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We’re celebrating the release of CO-WRECKER by Meghan Quinn!


NA Romantic Comedy

Photographer: Lauren Perry

Designer: Meghan Quinn


Purchase link:





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What do ice cream and Sadie Montgomery have in common? They’re both ice cold, but one taste is never enough.
I wanted to be friends — I would have even settled for her seeing me as anything but a nerd — but there was no getting through. So just like any hard-headed, red-blooded man out there, I made up my mind.
I’d make my coworker fall for me.
I’d like to say it was simple, but like every other epic love story, all it took was one drunken night and a lot of naked courage to get the girl. For a moment, at least.
Love with a coworker is never simple, especially since Sadie’s trying to keep us on the low. Not to mention her persistent ex-boyfriend who won’t leave her alone. But I’ve never been good at giving up, and I don’t plan to start now.
The whole thing is a recipe for a rocky road, but I plan to eat the whole gallon, no matter how bad the brain freeze.


For a guy who doesn’t have any of his nighttime items, he’s taking quite a long time in there. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I wonder what he could possibly be doing.

Oh God, did he pass out on the toilet? Willy out? What’s a girl to do if that’s the case? Do I tuck it back into his pants and push him to the side? No one wants to tuck a flaccid wiener back into underpants, especially foreign flaccid wieners.

Chewing on my lip, wondering if I should go knock on the door, I bounce my foot up and down. I need to pee. If he’s passed out on the toilet, I might just have to knock him to the side because I’m not going to be able to hold this all night, nor am I one to go squat it out in the bushes. Smilly, now she just might conduct such a pee with nature, but not me. I need porcelain to sit on.

“Oh come on,” I mutter, now standing from my bed and heading to the bathroom where I pace in front of the door. Leaning my head closer, I hear water running so that has to be a good sign. Then the unmistakable sound of someone spitting into the sink. Is he . . . brushing his teeth?

I’m about to knock on the door when Andrew opens it, shirtless, pants-less, wearing nothing but his glasses and black boxer briefs. He’s wiping his mouth with the hand towel that rests next to the sink when he makes eye contact with me. That damn smile greets me but it’s not what holds my attention. Oh. No. My eyes go for a wander down his body. I take in the very cut man, with beautiful muscles flexing under the dim light of my bathroom.




Andrew, champion forearms, Mr. Sunshine, dork with the hot glasses, boy who won’t quite leave me alone at work, he’s . . . oh God, he’s everything under his clothes.


The first time I met Andrew, never in my wildest dreams would I have pegged him to be the kind of man who could bring me to my knees with one kiss. But he’s proven me wrong with the delectable way he works his tongue against mine, and with the way his lips connect in the sexiest way possible.

There’s no question about it; he’s dangerous.

Wet, demanding, unyielding kisses wrap me up into a little Andrew cocoon, one I couldn’t imagine leaving. Having Andrew wrapped around me, the way his thumbs rub my cheeks as his tongue dives around against mine, the delicious press of his lower half against mine, the sexy little moans that rumble up the back of his throat . . . its euphoria.



She leans forward, her lips barely caressing mine, her hips rotating slightly, using the tip of my dick as a tease along her arousal. She groans into my mouth as her tongue flicks my lips.

“Fucking ride me,” I say, not wanting to do any more of this beating-around-the-bush bullshit—not that she has a bush to beat around actually.

Right on cue, she falls down on my dick, bottoming out all too quickly. There was no easing; there was no inch-by-inch movement on her end. No, she took me all in like a fucking boss. Her cry echoes through my head, making me feel drunk and hazy, like I was just knocked out by Captain Pleasure.

“Oh God,” she moans, her head resting against my chest now, her hips slowly making circles. “Cannon cock is,” she takes a deep breath, “a very accurate description.”

That gets a chuckle, but it’s quickly washed away when her head lifts and her eyes meet mine. Filled with desire, with a yearning I never thought I’d see from this intriguing girl, her arms wrap around my neck, and she starts to methodically move up and down on my hardened length. Her legs propelling her thrusts, they squeeze against mine for stability and in this moment, our eyes trained on each other, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so intimate.

Intimate. Fuck, is that what this is? Not a quick fuck, but intimacy? Does she think of it that way? I sure as hell hope so, because for once, I will be right there with her.

Gripping her ass, I guide her up and down as well, my hips starting to thrust up when she goes down. The combination is repeated, her moan growing with each passing bout of rubbing. Her forehead presses against mine as she looks down at our connection, something I’ve always found incredibly sexy in a woman, wanting to experience it all.

Fuck, this is all too much. The way her tits bounce against my chest, the feel of her tight pussy squeezing me with each pass, her sweet, and sexy moans in my ear . . . I’m going to lose it. I’m going to blow it before she even has a chance to think about visiting O-town.

Hold the fuck back. Grandma, think of Grandma. Lipstick on the teeth, curlers in her hair until noon.

Sadie’s thighs slap against mine.

Grandma! Wrinkly and old, dentures in a drinking cup.

Sadie’s pebbled nipples rub against my chest, and they’re so fucking hard.

Grandma. Dammit! Knee-high stockings and Velcro shoes.

“Shit, Andrew. I’m going to come.”

Thank, Christ. Catch ya later, Grams.

I assist her thrusts even more, taking control of our connection as her hands fall to my shoulders, trying her best to slam as hard as she can down on my lap. Her head falls back, her nipples pebbled in the air, her tits bouncing, and the strain in her neck . . .

“Oh God!” she cries out. Her movements are so erratic. Her pussy squeezing all around me.

That’s it. Everything in me goes blank. My balls tighten and with one final thrust, white-hot pleasure envelops me. My orgasm roars through me, and my dick twitches for what seems like fucking days. I spill into her, thrusting until every last drop is drained from me, and I feel like I’ll never catch my breath.

Slowing down, our bodies slide together, our sweat mixing, our breathing simply panting, and the combination is fucking aces.

Yeah, I said it. It’s FUCKING ACES.

“Shit,” I breathe out. “That was hot.”

Chuckling, she lifts her head and kisses my lips. “That was something we will be doing again.”

Smiling at her, I thrust up again, reminding her of our connection. “I told you he wouldn’t bite.”

Pushing back on my chest, she starts clapping her hands. “And there he is, the Andrew I first met, always making things awkward.”

I laugh from the pit of my stomach. “Sorry, baby, I can’t be suave and debonair all the time. I’ve got to show some faults for mankind, or how else would it be fair to men around me?”

She rolls her eyes and climbs off me, but not quick enough. I pin her to the bed beneath us and press my chest against hers.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you’re into me.”

Tilting her head to the side, a playful look in her eyes, she says, “Unfortunately, Andrew. I’m into you.” Unfortunately?

“Ha!” I fist-pump the air. “I’ll take it!”






About the Author:
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
Find me on Goodreads:

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