Here’s a sneak peek at one of my March releases, Obsessed, which is being published by Simon and Schuster’s Strebor Books line. Keep in mind it’s unedited, so all errors are my own.

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On an uncharacteristic whim, an obsessive, uptight woman vacations at an island resort where she learns to surrender to her disorderly, capricious, and wanton inner self.

Briana’s pristine life has recently gone downhill after she realized her perfect marriage was a sham. Weighed down by the burdens of her impending divorce, this “starter wife” calls the number printed on a postcard for a limited-time offer at an exotic island retreat. Upon arriving at the fantasy sex resort, Briana is confronted with all of her old hang-ups. Desperately wanting to change, she throws herself into the wildly erotic pleasures presented to her—freeing herself from her heartbreaking past and the inhibitions that have always held her back in life.

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Note for Readers: You must be of legal age in your country of origin to read this excerpt.

Briana felt as though a vise tightened around her ribcage. She couldn’t breathe. She stood frozen, staring into his impassive face.

Malaki held out the package, and she lifted her arms automatically to receive it.

“Tell me what frightens you most,” he said quietly, his arms falling to his sides. “Being virtually naked in front of this crowd?”

Numb with shock, she was surprised she could manage to speak. “That prospect is certainly unnerving.” Gawd, what a dumb thing to say. And a huge fricking understatement!

“But it’s not the scariest part, is it?”

Her vision blurred as tears began to fill her eyes. Now he’d get an even bigger dose of the weirdness that was her. “Touching them…I’m afraid to touch them.”

“You touched me,” he said, firmness underlying his gentle tone.

That caught her attention. “Yes, I did.”

“I’m as much a stranger to you as any of them. Why do you think you could take my hand and accept my caress?”

“Because I wanted it so damn much,” she whispered, humiliated to admit it.

“Then want this.”

She shook her head. He made it sound so simple. Seductively so.

“Will this help?” He shoved a hand into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, which he laid across the top of her bundle.

Her resistance did indeed begin to crumble. “Do you always carry a pair in your pocket?” she muttered.

“I thought you might need them.”

Did he have a playbook that included every strategy known to blow an OCD girl’s will straight to hell? “How can you know that?”

“I watch.”

She shifted her stance, knowing she was ready to cave. “Will you stay for this?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetically clingy.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he said softly. “Now, go change.”

A hand pressed against her lower back, and she jerked forward toward the stage, aware of every glance turning her way. Yet their expressions weren’t lascivious, only curious, their slight smiles encouraging. Dressed in the colors of the island, vivid reds and oranges, deep verdant greens and sand, she could almost pretend they were part of the scenery—an inanimate setting for her performance.

If only they didn’t speak, didn’t pierce through the haze slowly gripping her mind as she strode unsteadily forward. They’d been chosen to attend this event. Was it because they weren’t complete perverts and wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable? Or because they were willing to carefully school their features to hide their arousal? They all appeared only mildly curious, their expressions open.

The answer didn’t really matter. Not now. She ruthlessly shoved the audience to the back of her mind. First, she had to strip her clothing away, don a clear suit, then touch anyone who was willing to join her in the center of the stage.

The steps leading up to the stage weren’t steep, but she felt out of breath when she reached the top. She didn’t dare turn to look behind her, knowing she’d do better if she closed her mind to the crowd’s avid stares.

The partition was solid, and little light shone through the spaces between the panels. With shaking hands, she spaced the gloves evenly over the top of the partition, then pulled a one-piece suit out of the bag and hung it too.

Keeping her mind blank, she concentrated on the steps.

Slip off her shoes—left than right. Strip off the dress. Hang it carefully over the top to prevent snags or wrinkles in the silky fabric.

Naked now behind the partition, she shivered as a waft of air-conditioned air swept over her nude body.

The plastic suit proved difficult to don because she was starting to sweat despite the cool air, and the plastic dragged across her skin. She wished she had a stool, something to sit on, something to brace herself against as she tugged it over her legs. Then she slipped her arms into the sleeves, hoping like hell no one peeked around the corner because she had to look like she was wrestling a snake. But at last she had the suit in place except the snapped opening at the front proved impossible to manage because her fingers shook too hard.

“Allow me.”

Without her realizing it, Malaki had slipped behind the partition.

A tiny mewling whimper slid from between her lips, and she turned, frightened, but standing docilely while he closed the snaps. Now, he’d see exactly what she had to offer—every imperfection.

His dark eyes held hers for a long moment, and then he bent toward her and pressed a dry kiss against her forehead. “The left leg is a little shorter than the right.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone.

Her glance went straight to the bottom edges of the suit. Sure enough, one leg wasn’t exactly the same length as the other. She bent and pulled the shorter one, hoping to make it stretch, but a sound from beyond the partition interrupted her panic.

A soft patter of water hitting the floor reminded her why she was here, and she quickly pulled on the gloves, feeling a little calmer as she plucked them to make the familiar snap.

Air brushing the bottoms of her ankles reminded her of the small imperfection, still she squared her shoulders, determined not to look like she was scared to death and stepped from behind the partition.

She blinked at the bright light shining directly into her eyes, and discovered she couldn’t see the crowd—just burnished heads of hair and the outlines of their shoulders. This somehow helped her keep it together as she closed in on the shower.

While she’d been dressing, a chair had been brought up to the stage. Thick towels graced the seat with a short back brush, a bottle of liquid soap, and another of shampoo stacked on top. But no loofah or washcloth? Of course…they expected her to use her hands.

Atop all the items stacked neatly on the chair lay a shower hat and a pair of goggles.

She hadn’t thought about that. The water splashing from their bodies might have drenched her hair or gotten into her eyes. She glanced around the edge of the stage for Malaki, wanting to thank him, but she was alone.

Feeling self-conscious, knowing every action was observed and commented on, she picked up the shower hat and put it on, tucking the longer strands of her hair beneath it, then put on the goggles.

The murmurs from the crowd died down, and she guessed she was what they waited for. No announcement would be made until she felt ready.

Well, she was already naked, every part of her anatomy visible through the transparent suit. How much more foolish could she feel? How much more exposed?

She cleared her throat, hoping she appeared composed while inside she was reeling. “Would anyone care to join me?”

Soft laughter greeted her request. She fidgeted, sliding a toe across the bottom of the shorter leg of her suit as chairs scraped and two men approached the steps.

Alarm shot through her. “One at a time, please.”

After a round of “Rock, Paper, Scissors” that had the women in the crowd chuckling, the first comer was decided.

Briana’s knees nearly buckled at the tall, broad man who approached her. How would she reach his shoulders? How in hell would she wash his hair?

The man smiled, a deep dimple appearing in one cheek. “I’m James.”

“James,” she said faintly. “Nice to meet you.” Nice to meet you?

The dimple deepened and helped enormously. She fixed her gaze on it as his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. “You can drape your clothing over the back of the chair,” she said in a choked voice.

She stepped away, hyper-aware of the crinkling sound her suit made, of nipples mashed against the front of the suit, making them appear larger than they were, of the way the seam between her legs pressed upward between her folds until they slid open on either side of the crease.

If she became aroused everyone one of them would know it from the trickle of cream that would spread like melted butter from the pressure of the suit.

So, she just wouldn’t become aroused.

But a quick glance at the gentlemen who’d managed to shuck his shirt and pants in the time she’d spent worrying about becoming aroused told her she’d better set a strategy or she was doomed.

Concentrate on his flaws.

His hair was brown with wide blonde streaks. His skin was a warm, golden tan. When his lips stretched into a cheerful grin, she noted straight white teeth and green eyes that wrinkled attractively at the corners. Her gaze slid down his lightly furred chest—and snagged on his cock.

It was uncircumcised. Gross. All that loose skin drooped over the end of his slowly rousing cock, completely concealing the crown. This was something she could work with. She’d never been with an uncut guy. Never even seen a picture of dick like this.

Bathing him would be no different than cleaning a toilet.

Only his flaccid cock perked and stretched as she slowly walked toward him. Angry because she was becoming fascinated by his transformation, she raised her hand and shoved at his chest, pushing him beneath the faucet.

A roar of approval sounded behind her, bolstering her confidence. So, they were going to have a good look at her ass—her ass was prime. High, firm, not so rounded she looked like a bubble-butt, but one of her best assets. She knew it. Jonathan loved it. Used to snuggle his cock against her backside and groan.

The green-eyed man in front of her narrowed his eyes as water streamed down his face.

She didn’t like his expression because he seemed to challenge her control. “On your knees,” she bit out.

As he slowly knelt in front of her, one corner of his mouth curled. His face was level with her pussy. Likely, he could see the way the plastic halved her folds, could look his fill of her pink flesh.

Her cunt spasmed, and she whipped away, snagging the bottle of shampoo and stepping behind him. She shoved his head forward out of the stream of water and poured shampoo onto his hair. She capped the bottle and set it at her feet, then bent over him. While the water streamed down her back, she thrust her fingers into his thick brown and blonde hair and began to scrub his scalp.

A low, rumbling groan escaped him, and the muscles of his shoulders bunched. His head stretched farther away, forcing her to widen her stance and lean her thighs against his back.

What must this look like to the audience? To Malaki, who’d already decided she was a complete mouse, a coward when it came to sex? She curled her fingers in the man’s hair and jerked his head up.

From this angle he seemed anything but intimidating. He was a supplicant. His mouth gaped open, his nose flared. His eyes remained closed against the spray that bounced off her shoulders.

“Stay like that,” she said, and walked back to the chair again, this time picking up the shower gel and back brush. The man was very, very dirty, she told herself. Maybe she’d scour the skin from his back before she was satisfied he was clean.

She squirted soap directly into the bristles of the brush and started with his shoulders, using her weight to bear down on his skin.

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

The audience was forgotten with the familiar motions and sounds. Briana concentrated on the smooth plane of his back, the curves of his shoulders, the crevices where his arms hugged his sides.

She worked her way down, circling and scraping, counting the strokes, until his skin reddened, and she was ready to reach lower. His very dirty ass beckoned.

“Stand up.”

He chuckled. “Not sure I have the strength.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

James flashed her a scowl, struggled to his feet, and then braced them wide apart.

She circled him to get another glance at his face and to let him see her determination. As his gaze met hers, his eyes glittered, anger mixed with arousal. His jaw clamped shut. His broad chest rippled as he sucked air into his lungs in deep, quickening draws.

His cock had risen and now stood perpendicular to the floor, looking less unappealing than it had before.

She pursed her lips and blew out a stream of air, ignoring the smirk beginning to curve one corner of his lips.

She completed the circle, wondering how she could put a dint into his confidence. Kneeling behind him, she smoothed a hand over one rounded globe, admiring the firmness beneath the latex sheathing her hand.

Somehow the latex made her brave—she slipped one finger into his crease and traced a path downward, digging a little deeper as she approached his asshole.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, his thighs vibrating.

Because the crowd couldn’t see what she did, she wiggled her finger, rubbing his hole.

“Cut it out, or I’ll come,” he growled.

Briana pressed her lips together to suppress a grin. She had him completely under her control. She slipped her finger out and patted his ass. “Be good, or I’ll finish it.”

Tossing down the brush, she gave in to the temptation to explore his flesh directly. She poured soap into her palm and smoothed it over his butt, massaging the muscle, lifting his left buttock to cleanse the crease between his buttock and thigh, and then doing the same with his right. Last, she concentrated on the deep divide between his buttocks, sliding her soapy fingers between them to clean him thoroughly.

When his buttocks rippled, she drizzled soap down the back of his left thigh and kneaded the heavy muscles rippling beneath her fingers, gripping the sides of his leg and rubbing slowly up and down. She did the same for the right, repeating the exact motions and number of glides.

The dark hair furring his thighs and calves, the thick slabs of muscle cloaking his long bones—everywhere she touched, she admired her work, admired his gleaming surfaces.

After reaching around to scrub between every toe, she didn’t hesitate to rise and circle in front of him. There was still so much work for her to do.

His cocky expression had slipped. Deep red burnished the sharp edges of his cheek bones.

Satisfied he no longer wanted to challenge her for control, she gentled her touch, smoothing soap across his furry chest, thrusting into the hair to tug and scrub with her fingertips.

She went down on one knee in front of him, ignoring his cock as best she could while she bathed his ridged abdomen, following the hills and deep indentions downward, slipping her finger inside his belly button to make sure she hadn’t mi