Unique

  The Manhattanites

  Fans of Vi Keeland, Alexa Riley, and Sabrina Paige will enjoy this stand-alone, cliffhanger free, m/f/m contemporary erotic romance novel that features an HEA for all three protagonists.

  Dumped by Europe's hottest disc jockey, Kiki Izatt jumps into her career, taking New York society by storm. In charge of Brill Inc.'s jewelry client Paloma Gems, she's ready to show the industry who sparkles. Superstar DJ Dejon had no choice but to cut ties. If Kiki blew his cover by discovering his real intentions to hijack The Style Gala, she'd ruin his crusade to return the blood diamonds to his West African people. Dejon couldn't go back on his word to his brother Dash, even if it meant not marrying Kiki.

  When Dash Turay accidently shoots and injures Kiki while stealing Paloma's most valuable stone, he's taken with her. Dash wants her. He must have her! So what if Kiki is from Utah and promised her virginity to Dejon. Dash will find a way to get her in his bed with or without Dejon's approval.

  Familiar with Sister Wives, Kiki wonders if it's time to try her hand at Brother Husbands!

  Note: the men DO NOT touch one another.

  Often while reading Avery Aster’s books, readers have been known to experience hot flashes, orgasms, and laughter to the point of peeing in their pants.

  It’s suggested that you have a bucket of ice nearby, along with a chilled glass of champagne and your favorite sex toy—fully charged—before reading this story.

  Please note that Avery’s writing is not suitable for prudes, slut-shamers, or uptight readers who don’t have a sense of humor about money, sex, or fame. Avery’s books are not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Have fun!

  Swag and reader contests can be found on Avery’s blog at: AveryAster.com

  Interact with Avery while reading The Manhattanites on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags #TheManhattanites #EroticRomance

  The Manhattanites

  by Avery Aster

  “If you enjoy witty erotic romances by such authors as Alice Clayton and Tara Sivec then you’ll most likely devour Avery Aster!”

  —The Kindle Reader

  “Never did I think I could love an author as much as Avery Aster. The Manhattanites are obscenely fabulous.”

  —Book Boyfriend

  “The most original series I've ever read. The Manhattanites is expertly crafted like diving into a soap opera.”

  —Miss Construed

  “A throwback to Judith Krantz, Avery’s writing is salacious glitz, drama and glamour.”

  —Talk Supe

  “I took a cold shower after reading Unscrupulous.”

  —Books Are Love

  “Avery's voice is fresh and witty. Something not found in the market.”

  —Same Book, Different Review

  “Plotted like Jackie Collins, the bitches are super-bitches but underneath their tough exterior is a good heart.”

  —I Love Romantic Fiction

  “Sex and the City on steroids but younger and sexier, Avery Aster equates to fun erotic romance.”

  —Ever After Romance

  “The Manhattanites live an extravagant lifestyle. I want to be a part of it.”

  —Blissful Books

  “The shock value is high and hot flash-inducing. Trust me, I've suffered a few.”

  —Ripe For Reader

  To Shari! Often I get asked where the inspiration for my gorgeous, jet-setting, tall, busty, independent, outspoken, fast car driving, lip-gloss loving, martini drinking, marathon running, hilariously cray-cray, alpha-female heroines come from. My reply: my dear friend Shari. Thank you for teaching me how to dream big, live life large, and travel the world in first class.

  Love, Avery

  Unique

  Copyright 2016 Avery Aster

  Cover Design by Croco Designs

  Formatted by Mark's Ebook Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  New York, New York 10021

  First edition: August 2015

  www.AveryAster.com

  Author's Note

  Part One: I Love Kiki Izatt

  Prologue: Perverted Fucktards

  Chapter One: The Twin Screw

  Chapter Two: Girl Crush

  Chapter Three: A Cold-Hearted Arse

  Chapter Four: BJs Are Better Than Whippets

  Chapter Five: Fuck Vanilla

  Chapter Six: Vajazzled Vajayjay Tastes Like Cherry Soda

  Chapter Seven: Dick Heaven

  Chapter Eight: Iced Sherbet Diamond Stolen

  Chapter Nine: Nice ‘n’ Nasty

  Chapter Ten: Air Rage

  Chapter Eleven: No Family To Call His Own

  Part Two: Double The Trouble

  Chapter Twelve: Kiki’s Corset

  Chapter Thirteen: Mistaken Identity

  Chapter Fourteen: Left Nearly At The Altar

  Chapter Fifteen: Flawless Fuckery

  Chapter Sixteen: Shots Fired

  Chapter Seventeen: Everything Comes Full Circle

  Chapter Eighteen: Last Rights

  Chapter Nineteen: Too Late Now

  Chapter Twenty: Double Penetration

  Epilogue: Brother Husbands

  About Avery Aster

  Connect With Avery

  Also By Avery Aster

  Bonus Novel - Unscrupulous

  Hello, Gorgeous Reader,

  While all of The Manhattanites novels may be read as stand-alone and have an HEA for every couple, there is a returning cast of characters, such as Taddy Brill. When I wrote her virgin assistant from Utah in Unscrupulous, I shit you not, I received a gazillion emails.

  Readers adored Kiki’s innocence. She brought sweetness against the ruthless divas strutting Park Avenue. Similar to many young women, who leave their hometown in pursuit of self-discovery, Kiki yearns to make her mark on the world. Indeed relatable, I had no effin’ clue how Kiki’s innocence fit into this erotic soap opera. Did you? Yet, her voice kept begging to be told, saying, “Pop my cherry, Avery Aster.”

  My creative juices jonesed for a smut-tastic novel for Kiki with her current boyfriend Dejon and his hawt twin brother Dash. A ménage! While plotting this story, I’d become fascinated by Europe’s elite jewelry thieves, The Pink Panthers, known for the $105 million diamond heist in Paris at Harry Winston. Thus…Kiki’s drama began.

  Just as you found Kiki in Unscrupulous, she’s at the center of another scandal, causing her to question herself and everyone around her, all in the name of love. And if you haven’t read the first novel in the series, don’t fret. For a very limited time, I’ve included it for FREE, right after Unique. After re
ading her story, be sure to add Uncensored, Vive’s romance, to your reading list. Miss Farnworth, the liquor heiress, is drying out at a tomato farm in The Hamptons.

  Feels Like Forever,

  Avery

  [email protected]

  I Love Kiki Izatt

  “We sure didn’t have ‘Keep Sweet’ girls like her back home in London. I’d met Kiki Izatt online and knew in a second, she was unique. Capturing my interest with her butterscotch-blonde hair and electric blue eyes, I lost count of the number of times I…uhhh…got off staring at the tasty photos she’d sent me.

  “Totally fetch!

  “As she began to tell me more about herself, my suspicions grew. Perhaps this girl had been a prank, set up by my wanker of a brother, Dash. Who’d ever heard of a twenty-something, virgin Manhattanite, looking as beautiful as she did, who didn’t drink or party? Not me!

  “Blimey. After we’d met and spent that weekend together at the Cannes Film Festival, the one where she’d refused to even let me see her in her knickers…I had to be with her. Two years later, I got up enough courage (and her father’s blessing) and asked her to marry me. Kiki said YES! I love you, babe.” —Dejon Turay, globetrotting disc jockey to the stars.

  Perverted Fucktards

  Held Hostage Somewhere Stinky

  Kiki

  Present Day

  Oh, my gosh. I died. I must have.

  Dang that Style Gala. Who knew that job promotion was gonna be the death of me? This has to be Heaven. It sure don’t smell like a jar of Marshmallow Fluff as I’d imagined. It reeks in here. God doesn’t send virgins to Hell. Does he? Wait. I used to be a virgin. Yup. Up to a few days ago.

  Well, God, if you’re tapping my thoughts, you cannot punish me by counting a quickie, cunnilingus, and a blow job as full-blown premarital sex—can you? And I only did it once.

  Kiki tried to open her eyes. Wait. They were taped shut. A momentary flush of panic caught up with her brain. She attempted to call out for help. Hardly able to move her tongue, something tasting cottony stuffed her mouth.

  What the…?

  She went to yank out whatever was wedged between her teeth and peel the tape off her eyes, but her arms, they wouldn’t budge. No! They were tied behind her back. This isn’t real. Wake up. Her ankles felt fastened to the legs of whatever she sat on.

  Awake. Kiki wasn’t dreaming. A horrific realization rocketed through every fiber of her body. She’d worked the jewelry industry’s most prestigious event, The Style Gala in Manhattan, and gotten herself abducted. Rich, black fear greeted her consciousness. As she tried to take it all in, a freakish sound stole her attention, just as someone had taken her freedom.

  The metal humming sound of something being cut came from a nearby room.

  Uh-oh. She’d heard that dreaded noise before, when Kiki’s older sisters had made her watch her first and last horror flick, Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

  Growing up conservative, her mother, Hannahette, hadn’t allowed them to see anything other than G-rated movies. At that moment, she knew why. I am not sticking around to see if that’s Leatherface making this racket.

  Pressing her heels to the floor, she pushed up with her legs to hop in whatever she was attached to. Perhaps a wooden chair—that’s what it felt like under her butt.

  It squeaked and then slid an inch or so.

  Unfamiliar with wearing platform stilettos, she had barely been able to walk in them earlier that night from the limo to the party, let alone leap in them. Mad at herself for taking them from the Easton Essentials showroom, she’d only worn them at the request of her client, Lex Easton. Her job at Brill, Inc. was to get glam, although that day, the close-to-six-inch heel might’ve cost Kiki her life.

  “Gurl, dig those Easton pumps into the linoleum. Keep it movin’.” In her head, she heard her roommate, co-worker, and best friend, Duckie Capri, telling her what to do. “Kick it up. Go!” Exactly what Duckie would’ve said if he’d been beside her right then.

  Breasts bouncing, she scooted but came to an abrupt stop from the pain. Why did her head hurt so badly? I fell when the bullet hit me. A man in a mask…picked me up…after he shot me. Throbbing jolts of fire tore through her left shoulder, making her whimper. That’s where she’d been struck. Her entire body ached.

  “She’s awake,” someone behind her shouted.

  The sawing halted.

  Startled, Kiki straightened. She’d heard that voice before. A man, one she knew, but who?

  He shushed her.

  A hot, fed-up tear ran down her left cheek. Another streaked her right.

  “Don’t cry.” He removed her hoop earrings. Rubbing her lobes, he told her not to get upset.

  Sounds of running water, maybe from a faucet, not too far in front of her, reached her. It distracted her from figuring out who this was, and onto who else was in the room.

  More apprehension waved through her. There must’ve been two people with her. Then the water seemed to quit. She tried to listen for others, but didn’t detect any.

  “Here,” the second guy ordered. “Wash her.” A splash of something sprinkled her arms. Had he sat a bucket on the floor next to her?

  A squeak, similar to what her chair had made moments before, came toward her. Sitting, the first guy caressed her face. “You’re all right.” Wet hands came up, dripping soapy-scented droplets on her face and neck.

  The water ran down her blouse, past her navel, through her skirt, and then stopped between her legs.

  Normally the sensation would’ve tickled. At that moment, it was nothing shy of utter torture. A small puddle collected at her cunt.

  Kiki trembled.

  He wiped her face, hard, maybe removing dirt. What felt to be his lips pressed against her forehead, kissing her. An exhale of his breath intimately warmed her face. Kiki swore she could hear his heart beating louder than her own. Then he mumbled to himself.

  She couldn’t make out what he said, but this kidnapped, tied-up, saw-cutting, hand-bathing thing wasn’t good.

  Horrible thoughts raced through her mind, flashing images of what might happen next. I’m gonna be sick. Acid came up from her insides, hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed—as best she could—and pushed her disgust back down.

  No one she knew or loved would do this to her. Would they? Kiki didn’t have any enemies. She barely had any friends. Almost everyone had been with her at the Style Gala mingling. Then suddenly, the screams had started when the guns had gone off.

  His unwelcomed hands, smoothly, effortlessly, unbuttoned her blouse.

  Thick as a foot of snow, the room’s cold air came over her nakedness. Her nipples distended.

  Screw this. She sunk the soles of her feet into her stilettos and rocked herself, back and forth, hard and fast, in the chair. Go away. Kiki didn’t want him to touch her. I saved myself for my wedding night.

  “Don’t—” With force, he held down her seat just as it was about to tip over.

  Catching her breath, she inhaled through her nose, taking in a familiar citrus scent. The guy didn’t stink like this room. How could a guy who smelled so good be so bad? Please, take the tape off my eyes. Let me see you. Heat stole into her cheeks. Kiki rolled her shoulders back against the chair, realizing she was going nowhere fast.

  There was a tug at her waist.

  No!

  He unzipped the back of her skirt.

  Stop!

  The man lifted her butt up. Shanking the tweed fabric over her legs, it rested at whatever was used to tie her ankles together.

  Something moist—it felt to be a sponge—cleansed her neck and décolletage. Washing never seemed so dirty. He removed the necklace Dejon’s—her ex-fiancé—mother had given her at her bridal shower. She brought her chin up, hoping he’d stop there and leave her be. Let me have my pride.

  He didn’t.

  Humiliation engulfed her.

  The sponge came down over each mound of flesh. Her nipples pebbled. Aroused? No. More like tota
lly outraged!

  Tight, she clenched her entire body. Tighter, trying not to feel anything, nothing! Tightest, about to snap, and she would if he touched her there.

  The sponge dipped under each fold of her breast and then wiped her arms, repeating the movement before moving on. Rewetting the sponge, he cleaned her shoulder, tracing the flesh around the wound. It was as if he knew the unbearable suffering about to come.

  Biting down on the gag to take the pain, she braced herself. And yelled—in her mind—as he dug at the hole in her skin. Had there been a bullet lodged in her shoulder? Did they take it out while she’d been unconscious?

  “Block it! Escape. Think about your family.” That’s what Duckie would tell her to do. It was the only thing she could do.

  Her ex-fiancé came to mind. I’m still in love with you, Dejon. I don’t know why you broke off our engagement. I’ll always be your girl. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.

  Her family in Utah, had they heard about the shooting in Manhattan? Kiki’s mom had warned she’d get herself shot if she moved to New York. Why was Hannahette always right?

  Duckie, was he going out of his mind—well, more so than usual—without her?

  Her mentor, Taddy, was she blaming herself? Knowing Taddy, she probably had the NYPD, CIA, FBI, NSA, and her own group of bodyguards hunting these two bozos down.

  Didn’t they know that no one messed with Miss Taddy Brill? The lady practically owned the town, not to mention her boyfriend, Warner Truman, was one of the richest men in the world. Warner would give Taddy any resources she needed to help find Kiki.

  Wait, Warner had been shot, too. Warner had gone down, though not without a fight. Was he…dead?

  Thinking back to the Style Gala, Kiki realized how she’d ended up in her predicament. She’d taken the second bullet intended for Taddy. Warner had taken the first when he’d jumped in front of them. Someone had tried to kill her boss. But why? I’d do it again, Miss Brill. I’d do anything for you, always.

  “Beautiful.” That voice complimented her a few times.