Confessions of a Devious Bride: A Novel

From the outside, everything about Faith's life is perfect. She has the perfect marriage, a magazine job that any English grad would kill for, a designer home in a coveted neighborhood, and a massive walk-in closet that accommodates the spoils of her online lingerie-shopping addiction.

There's just one little problem: the handsome, successful man she just married has lost his mojo in the bedroom.

Which is now a dire dilemma, because she’s spent the past year delving deep into a fitness obsession that’s given her a new figure that she’s eager to put to use.

After months of torturous fantasies, Faith finally gives in to her cravings when she meets Hunter, a handsome Australian fitness photographer whose bossy boldness brings her desires to a boil.

As she becomes further entangled in her new fling, Faith struggles to keep her suspicious husband off of her trail—all while exploring the boundaries of her bad side through illicit encounters that grow more adventurous with every secret rendezvous.

Will Faith be able to keep her worlds separate? Will she finally satisfy her cravings and go back to her perfect, boring life? Or will she get caught in the act and lose touch with the girl she used to be?

Excerpt:

As I work my way down his abs, tasting the faint salt of his skin, he reaches a hand around the back of my head. He wraps my hair into a ponytail with his fist and then tugs on it, sending me into overdrive. I drop to my knees in front of him. I curl my fingers over his brown leather belt and look up, savoring the view of his abs and pecs and his strong jaw as he glares back down at me.


This is it. This is the moment where, if I choose to go on, I become something different. Up until now, everything I’ve done—the dancing, the kissing, the backseat groping—could be written off as a drunken indiscretion. But if I undo this buckle, there will be no turning back. I stroke his swelling cock through the dark denim and then look back up at him, as if for a sign. Or better yet, a command.


“Take it out,” he says with calm authority. He’s not asking; he’s instructing. He smiles down at me. Just as he said, he knows exactly what I like.


I don’t have to be told twice. I tug at the leather and pull the thick strand through his buckle, and the clinking sound reminds me of the clanking iron plates at Rev. Oh God, I want at his cock so badly, but I want to savor this sweet anticipation. Undoing his belt is like removing the ribbon from a gorgeously wrapped gift—one that you’ve wanted for an unbearably long time.


I yank his belt through the loops of his jeans, and it cracks like a whip when it’s finally free. Just call me Indiana Faith. I’m about to toss the belt onto our pile of clothing when I have a sudden stroke of genius. Instead of casting it aside, I feed the tip back through the buckle and, calmly staring up at Hunter, place the makeshift leather lasso over my head and lower it onto my shoulders. With my long hair still trapped beneath it and smoothed against the sides of my head, I pull the leather end so that the belt tightens gently around my neck—not to the point of choking, but just enough to feel its secure thickness around me. And then, still staring intently into his eyes, I hold up the strap for him to take. If I’m going to go through with this, I can’t be at the helm. I’m his now. Whatever happens to my body tonight is his responsibility.


Besides, if this doesn’t convey that I want him to be rough with me, nothing will.