Ella James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Ella James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Tue, 08 Jun 2021 21:07:11 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Ella James – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Vegas Royals (Love Inc #0.5) Read Online Ella James http://www.books2020.com/vegas-royals-love-inc-0-5-read-online-ella-james Tue, 08 Jun 2021 20:44:27 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/vegas-royals-love-inc-0-5-read-online-ella-james Genre: Novella, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: Love Inc Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Vegas Royals (Love Inc #0.5)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08WZFCKSS
Book Information:
The gambler. The damaged one. The playboy with the devastating secret. The desperate one. The mistress. The good girl who just snaps. We're tangled in a web we can't break free of. What's at stake? Fortunes. Families. Lives. Our lives. The tabloids call us Vegas Royals. This is where our story begins. *Vegas Royals is a bite-sized introduction to the Love Inc. world.
Books in Series:	Love Inc Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James

Prologue

Hunter

September—Las Vegas

IT’S EARLY SUNDAY MORNING, and I’m coming off a two-day tournament. I’m tired and hungry, chugging down a DeVille bottled water as I steer my Aston Martin through the clot of traffic on The Strip, crawling toward the private airport behind the golf club.

I won again, with a full house over queens in the last hand, but it was closer than it should have been. I collected my chips just after midnight, and we wrapped the show at 1:30. There was a room at the Bellagio for me, but I’m sick of the Bellagio. The last two times I stayed, I found company in my suite. I didn’t ask for any company.

I’m flying to the vineyard: my house, my big bed, absolute quiet. I won’t get to sleep for another couple hours—I can’t sleep on the Gulfstream—but it’ll be worth it once I get there. I’m tired of Vegas.

I’m still dressed in my poker black, and the jeans and button-up feel like sandpaper on my skin. I take another gulp. My head is throbbing like I just snorted a gram, but I didn’t. Four months sober. Four months celibate, too. No real reason why. I just got bored.

I’m starting to get that empty, ill feeling in my stomach that comes from lack of sleep when my buddy Marchant starts blowing up my phone. I let it ring as I navigate South Maryland Parkway. Twice, three times, four… On the fifth call, I pick up, sounding more pissed than I mean too. “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a favor, man.”

I groan, because I can hear in his voice that Marchant is hyped the hell up. “You got a favor you want to do for me?” I drawl. “Cause I could use a favor.”

“Nah, man.” He hesitates, the way he always does before he drops a bomb. “I need you to come out here. I’ve got something going on. I need you to run backup.”

Run backup? I’m not sure what that means, but I can already tell it’s going to be a pain in my ass. “You must be out your mind. It’s two forty-three.” I move the phone away from my face, scowling. “Are you rolling?”

“What? No. Look, just—hold on just a second.” I hear shuffling, followed by Marchant’s hiss as I roll into the parking lot of the tiny private airport where I keep my plane.

“Dude,” he says, after a moment of muffled static. “I got Priscilla Heat out here.”

He pauses, I guess expecting me to be impressed. When I’m not, he says, “She wants me and some of the girls for one of her videos.”

I shake my head. “I’m at the airport, March. I’m going to the vineyard for a little R&R.”

“You’re a bourbon heir, Hunter. You shouldn’t even have a fucking vineyard.”

I hit a button on my steering wheel, the garage door lifts, and I slide into the fourth slot in the garage. It’s dark in here, making me ache for sleep. “The word is ‘no.’ Have Rachelle watch the ranch for you.”

“C’mon, man, this is Priscilla Heat.”

Marchant is the kind of guy that has a favorite porn star, and Priscilla Heat, the lasered, lipo’d two-time World Boner Award winner, has been Marchant’s ultimate fantasy since college.

“I get it, dude, but use Rachelle.” Rachelle is Marchant’s right-hand woman. She can watch the cameras at Love Inc. just as well as he can, and besides, he’s got Richard on the ground. Richard and a team of big-ass bouncers.

“Rachelle is out,” he says sourly.

“What do you mean, she’s out?” I know for a fact she lives at Love Inc., Marchant’s fluffy bunny brothel.

“I mean her sister died. Rach won’t be back till October first.”

I rub my eyes. “Then tell Priscilla Heat to wait a week.”

“She won’t.” Marchant’s voice is low, almost a growl.

“Why not?” I throw my car door open, wincing as the garage’s interior lights blink on.

As I reach up to pull the cord that turns the automatic light off, I hear another puff, a pause where Marchant hesitates. Then he lowers his voice another octave. “She wants you here, man. She wants to spend the night with you and shoot the video here all week. It’s more than a video. It’s like a doc-u-fuck-ery or something.”

I lean my hip against my ride, looking out the garage window at my waiting jet as I start to understand.

“You need the money.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Damnit, Marchant.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose and swallow a sigh. “When this is over, I’m chaining you to one of your beds. No more going to Tao on Rach’s admin nights, either.”

I’m backing out of the garage a minute later, wheeling around and heading out toward I-215.

MARCH AND I met at Tulane, at the frat house. I had a shitty attitude because I joined under pressure from my father, and March was a party boy, moving through sorority girls like an assembly line. I thought he was full of shit, and he thought I was an uptight prick. But somehow the next semester we got stuck in adjoining rooms, and we’ve been good since.

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Advertisement Communion (On My Knees Duet #3) Read Online Ella James http://www.books2020.com/communion-on-my-knees-duet-3-read-online-ella-james Sun, 09 May 2021 22:51:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/communion-on-my-knees-duet-3-read-online-ella-james Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Communion (On My Knees Duet #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James Books
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08Y71G657
Book Information:
Finally, he's mine, and I can say that out in public. Luke McDowell, one of the most beloved public figures in America, is my forever. At least that's what we said. But love is different in the harsh glare of the spotlight. Sometimes it feels like the whole world's against us. Now our unofficial honeymoon is over. Luke is back at Evermore, trying to live the life he had before he met me. Trying to say "yes" to his calling. I can't tell how this will play out. We said vows down on the yacht, but we're not even legally married. At the end of the day, I just want to make him happy--and be happy myself. I know Sky will always have my heart, but can I keep his? Can we find a way to block out all the noise and build a life together? ****Communion is a 99,000-word novel. It must be read after books one and two, Worship and Adore.
Books in Series:	On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James Books

1

Vance

August 2019

Sky’s not sleeping. I can tell because his hard calf, wedged between my not-quite-as-hard ones, isn’t resting heavy on me just yet. He’ll let me pull him close and fold him up against me, and we’ll get all tangled up the way we like. But he doesn’t relax his body fully until he’s tugged down into deep sleep. Pretty funny because he…what? Thinks the full weight of his limbs would break me?

This is who he is, though: always worrying and pre-thinking. Trying to make things go as smoothly as they can.

I brush my lips over his shampoo-scented blond hair, flex my biceps so my grip on his back tightens. He’s got his head bowed so his forehead is pressed to the base of my throat. I tuck my chin atop it, feeling his warm cheek on my collarbone.

Maybe if this were a one-night stand, like that first night we had together on Sea 3PO, I would think McD was nearly asleep. As it is, I feel the tension in him. It’s in his back and shoulders, in the way his strong arm, wrapped around my upper back, is holding me—a little rigid, like he’s trying to make sure nothing—not even a little bit of air—can get between us.

“Hey…” I run my fingers through his hair. “You want another one?”

He shakes his head, and I’m not surprised. He’s already had two melatonins.

There’s an exhale. He shifts his weight so that he’s burrowed even closer into my chest.

“It’s gonna be okay tomorrow,” I whisper. “Pearl and them, they’ve got it covered…”

In the past few weeks, while we were in the Caymans, Pearl and all her minions talked to the entire staff in Evermore’s largest administrative building, making sure everyone in Luke’s sphere is accepting and supportive—so he won’t ever be confronted by a bigot at work.

Pearl pitched it as “ensuring that the head pastor is never disrespected.” That’s a pill that Sky could swallow. The real worry, of course—at least on the Evermore end of things—is that Luke’s return to pastoring will be met with hostility, and he’ll leave.

He made the place what it is today, and before him, his dad and grandfather did. He shouldn’t have to leave it just because he’s with me. But that’s what’s at stake if this shit doesn’t work out.

My heart gets racing thinking about the many possibilities—including that another lunatic comes at one of us—and now my lungs are screaming for air. I swallow slowly and breathe through my nose until they don’t feel as tight.

Then I cup the back of Sky’s head. “I’ve got an idea.”

We keep some THC/CBD cream on the bedside table. It’s got a little menthol tingle, but somehow they made it smell like lavender. I disentangle from Sky, reaching for the little pot.

“Roll over on your stomach, Sky babe…”

He does as I say, and I straddle his ass, rubbing his neck and his shoulders till my arms ache and my dick is jutting up and out. I don’t think my massage helps—at least not with putting him to sleep. He keeps shifting like he’s got a boner.

I move off him, smirking.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Roll onto your back, Sky.”

After a moment, he does. It’s dark, but we’ve been lying here for almost an hour, so my eyes have adjusted enough for me to see the way his lips twist in a crooked little not-quite-smile.

“Don’t tell me you want more of this.” He wraps his hand around that big dick. It’s as hard as I figured, which makes me grin.

I give him a slow, firm stroke, tickling my fingertips over his cockhead and thumbing that soft notch below its flanged rim, making his hips jerk.

“I can tell that it would be a problem if I did—want more,” I murmur. “Clearly, the last thing you want is to push this dick into me.” I swallow as my own cock gives a hard throb.

“I want to live in you,” he says, draping one arm over his face.

This is morose Sky. He’s been like this since dinner. Not exactly moping, but he just seems heavy. Good thing for him, I know how to fix that.

I straddle his thighs and take both of us in my hands, squeezing us together as well as I can; we’re too much girth for me to get a good grip on. Sky moans, lifting his hips as I stroke from base to tip, with extra focus on his thick tip. Then I let his cock go, smirking as it bobs above his abs.

“But…you know…it’s bedtime. So we probably shouldn’t…” I shrug.

Then I reach for the weed cream, arching a brow as my gaze holds his. I dip my fingertip into the little pot and rub some of the stuff behind his balls. Sky makes a hoarse sound, looking like some large, felled animal with his throat bared and his head tipped back against the pillows.

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Advertisement Taming Cross (Love Inc #2) Read Online Ella James http://www.books2020.com/taming-cross-love-inc-2-read-online-ella-james Sun, 11 Apr 2021 14:54:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/taming-cross-love-inc-2-read-online-ella-james Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, New Adult, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: Love Inc Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(Love Inc #2) Taming Cross
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
Book Information:
For twenty-three years, Cross Carlson was a playboy. You know the type. Tall, dark, and wealthy. Blue-eyed. Charming. He seemed to have it all so easy. But Cross was harboring a terrible secret - one that helped ruin the life of an innocent girl and almost ended his own. Finally out of the hospital, Cross is flailing, scarred in both body and mind and stifled by the weight of the secret he still keeps. The only way to absolution lies in a Mexican convent, and going there could cost him everything. If there's anyone who knows what it's like to screw up big time, it's Meredith Kinsey. Just a few years ago, Merri was an ordinary girl with a job at her college newspaper and white picket fence kind of dreams. Now she's holed up in a Mexican convent, hiding from a drug lord who thinks he owns her. What happens when the only way out of hell is with the son of the man who put you there? They say love conquers all, but does it really?
Books in Series:	Love Inc Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James

1

Cross

SINCE THE ACCIDENT, I've had a sixth sense. I think it started because of the pain. I don't remember much about the coma—most of it is sounds and smells and feelings stretched apart and pushed together like a dream—but I remember the pain. It was...different than the pain you feel when you're awake. The kind of shit that flows through every part of you. Sweeps you up and swallows you. And lots of times, I could feel it coming like you hear a train from a few miles out.

The day I had the stroke was like that. I had started to come around a little, and my body knew its routines, even if my mind was still in Neverland. I could tell something was wrong when they wheeled me out of my room and into the ambulance, moving me from the private rehab where I started to a state facility for people whose families couldn’t afford more, or in my case, just said fuck it. As they lifted my stretcher into the ambulance, I could feel a current of panic underneath the waves of nothing.

Since I’ve come out of the coma, every time I get that panicked feeling, bad things happen.

Like when I got it two months ago, sitting in my friend Lizzy’s Camry, waiting for her to come out of Hunter West’s house in Napa. I woke up from a nap drenched in cold sweat, just as Priscilla Heat—my dad’s former mistress, who sold her predecessor into the sex trade—walked around the house and tapped her long red nails on my window. And I knew, half a second before I saw the spark of her Taser, that I was fucked. Sixth sense.

Tonight, I tell myself it's just my parents throwing off my equilibrium. Making me feel bad. That weird kind of bad I've come to know and fear. The fingers of my left hand tingle and my neck feels tight. I blink in the mirror, squeeze my eyes shut. Grab a deep breath. Keep shaving.

I don't shave every day anymore, but my pal Suri will be here in a few minutes to accompany me on my grim excursion, and I want to clean up for her.

When was the last day I went out? Suri and Lizzy hauled me to The Napa Noodle…eight days ago? The night before they left for Paris. They got back yesterday—Friday—with Lizzy's wedding gown in tow. I left the house on Monday. Grocery run. So yeah, it's been four days.

I'm taking it slow on my neck—I'm a leftie, and since my motorcycle wreck, my left hand’s pretty much fucked—but when I hear the bell atop the shop door ding, I speed up. Occasionally when I was in rehab, Suri shaved me, and if she sees how long it takes me, even after three month’s practice, she's likely to try again.

My fingers sweat as I finish up my jaw. I hear the clack of expensive heels on the cement stairs leading up to my loft, and—fuck! There’s a sharp sting under the razor, followed by a splotch of blood that quickly snakes down my neck. I'm muttering curses, tossing the razor into the sink, when Suri calls my name.

“Just a second,” I call through the door.

Dammit, I sound surly.

“Okay.” Suri, as always, sounds like she belongs in the angel choir.

I pull open the swing-out mirror, revealing a shallow medicine cabinet that doesn't hold a shave stick. Shit. Through the door, I can hear Suri humming “Sympathy for the Devil.” Guilt prickles through me, like I'm growing a cactus underneath my skin, and I feel it again—that dark tug that's just a breath away from panic.

I use my stupid but working right hand to press tissue against the cut while I ease my left arm into its shirt sleeve. A few of my half-curled fingers get caught on the inside of the cuff, and I'm trying to get my numb hand through when she calls, “C? You okay in there?”

“Fine.” I'm trying for a more chill tone this time, but I don't really manage it. I still sound grumpy. I’m probably the last person Suri should be spending her night with. Except, of course, my asshole parents—and they're the reason for this ordeal.

I smash the tissue onto my jaw and inhale deeply. This was a mistake, letting her go with me. I pull the tissue off my face. It's still bleeding, but it's slowed enough now that I can get my shirt the rest of the way on.

The dress shirt is blue, which I happen to know makes my blue eyes look bluer, not that I give a fuck tonight. It feels like a lifetime since I tried to get a piece of ass—or thought about my appearance. I'm only looking myself over now to see what my parents will see: dark brown hair still a little shorter than I used to wear it; probably a good thing, because it makes me look bulkier. As I run my gaze down my shoulders, chest, and pants, and then back up to my face, I see myself clearly for the first time in a while, and I'm surprised to feel a sick pit in my stomach.

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Advertisement Selling Scarlett (Love Inc #1) Read Online Ella James http://www.books2020.com/selling-scarlett-love-inc-1-read-online-ella-james Sun, 11 Apr 2021 14:54:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/selling-scarlett-love-inc-1-read-online-ella-james Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, New Adult, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: Love Inc Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(Love Inc #1) Selling Scarlett
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B00CCRTFSC
Book Information:
Elizabeth DeVille doesn't belong at a party like this - one where the gowns cost more than her Camry and cigars run higher than her grad school utility bills. Dragged out of seclusion by her best friend Suri, Elizabeth is merely playing dress-up, rubbing elbows with a crowd that banished her troubled family years ago. Hunter West is tired. Tired of parties, tired of pretending, and tired of trying to right a wrong that haunts him every day. Bourbon heir and professional poker player by day, by night Hunter is gambling with his life in a high-stakes game of crime and blackmail. When Elizabeth stumbles into Hunter's den of vices, she's a light in the darkness, a flame in the void. And, just like everything he touches, Hunter mars her in a record time. To rectify the damage done, Elizabeth needs money she doesn't have, and she's come up with a foolproof way to get it. Follow Elizabeth - code-named Scarlett - to the lush Nevada brothel where she'll auction her virginity and risk the only thing that's not for sale: her heart. The highest bidder is a familiar face, with wicked hands and the devil's mouth. And a secret so dark that it could cost her life.
Books in Series:	Love Inc Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James

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Advertisement Adore Read online Ella James (On My Knees Duet #2) http://www.books2020.com/adore-2-read-online-ella-james Sat, 08 Sep 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/adore-2-read-online-ella-james Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Adore (On My Knees Duet #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
Book Information:
The heartrending conclusion to the On My Knees Duet, a forbidden MM romance by USA Today Bestseller Ella James.
Books in Series:	On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James Books

Part I

1

Luke

His fist tightens around my shirt, and finally, I force myself to look up at him. The rush! His face is hard. He smells the same. My vision fuzzes out around the edges.

Then I suck a deep breath in, lock my hand around his wrist, and squeeze so hard my fingers ache. “I. Don’t Want. You.”

I can see his jaw tic as he says, “I know.”

His eyes close for a heartbeat. Then he sinks down to the floor beside me, and I feel his hand over my cock. He cups my erection and white hot bliss streams through me.

“I see how bad you don’t want me.” He’s opening my pants now. “You don’t want me hard enough to hurt.”

His hand is wrapped around my shaft…pumping my head. “Tell me how you don’t want me, Luke.”

He gives another slow stroke, and I grit my teeth as my whole body quakes with need. His livid gaze returns to mine. I shut my eyes so I don’t have to see him as he inches my pants down, and his free hand tugs my balls. He works me until I’m panting, until I can’t help groaning.

“I don’t want to want you,” I rasp.

His hands leave me. When I find the strength to open my eyes, Vance is standing over me again. “Feeling’s mutual.”

I watch as he walks back to the bench and sits, unfastening his pants. He’s got his dick in his hand. Now he’s stroking himself.

“So this is good.” His voice sounds more like Vance now, and it sends a bolt of longing through me that’s so piercing I can’t breathe. “If you don’t want me— like, let’s say…if you don’t want to get down on your knees and let me fuck your throat…” He lifts a shoulder, still pumping himself. He spreads his legs more, leans his head against the wall. “Don’t want that?” His eyes shut. “Then go.”

I grip my head. When I dare to look up again, his hard eyes are on me.

“Should be easy, preacher. Put your dick away and get moving.”

There’s no emotion on his cold face as he pumps himself.

I push my cock into my pants and zip. Then I walk to him on legs that shake.

His gaze drops to my fly, then flicks back to mine. “Go.” The word is mild—as his hand grips the base of his dick and then moves back upward. His eyes look glazed, like he’s lost to his own lust. “I won’t tell your secret, preacher.”

A low buzzing starts in my head…spreads all through my body. Pressure throbs behind my eyes as I watch Vance work himself.

There’s what I want and what I don’t—and what I want is life. I want not to come home to an echo-empty house every night. When I fly in from Israel and can’t see straight from jetlag, I want someone at the runway. I want to order takeout for two people and have someone to sit with on ski lifts. I want to do my job—the one I’m good at, the one I’ve given everything I have to—without becoming a symbol or a controversy. I don’t want to lose more privacy. I don’t want the picketing, the death threats. I deserve a life like everybody.

One look at him—just one look there in the atrium at Evermore—and I could feel my insides shifting. Everything sunk but my heart, which swelled so much I wasn’t sure that I could find my normal speaking voice.

As soon as he looked at me, I could feel it flame up in me—this fever.

“I…can’t.” The words squeeze from my throat without permission.

“Can’t what?” I watch as his palm cups his thick head. His eyes stay away from mine.

I can’t be near him without craving. This is Vance, and he is right here. He shuts his eyes, and I step closer, then sink down to my knees.

I can’t stand it.

I want to hold him more than anyone has ever wanted anything. I can’t, so I kneel between his knees and take his cock in my mouth. I can feel his low groan vibrate through him. He shifts so his legs spread more. Then his hand comes down on my head.

Hot tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. He pushes my head closer, so I’m choking. And I blow him. I do it because I can’t not. This is why I have a mouth. This is what my body’s made for. If it’s sacrilege then I belong in hell.

He’s lodged in my throat. I close my eyes and work him with my lips and tongue and cheeks and hands that tremble, and he groans. I feel his legs quake. His hand tightens on my head. He thrusts deeper into my throat, using me just like he promised, and my cock is full and thick and throbbing. Then I squeeze his balls, and he spends with a tremor and a loud groan.

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Advertisement Prelude Read online Ella James (On My Knees Duet #0.5) http://www.books2020.com/prelude-read-online-ella-james Thu, 30 Aug 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/prelude-read-online-ella-james Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Prelude (On My Knees Duet #0.5)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B07ZZB59XT
Book Information:
You think you know me. That's the way I want it. Making you feel like we know each other--like we could go grab a beer sometime--is part of my job. Maybe the most vital part. It doesn't hurt that I'm easy on the eyes, single at 35, and born richer than sin. My aesthetic matters much more than it should, but all the better for my worthy cause. And it's a worthy cause. I've made an art out of making you feel good, and my influence makes you want to be good. Good like me. You think you know me, but you don't. Everyone has secrets. Mine could cost me everything. So I'm a fortress. No one's ever even gotten close. Until tonight. See that man, the tall guy dripping on the bow of my yacht? The one I just pulled from the ocean? He's the one who's going to cost me everything. IMPORTANT NOTE: Prelude is a steamy, novella-sized bite of Worship, an epic, forbidden MM romance for sale now. Readers who own Worship need not download Prelude. Readers who enjoy Prelude may download Worship to finish book one of the On My Knees Duet. Book two, Adore, publishes November 11th.
Books in Series:	On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James Books

1

March 2016

Vance

“You good?”

She looks up from re-tying her bikini bottoms, smiling with her teeth pressed to her lip. “Yeah.” The word is a purr. Her eyes are still glazed as they look me up and down. “So…” She flashes me a dimpled grin. “Can I get your number?”

I’m lost in thought—so much so that I don’t realize she asked a question until her freckled cheeks blush. “Only while we’re on the cruise, if you want, but…” She does that little laugh—the awkward one that women do when they’re self-conscious.

“But you want my number.” I arch my brows.

Another giggle. “Sort of.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

She straightens her shoulders, making her little tits jut out. “How old do you think?” Her voice has gone all sexy-hoarse again, but she can’t keep the smooth seductress act up. She smiles, and her pink cheeks and blonde pigtails make her look all of eighteen years old.

“Twenty-two,” she says. “Just an office manager from Indiana, cruisin’ with my squad.” She steps closer, making the island hut feel smaller. Her finger traces my pec. “What do you do, cowboy?”

Huh? Oh, right. I was wearing a straw hat back on the catamaran, before our little group went snorkeling.

I run a hand over the soft mound of her breast, tweak her nipple gently with my fingertips. “You.”

I give her a numb, drunk grin. She laughs—a high-pitched, you’re-so-crazy kind of laugh—as her brown eyes rove over me again. She gathers her pigtails in one hand, lifts them off her sun-kissed shoulders. Then she kneels before me on the hard-packed sand floor.

She tilts her chin up at me, and I think: she’s pretty. It’s true. Still, though, the thought is like a pep talk. Fuck her, Van. Just fucking fuck her already, and get it over with.

I reach for the tequila bottle on the scarred wooden table, tip it back, and take a long pull.

* * *

Just fuck her…

The echoed thought bobs to the surface of my consciousness. I try to reach for it, to make sense of it, but my damn head’s pounding.

Shit.

I crack my eyelids open, squint at the shifting blob of black and gray above me. It’s swaying. Or…I am.

A swarm of sound fills my ears. An ocean sound. I turn my head a little. Ow. My bleary eyes sting as I look down myself. Swim trunks. I shift slightly in the hammock, and the canvas stings my sunburned back.

Fuck. I’m—I’m still on that little island. The one we went to for the snorkeling excursion. Why’s it dark?

I try to swallow as I look around, but my mouth’s dry. Like…really dry. I sit up in the hammock and my head spins. Nighttime. What happened? There’s a sheen of moonlight on the flat, black ocean. It glints off the waves as they roll to the shore.

I step off the hammock on unsteady legs, feeling like I might be sick. My heel comes down on something cold and hard. There’s a bottle of tequila, empty and half buried in the sand. My eyes throb. I rub them with a sweaty hand.

“Fuck me, cowboy. Fuck me!”

We fucked in the hammock. I remember now. Pigtails. I’m on the backside of the island—just a little crumb of sand we came to with the cruise’s Sunday afternoon catamaran excursion. She and I—what was her name?—we grabbed a bottle of tequila from the open bar and cut through the sand mounds at the center of the island. Sneaked back to the east shore, where these huts are. My gaze moves over the one she blew me in; they’re just these little, round, wood things with straw roofs, kinda scattered through the palm trees.

Shit. I’ve gotta get back to the island’s other side, fast. I’m surprised the snorkeling has run this long. Maybe they did some kind of kitschy bonfire thing after.

I must have passed out hard if Perky Tits left me here. What was she…some sort of business manager? Something responsible. Girl like that wouldn’t let them leave without me.

I ignore the moon’s position in the sky as I dig my flip-flops out of the sand and slide my sunburned feet into them, then start toward the island’s middle. One deep scratch on my ankle from the underbrush, and I’m angling back toward the beach. Too dark for that shit. But I’ve gotta move fast.

I swallow against my dry throat as I squint out at the water. What time is it? Wait—my phone! Where’s my fucking phone? I whirl back toward the huts, patting my pockets.

I left it on that boat. The catamaran. They had these little dry bags and—

“Oh, fuck.”

The moon—near full and beaming stark white light down from the center of the sky—is saying, “Hey asswipe, it’s midnight.”

Maybe shit is different in the Caymans. Sky shit changes with your latitude, right? Still, I start to jog over the hard plane of damp sand beside the water, my heels tossing surf behind me as I make like the Road Runner.

<<<<1 2 3 11 >16

Advertisement Worship Read online Ella James (On My Knees Duet #1) http://www.books2020.com/worship-1-read-online-ella-james Mon, 13 Aug 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/worship-1-read-online-ella-james Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Authors: Ella James Series: On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
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Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >50

Read Online Books/Novels:	Worship (On My Knees Duet #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Ella James
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B07ZCXFL7N
Book Information:
An epic, MM forbidden romance from USA Today Bestselling Author Ella James... You think you know me. That’s the way I want it. Making you feel like we know each other—like we could go grab a beer sometime—is part of my job. Maybe the most vital part. It doesn’t hurt that I’m easy on the eyes, single at 35, and born richer than sin. My aesthetic matters much more than it should, but all the better for my worthy cause. And it’s a worthy cause. I’ve made an art out of making you feel good, and my influence makes you want to be good. Good like me. You think you know me, but you don’t. Everyone has secrets. Mine could cost me everything. So I’m a fortress. No one’s ever even gotten close. Until tonight. See that man, the tall guy dripping on the bow of my yacht? The one I just pulled from the ocean? He’s the one who’s going to cost me everything. Book Two, Adore, will release November 11th.
Books in Series:	On My Knees Duet Series by Ella James
Books by Author:	Ella James Books

Part I

One

March 2016

Vance

“You good?”

She looks up from re-tying her bikini bottoms, smiling with her teeth pressed to her lip. “Yeah.” The word is a purr. Her eyes are still glazed as they look me up and down. “So…” She flashes me a dimpled grin. “Can I get your number?”

I’m lost in thought—so much so that I don’t realize she asked a question until her freckled cheeks blush. “Only while we’re on the cruise, if you want, but…” She does that little laugh—the awkward one that women do when they’re self-conscious.

“But you want my number.” I arch my brows.

Another giggle. “Sort of.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

She straightens her shoulders, making her little tits jut out. “How old do you think?” Her voice has gone all sexy-hoarse again, but she can’t keep the smooth seductress act up. She smiles, and her pink cheeks and blonde pigtails make her look all of eighteen years old.

“Twenty-two,” she says. “Just an office manager from Indiana, cruisin’ with my squad.” She steps closer, making the island hut feel smaller. Her finger traces my pec. “What do you do, cowboy?”

Huh? Oh, right. I was wearing a straw hat back on the catamaran, before our little group went snorkeling.

I run a hand over the soft mound of her breast, tweak her nipple gently with my fingertips. “You.”

I give her a numb, drunk grin. She laughs—a high-pitched, you’re-so-crazy kind of laugh—as her brown eyes rove over me again. She gathers her pigtails in one hand, lifts them off her sun-kissed shoulders. Then she kneels before me on the hard-packed sand floor.

She tilts her chin up at me, and I think: she’s pretty. It’s true. Still, though, the thought is like a pep talk. Fuck her, Van. Just fucking fuck her already, and get it over with.

I reach for the tequila bottle on the scarred wooden table, tip it back, and take a long pull.

* * *

Just fuck her…

The echoed thought bobs to the surface of my consciousness. I try to reach for it, to make sense of it, but my damn head’s pounding.

Shit.

I crack my eyelids open, squint at the shifting blob of black and gray above me. It’s swaying. Or…I am.

A swarm of sound fills my ears. An ocean sound. I turn my head a little. Ow. My bleary eyes sting as I look down myself. Swim trunks. I shift slightly in the hammock, and the canvas stings my sunburned back.

Fuck. I’m—I’m still on that little island. The one we went to for the snorkeling excursion. Why’s it dark?

I try to swallow as I look around, but my mouth’s dry. Like…really dry. I sit up in the hammock and my head spins. Nighttime. What happened? There’s a sheen of moonlight on the flat, black ocean. It glints off the waves as they roll to the shore.

I step off the hammock on unsteady legs, feeling like I might be sick. My heel comes down on something cold and hard. There’s a bottle of tequila, empty and half buried in the sand. My eyes throb. I rub them with a sweaty hand.

“Fuck me, cowboy. Fuck me!”

We fucked in the hammock. I remember now. Pigtails. I’m on the backside of the island—just a little crumb of sand we came to with the cruise’s Sunday afternoon catamaran excursion. She and I—what was her name?—we grabbed a bottle of tequila from the open bar and cut through the sand mounds at the center of the island. Sneaked back to the east shore, where these huts are. My gaze moves over the one she blew me in; they’re just these little, round, wood things with straw roofs, kinda scattered through the palm trees.

Shit. I’ve gotta get back to the island’s other side, fast. I’m surprised the snorkeling has run this long. Maybe they did some kind of kitschy bonfire thing after.

I must have passed out hard if Perky Tits left me here. What was she…some sort of business manager? Something responsible. Girl like that wouldn’t let them leave without me.

I ignore the moon’s position in the sky as I dig my flip-flops out of the sand and slide my sunburned feet into them, then start toward the island’s middle. One deep scratch on my ankle from the underbrush, and I’m angling back toward the beach. Too dark for that shit. But I’ve gotta move fast.

I swallow against my dry throat as I squint out at the water. What time is it? Wait—my phone! Where’s my fucking phone? I whirl back toward the huts, patting my pockets.

I left it on that boat. The catamaran. They had these little dry bags and—

“Oh, fuck.”

The moon—near full and beaming stark white light down from the center of the sky—is saying, “Hey asswipe, it’s midnight.”

Maybe shit is different in the Caymans. Sky shit changes with your latitude, right? Still, I start to jog over the hard plane of damp sand beside the water, my heels tossing surf behind me as I make like the Road Runner.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >50

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