Summer Girl, Winter Boy

By: Barbara Elsborg

Jai Winter is trying to do the right thing, even though he knows it’s wrong. Forced to participate in kinky sex games, the renowned model spends his spare moments creating an impressive list of suicide options. Until a snowy day provides a bit of Summer…a pink-haired burst of sunshine with a ready smile. What begins as the hottest sex of his life turns into a ray of hope.

Summer Dey has baggage of her own—literally. Having spent eighteen months in South America trying to escape a shocking accident, Summer finds an illegal nightmare hidden in her suitcase. She doesn’t want to put Jai in danger, but his gorgeous face and killer bod prove hard to resist.

Boy meets girl, girl falls for boy, and everything would be perfect if it wasn’t for blackmail, drug dealers and tragic events in both their pasts. Staying together could be their salvation—or their ultimate undoing.






Chapter One


Jai leaned against the stone wall of the bedroom balcony and stared down into an azalea bush. If he’d thought the four-foot drop would kill him, he might have thrown himself over. But with his luck, he’d break his neck on a hidden rock, end up sipping drinks through a straw and employing some poor sod to wipe his backside. Wanking himself into a brief stay in oblivion wouldn’t even be an option.

Not that he could be arsed to do that, these days. He lacked energy and inclination. His cock didn’t belong to him anymore. Nor did the rest of his body. The only time he felt at peace was when his mind was numb, and he didn’t much care how he made that happen, whatever drugs or alcohol he could lay his pathetic hands on.

I am such a fucking mess.

When he heard the creak of the bedroom door opening behind him, he made sure he didn’t react, but disgust with both himself and the person approaching coiled in his belly like a fat black mamba. He’d toyed with wedging a chair under the door handle, but what could only be a brief act of defiance wasn’t worth the consequences.

A slender hand slid onto his hip and dark-red nails pressed into the skin above his square-cut swim trunks. If he’d been on the seventh floor, would he have jumped? Taken the bitch with him? She danced her fingers ’round to sweep over his cock and his hands tightened on the stone wall. Yes, I fucking would.

“Don’t you look and feel delicious, darling,” Marta whispered. She kept her hand outside his trunks and ran her thumb back and forth over the head of his shaft then down to the root, where she traced the shape of the ring trapping his cock. “Good boy, you put it on.”

Because he’d known what would happen if he didn’t. Everything was about consequences. She’d ordered boxes of different sizes and types over the internet until she’d found the perfect fit. Once he was erect, the presence of a discreet flexible ring around the base of his cock kept him that way whether he liked it or not.

“You’re such a good boy,” she purred into his ear.

Jai imagined himself wagging his tail like a pampered dog. If she patted him on the head he’d bite her, except the cow would probably love it.

“I knew you’d look gorgeous in these trunks.” She pulled him ’round to face her and Jai blanked his grimace, though she wasn’t looking into his eyes but at the length of his shaft, clearly visible under the skin-tight, slinky gray fabric. If his cock hadn’t been caught up in the netting it would have escaped.

“But you’ve kept us waiting. I told you to come straight to the pool.” Marta squeezed his balls hard enough to make him wince.

“I was on the way,” he lied.

Her fingers dipped into the back of his trunks and she scratched a nail down the seam of his butt. Jai tensed.

“Such lovely glutes. All tight and—”

“I need to use the bathroom and I’ll be right there,” he said.

She withdrew her hand and smacked him on the backside. “Don’t keep us waiting any longer.”

Jai walked across the room, aware she was watching. Once he’d closed the bathroom door, he leaned against it, listening for the sounds of her leaving. She gave a short laugh and he heard the clip-clop of her heels as she crossed the marble floor, then finally the thud of the door closing.

He imagined Marta had been born dissatisfied, protesting about being forced out of her mother’s body down a too-narrow passage, a whining baby always hungry for something other than what she’d been given, a spoiled child who continually wanted more. She’d likely been doted on by her parents and been given everything she asked for—dolls, pony, car. He husband Saul had continued worshipping her where her parents left off. She hadn’t married the bastard for his sunny personality and good looks—neither of which he had—but his money and influence, and while she could buy almost everything she wanted, she always demanded more because she was never content, never happy enough.