© 2017 by Lucy Woodhull

RAGNAR AND JULIET 2: CONCUBINE BOOGALOO

book two in the Ragnar and Juliet Series 

[book one]

Available exclusively at Amazon

REVIEWS!

"This is a hilarious book! It is equal to the original in its wild characters, even wilder situations, and well-written dialogue. I laughed my way through the first one while wondering what was going to happen next."

-- TwoLipsReviews.com

BLURB!

Sometimes the biggest risk a lady can take is not battling an evil planetary emperor with questionable taste in muttonchops, but baring her heart to the alien she loves. And his tail.

 

If you're a bounty-hunting floozy with a stellar rack, what do you do when an evil despot is hell-bent on your destruction?

 

Stage a coup of his planet, of course.

 

Juliet Lawrence's plans for defeating King Bob the Nefarious are going better than her relationship with hunky alien ship captain, Ragnar Manscape. Oh, the sex is great. His pecs and their laughs are top notch. The meeting with his parents goes … somewhat worse. It's always a bad sign when your boyfriend's folks choose the family spider over you.

 

The secret Juliet's been keeping from Ragnar doesn't help—uncomfortable conversations about "feelings" are not her forte. Fortunately, Juliet has lots of time to plot the downfall of King Bob’s intergalactic concubine slave trade once Ragnar unceremoniously dumps her.

 

Can Juliet defeat King Assface with the help of her computer genius ex-boyfriend Erit, their flying toilet, and her brand new nun habit? Will Ragnar leave Juliet to the space wolves or go along with her crazy plan to topple a government using hair pins? And can Juliet really have it all while maintaining bouncy, manageable hair? Find out in RAGNAR AND JULIET 2: CONCUBINE BOOGALOO, the sequel to RAGNAR and JULIET, the book Just Erotic Romance Reviews called “…delightful! This book definitely goes in my re-read stack to keep me warm this winter!"

SAMPLE!

Ragnar and Juliet 2: Concubine Boogaloo
Chapter One
Love (n): a disease not dissimilar to dysentery, only with more kissing

 

Juliet strained against the handcuffs while she simultaneously marveled at their comfort. “What kind of evil highwayman uses purple fuzzy restraints to subdue people?”

 

The brigand loomed over her supine form on the cot. No other furniture adorned the airless metal room. Delight twinkling in his blue eyes, he eased his weight over her hips; he swelled against her pelvis as if he enjoyed torturing her. He licked his lips. Such pretty lips. A shudder worked its way up her spine to her arms, manacled above her head; she involuntarily arched upward. A smile crept across his face. “They were giving them away at the last highwayman convention.”

 

“Kidnapalooza 2459?”

 

He chuckled.

 

She flopped back onto the canvas of the cot. She was a sucker for a filthy chuckle. “That’s not a very menacing laugh.”

 

“Well, ‘Kidnapalooza’ does not at all convey the sort of terror I expect you to be experiencing.”

 

“Ragnar!” Juliet sat up. Correction: She tried to sit up—her adorable bindings whipped her backwards. Once she landed, she attempted to adopt a sexy captive pose. “You are the worst kidnapper kidnapping an innocent milkmaid ever.”

 

“How about if I said, ‘Give me your milk, maid.’?”

 

She bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling. Someone had to maintain sex game artistic integrity.

 

She wailed in theatrical angst and tossed her hair. Her head bounced off the steel tube at the edge of the bed. “Ouch. I can’t lactate on command, you vile vermin!”

 

One tan finger trailed between her breasts, currently encased in a fluffy white blouse over a physics-defying red corset. Her “innocent” “milkmaid” skin tingled under the delicate onslaught.

 

“Let’s see if you have other talents, shall we?” His voice was softer than his touch. It soothed from his barrel chest in ripples of silk. Giant men should not be able to incapacitate in such a…quiet way. That was probably how he’d convinced her to shack up with him and explore the galaxy together in the first place. Well, less “explore” and more “flee from a psychotic king named Bob who wanted to kill them both.” They’d met when she bounty-hunted him for King William (Bob) the Nefarious, supreme monarch of New Los Angeles and the moon of Bel Air. All the best romances begin in such ways.

 

It turned out that Ragnar had rescued an enslaved concubine from Bob’s clutches and didn’t deserve to die. Juliet graciously decided not to deliver him to Bob, especially after Ragnar turned the tables and kidnapped her. The jerk king found them anyway and was currently none too pleased about their escape, especially Juliet’s. Bob desired her in a very carnal, very icky way.

 

No longer able to bounty hunt, as she now played the part of “huntee,” Juliet resolved to put Bob out of the sex-slave business permanently. He kept hundreds of concubines in his temple of debauchery, all drugged to stay against their will. And, dammit, she would end that practice or die trying. Hopefully not the latter. Her plans were already in motion. Whether Ragnar would approve of her “topple the government of a planet” scheme or not was the big question.

 

Oh, Ragnar. One thing he could always be trusted to approve of: her boobs. Smoldering blue eyes locked onto hers as he tugged on the tie at the top of her shirt. One inch. Her hips squirmed. Another inch. He smirked. A third inch. She leaned into him and breathed deep. Mmmmmm, his smell. Sex dipped in pizza. The blouse fell open. Not pizza literally. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head. But she really, really wanted to eat his pepperoni.

 

His tail jerked upwards to an annoyed angle. “What are you thinking about?” he demanded.

 

Ragnar appeared mostly human, save for two differences: one, the adorable orange spots at his temples, accompanied by a long orange (and terribly dexterous) tail named Torval that flowed from his truly superior posterior; and two, his ability to turn invisible, like a sexy ninja lizard.

 

Juliet snapped her mouth shut and lifted her cleavage to his face. “I think only of you, mysterious stranger. And of Torval, naturally.”

 

In a muffled voice, he said, “Much better. You’re more eager than the other milkmaids I steal.”

 

With a mighty heave, she twisted sideways and bounced him off the sorry excuse for furniture. Inside three seconds, she tripped the toy handcuffs, whipped her wrists free, and crawled atop his prostrate hunkiness.

She tore open his fly and took him in her mouth. His head fell with a clunk onto the metal floor of the supply bay of his ship, the intimidatingly named Bobo. “Juliet,” he whispered, his hips bucking toward her warm, welcoming lips. There wasn’t too much better in the universe than hearing him say her name that way, voice full of adoration and pure, blind lust. On her knees, she licked the beautiful length of him while she cupped him through the rough fabric of his trousers. The pulse in her sex throbbed almost painfully as she worked him without mercy. His hand plowed through her hair, rough, pulling, pushing, until he cried out and came. She stayed there, taking him in, absorbing his shudders until his fingers relaxed at her temple.

 

“Maybe you should be the highwayman next time,” he murmured.

 

“And you’ll suffer as my poor, wronged milkmaid?”

 

He hauled her up until she lay atop him like a blonde blanket. “I’ll be whatever you want. In fact—” he flipped her over onto her back—“let me show you what the filthy kitchen maid taught me to do.” He maneuvered onto his knees between hers. He shoved her billowing skirt into a lump at her waist, his pretty lips worshipping their way from one inner thigh to the other. She nearly leapt from her skin. “Where are your panties?” he demanded in shocked tones. “It seems to me that you’ve been aching for a big-cocked highwayman to put you to good use.” She could feel her own slick desire as his every nasty word blew gently across her pussy. His teasing caress hovered maddeningly out of reach.

 

“Ragnar—”

 

He came no closer, but fluttered his breath on her needy body. “I have subdued the vixen bent on doing evil to me.”

 

“Please…” She clenched against the swell of desire in the very core of her. It only made the ache worse. She let out a whimper.

 

He laughed. “Repent your sins, Juliet.”

 

She sat up. He pushed her roughly back to the floor with one big hand. Pinning her there, he stretched until his devil grin graced her breasts. He ripped her blouse open. She didn’t mind, for she’d destroyed her share of his clothes. It was a wonder he even wore any with her around. To save her wildly expensive corset, she began to unhook it. “I repent my dastardly life of…of…” His smile of triumph tripped her thought process. “Being dastardly.” Slowly, she peeled the two halves of the corset away from one another, presenting herself for his approval. “See?”

 

His gaze went a little hazy. Two of his fingers traced from under her right breast to the nipple. They squeezed. She fell back to the icy deck again. His hot tongue followed the path blazed by his hand on the right, then the left breast.

 

“So you admit you’re a bad, bad woman?”

 

“Every wicked inch of me.”

 

A grunt signaled his agreement. This was almost better than when they played Dirty Priest and Sexy Housewife with a Comically Large Number of Sinful Confessions. Her thighs parted, and he settled into the saddle of her pelvis, his mouth lazily drinking in every inch of her skin from the waist up. Her below-skirt parts took exception. Pleasure rippled from wherever he played straight to her hips as they rocked into his. He met her, pulse for pulse. The heat built into a white pinpoint of fire between her legs. She rubbed against his once-again hard cock. Ye gods, it felt good. The tip of him pushed insistently against her clit. She was so close, so close.

 

Squawk! The ship’s P.A. system screeched to life. “Eep. Now entering the Xanadu Galaxy.”

Ragnar stopped. Juliet balled her fists in her hair.

 

“Eep,” finished Pippy, Ragnar’s terribly efficient first mate. Pippy was a Gallod, an intelligent race known for their navigational talents; cute, furry bodies; and talent for cock-blocking their boss’ girlfriends. The comm panel fizzled to silence.

 

“He. Does. That. On. Purpose.” She clutched at the sides of her face.

 

Ragnar’s eyes widened, but he didn’t contradict her. “Well, I guess we better get ready to dock. We’ll be in Alutian airspace presently.”

 

“If you leave me right now I will end you, Manscape.” “Manscape” was Ragnar’s surname. It was a perfectly normal name on Alutia, his homeworld. Its Earth definition never failed to crack Juliet up. Except for now. Sexual frustration will sour any girl’s sense of humor. How many Ragnars does it take to drive Juliet batty? Just one, apparently.

 

His tail thumped against the floor. Thump, thump, thump. He nodded, his face a study in earnest seriousness. The corner of his mouth twitched. The tail snaked up one of her thighs. The tip, shaped in a point like Lucifer’s, rubbed feather-soft against her clit. “Mmmmmmmmmm.”

He cut off her moan with a searing kiss. Everything flew from her mind but his lips parting hers, his warm hands holding her face where he wanted it, and the insistent rhythm of that infernal, wonderful tail. Pleasure blossomed and exploded, sending her clinging to him as wave after wave of delight chased through her.

 

After what might possibly have been a brief orgasm coma, she opened her eyes. Ever so softly, he brushed her hair back from her brow. Then again. She loved it when he did that. Maybe it’s what heaven was like—Ragnar’s hands caressing her forehead, as if she were the most precious object in the universe.

 

“I love you, Juliet.”

 

Time stopped.

 

He gazed down at her and smiled the best smile he’d ever smiled—and that was saying something. Ragnar could win a melting-grin competition at the intergalactic level.

 

After several moments, it faltered.

Ye gods. Her hands went tingly. She was supposed to reciprocate, right? Very easy. That’s what people do. They gaze into the breathtaking eyes of the man they adore (she did), they smile back (she did), and say, “I know.”

 

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “‘I know?’” His eyes grew wide. “‘I know’? Is that supposed to be a joke?”

 

Instead of beating in a straightforward manner, her heart jittered erratically in a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like “Taps.”

 

He waited for her to answer, his face falling into etches of anger the longer she stayed silent.

 

Numbness fused her lips closed. Her breathing fluttered in high-pitched, shallow gasps. The bay walls lilted inward.

 

He sighed. “Stop, Blondie.” He rolled off her and sat on the floor. His tail beat a tattoo against the metal. “You’re gonna give yourself a faighaad.”

 

She’d already given herself whatever a faighaad was. Every muscle in her body locked, rigid and immobile. The room darkened around her, leaving only a pinpoint of light highlighting her wonderful lover’s crestfallen face. She couldn’t catch her breath to say something, anything.

 

“Schied. I didn’t mean to give you a panic attack. But of course I understand—it’s a natural reaction when your boyfriend tells you he loves you for the first time.” None too gently, he lifted her to standing. She clung to him and watched the stars pop in her head.

He needn’t sound so damn sarcastic. That reaction was perfectly normal for her.

* * *