by the sweet, sexy, and
elusive Dick, who has his own tricks to play.
Will
love ever be more than a virtual reality for Lucy? Can she and Dick get past
the friends page? Will exposure ruin everything, if the nation finds out Who Is
Candid?
About
the Author:
Carole Remy lives in Mexico with
her beloved dog Gemma. When she isn’t writing and touring her novels, you can
find her rescuing dogs, learning wood sculpture, and salsa dancing!
(Twelve Nights board contains 15 captioned photos of locations from
the novel)
Twitter: @Carole_Remy
promoting these hashtags:
#CaroleRemy #TwelveNights #SexyFun #Candid
Facebook
Excerpt 1 (347 words) from Who
Is Candid?
Intro to
Excerpt: Lucy stops for a day in Missouri. She meets a friendly soldier, and
yes, there really is a painted frog just outside Fort Leonard Wood. Lucy knows
exactly what to do with a painted frog on the side of a hill.
I recognized the
location as soon as he slowed down. He pulled over to the side of the road and
parked near where my truck had slid into the ditch.
"Where we
met," I commented. I wanted to kiss him but held back.
"Let's climb
up to the frog," he suggested.
We got out of
the truck and held hands as we walked up the slope. We sat on the back of the
frog, almost hidden from the view of the road. He slid his arms around me and
pulled me back against his chest.
"Is this a
favorite spot?" I asked.
"It is
now."
"You've
never been here before?"
"You
inspire me."
"Can we
make love here?"
"Here?"
He sounded surprised. "By the road?"
"If we lie
down on the back of the frog, nobody can see us."
"What about
the truck? Somebody might stop."
"Move it
down the road a few hundred yards. Put a note on the windshield that you've
gone for gas."
"You're
smart." He shook his head. "Do you do this often?"
I shook my head.
"You inspire me."
By the time he
came back from moving the truck, I was naked. Luckily the night was warm. I
spread the sweats across the rock and lay back against them. As he walked
toward me, his steps slowed. He knelt down beside me.
"Pinch
me," he requested.
"Why?"
I asked as I pinched his cheek.
"I'm not
dreaming," he smiled.
Then he lowered
his head and kissed me. HIs lips were soft and full. I traced the line of his
cheek with my finger. His tongue brushed me and I opened my mouth to him. He
cupped my face in his hands and deepened the kiss slowly, gently. When he
pulled back, I smiled a relaxed, sleepy grin.
Excerpt 2 (962 words) from Who
Is Candid?
She was tall and
thin with a nimbus of red gold hair that dazzled the eye like a luminous fog. I
had found her outside the library, looking lost. She accepted my offer of
coffee on the second try, but she wouldn’t tell me her name. When I tried to
introduce myself, she put a finger to her lips and shushed me. We took a bus to
the French Quarter and landed at the Café du Monde. She needed glasses to read
the menu and she slipped them on surreptitiously when I turned to the waiter.
“You don’t need
that,” I advised her, taking the menu out of her hands. “We’re going to have
coffee and beignets.”
She slipped the
glasses back into her purse.
“I read about
those in a guidebook,” she smiled. “They’re French doughnuts.”
“Much more than
that,” I told her. “Nothing in New Orleans is as ordinary as a doughnut.”
She smiled to
herself and I wondered what she was thinking. She didn’t offer to tell me so I
shut up and watched her. She glowed in the dim restaurant like the moon on a
misty night. Her skin was pale and her features small and precise. She didn’t
look like anyone I had ever seen.
“What animal do
you imagine yourself as?” I asked her abruptly, leaning forward across the
table.
She looked at me
strangely, then sat back in thought. I waited. The silences seemed to be part
of our conversation. Several moments later, she spoke.
“A race horse.”
I digested her
words as we munched the feathery pastries and sipped strong black coffee.
“Fast, delicate,”
I agreed.
“Ambitious,” she
added with a smile. “I like to win.”
Then she turned
the tables on me.
“What animal are
you?”
“A panther,” I
answered without thinking.
She narrowed her
eyes and stared at me thoughtfully. When she didn’t speak, I filled the
silence.
“Skittish.”
“What?” she
asked.
“You’re also
skittish, like a thoroughbred.”
“Am I?” she
smiled. “Better not push me, then.”
The waiter
refilled our coffee cups.
“I can see the
panther,” she said at last. Waiting for each word had become a subtle
seduction. She kept me suspended, then broke the tension at the last moment.
“You don’t look like a panther, but you have cat eyes.”
“Cat eyes?”
“Tame on the
surface and feral underneath.”
I blew out a
breath.
“Do you have a
name yet?” I asked.
“Not yet,” she
smiled. “But you can tell me yours.”
“John.”
The relief I
felt was all out of proportion to the single word. I felt in that moment that
she had accepted me. She had allowed me to become a person, not a man who
bought her a coffee. I became a small fraction of how important she already was
to me.
“What do you do,
John?” she asked me with a slow smile.
“I’m in
electronics.” I blushed and admitted, “Actually, I’m kind of a geek.”
“I like geeks.”
Those three
words dispelled eighteen years of discomfort in school, years of being ignored
by the popular girls and passed over for the intramural sports teams. Years of
walking to school alone, sitting at home on Friday night, making excuses to my
mother why I didn’t want to go to the prom.
“Well,
John-geek,” she turned the word to a caress and I fell nine-tenths in love. “Do
you want to go for a walk?”
We strolled
around Jackson Square and she trailed her hand along the black wrought iron
railing. She seemed to retreat from me mentally as well as physically. She was
lost in her own world.
“Earth calling
redhead,” I teased her.
She looked at me
and smiled.
“Sorry, I was
thinking about something.”
“Want to tell
me?”
“I don’t know,”
she admitted. “That’s what I was trying to decide.”
“I’m safe,” I
offered.
“I know. You
won’t betray me.”
“Betray? That’s a loaded word.”
“Can I talk to
you, and you won’t ask me any questions?”
“I’ll try not
to.”
“You have to
promise. Don’t even think questions.”
“I’m a brick
wall.”
She laughed.
That first time I heard her laugh, I stumbled and almost fell. The sound was
pure and simple, as though she hadn’t worn out her humor on trivia but saved it
for important moments.
“I was picturing
you as a brick wall,” she explained. “The bricks are all nice and orderly on
the outside, and then they begin to undulate like there’s a force inside them
that wants out. Then they settle back down and everyone thinks what a nice,
sturdy brick wall.”
“You caught me,”
I admitted, though I doubted she understood my double meaning. “Johnny the Geek
with a panther inside. Are you psychic?”
“Not really. I
pay attention.”
We walked along
in silence around the square. When we reached our starting point, she seemed to
come to a decision. She slipped her hand into mine. I waited for her to speak,
but she pulled me along to walk beside her again. We circled the plaza in
silence twice more. I tried to relax into our leisurely pace. Impatience would
surface for an instant and I would beat it down. She was a woman who knew how
she wanted to run the race. She might let me pretend to be the jockey, but we
both knew who was in control. She would throw me if I dug in the spurs.
At last I did
relax. If we didn’t speak for the rest of the day, that was okay. Her hand in
mine, a warm day in New Orleans, I was content. She seemed to sense my
submission, for she led me to a bench and we sat.
“I may be in
trouble,” she admitted simply.
Thanks Carole for being on the blog today and sharing some more Lucy with us!
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