Title: Knot My Type Series: All Access #1 Author: Evie Mitchell
Genre: Romantic Comedy Release Date: October 4, 2021
When you say you’re a sexologist, people imagine Marilyn Monroe. They don’t expect a woman who uses a wheelchair. As the host of the All Access podcast, I’m breaking barriers, crushing stigmas, and creating sexual connections that are fulfilling for my fans. I’m like cupid, but with pink hair and fewer diapers.
Only, I’ve hit a snag. A lovely listener wants some advice about accessible rope play and I’m drawing a big fat blank. Which leaves me with no option but to get out there and give it a go.
Which is how I meet Jay Wood—rigger, carpenter, and all-round hottie.
I’d be open to letting him wine and dine me but Jay isn’t my type. He’s not a one-girl kind of guy. Monogamy isn’t even in his vocab, and I’m not a woman who’ll settle for being second choice.
But the closer we get, the more Jay has me tied up in knots.
And it’s making me think, maybe I could compromise and accept a little Wood in my life. Even if it’s only temporary.
Frankie’s funny, intelligent, and ridiculously sexy. This should be a no-brainer. A little fun in the sheets, and a little romp with some ropes—simple.
Only the infuriating woman is asking for more. I’m not that kind of guy. I wouldn’t even know how to be that kind of guy. I’m the definition of easy.
It’ll be fine. We’ll be friends. Just friends.
So, why does my heart feel frayed? And why is it I can’t help but consider taking the ultimate leap of faith—tying myself to Frankie. Permanently.
Jay Capricorn Cove had experienced a renaissance in the last few years, the sleepy town beginning to emerge from its hibernation as people moved in, and businesses finally occupied formerly vacant storefronts. Change came slowly in the Cove, but Books and Beans had fast become a local institution. Inside the small café, warm brick walls were complemented by polished concrete floors, long wood benches, and upcycled tables. Bookshelves stuffed with new and used books were scattered throughout the space, inviting diners to peruse as they waited for their order. I pushed through the door, the bell tinkling cheerfully above my head. “Hey, Jay. Want your regular?” Betsy called from her position behind the counter. Dressed in a casual blouse and mom-jeans, the older woman didn’t look like the kind of person who’d own a hipster joint. And yet, a quick glance around showed a surprising number of tourists enjoying generous meals. “Actually, I’m meeting someone. Got a table for me?” She nodded toward the back of the café indicating a table set between the currently empty fireplace and a pair of wall-to-ceiling bookshelves. “Perfect. Thanks.” I made my way over, calling greetings and stopping for chats with locals. That was the problem with a small town—you knew everyone and everyone knew you. Everyone, it seemed, except Frankie Kenton. I settled at the table, anticipation simmering under my skin as I pulled my cell out, swiping to reread her messages. I still couldn’t figure out why she’d piqued my interest. There was nothing profound in her texts. And yet here I sat, waiting for her to arrive, my pulse unsteady, my body on edge. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Jay?” I looked up, my cock immediately hardening. “Frankie?” Her pink hair and blue eyes reminded me of the cotton candy I used to buy at the annual fair. The colors had me wondering if the taste of her promised to be as sweet on my tongue. She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she came toward me, hand outstretched. “The one and only.” I’d have classified her as spun sugar, light and fluffy and extra sweet—if not for her voice. The richness of it forced me to reassess my initial impression—this woman wasn’t sugar, she was spice in masquerade.
Frankie This can’t be happening. Jay pressed a hot kiss to my mouth, his short beard grazing my cheeks. His tongue stroked the seam of my mouth with sensual ease, my lips parting to grant him entrance. My mind couldn’t comprehend this reality. One second we were talking about dinosaurs, the next Jay’s tongue was in my mouth doing things I didn’t even know a tongue could do. Shock held me rigid, my body tense. Then he made a sound—the noise so raw, so needy, so utterly male, I melted like an ice cream on a summer’s day. What a tongue. What a beard. What a fucking delight. He took advantage of my surprise, claiming my mouth with possessive demand. My traitorous nipples began to tingle, a deep ache building inside me. I leaned into his kiss, my tongue tangling with his, my hands fisting his suit jacket, desperate for more. So much for the friend zone. The fact Jay kept denying our connection was a big fuck off red flag. If this were Annie, Flo, or Mai I’d be advising them to tuck, duck, and roll the fuck out of this situation. So why was I protesting as Jay pulled back? Why did my fingers tangle in his tie? Why did I yank him to me? Why did I moan when our mouths collided? “Frankie.” My name on Jay’s lips snapped me out of it. “Fuck.” I let his tie slip from between my clenched fist. “You can say that again.” My lipstick smudged his mouth and I found I liked the look of it there, liked knowing I’d left my mark on him. My gaze dropped to his lap, pleased to find him as turned on as me. “You’re going to be trouble, Doctor Kenton.” With regret I lifted my gaze, attempting to shove all my emotions into a box. “We shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have done that.” “No,” he agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face, his palm rasping against his short beard. “I’m sorry.” “Why did you?” Our gazes met and held in the dark cabin of the car, a million words and emotions passing unspoken between us, none of which made any sense. “Because I couldn’t stop myself. You’re making me break all my rules, Frankie. And it’s fucking annoying.” Despite myself, pleasure unfurled, warming at his frustrated admission. “We’re still not dating, right?” “Right.” He huffed out a laugh. “You’re the kind of woman who should come with a warning label.” “What? Loves trashy reality TV shows and fails at cooking?” “Makes a man lose his goddamn mind.”
Evie Mitchell is a thirty-something woman who loves dirty books, bad boys, and men who know how to treat their woman right. She lives with her husband, their sausage dog, and an ever-growing collection of book-related mugs.
When she’s not writing, Evie loves curling up in the sun with a good book and a cup of tea. Evie specialises in spunky reads for curious minds.