Secret agent erotica. Hunter’s Honey sci-fi short story finally released!

Interested in a secret agent sci-fi erotica? Get it from my Amazon affiliate link HERE.

When Earth hires an investigator to spy on the Otans, can the operative do her job if all she wants to do is jump in bed with an alien?

Naomi is chosen as a secret agent to infiltrate the Intergalactic Marriage Council to verify exactly why the human women are just so dang happy when they marry an Otan.  She knows she has a job to do, but her boss doesn’t need to know that she plans some extracurricular fun on the mission.

Hunter is hot, playful, and loves to cook — but he also has a secret. How far will he let things go before telling Naomi the truth?

When Naomi meets Hunter, she thinks he’s too good to be true and it must be a trick.  But will she take her pleasure before the truth comes crashing down on them both?

Hunter’s Honey is the 9th explosive book in the Otan Brides series.  Each story is complete on its own and can be read in any order.

Exerpt:

Hunter takes a couple bites of soup before asking his question. “So Naomi, what do you do for a living? Your bio was pretty vague.” 

I have an enormous ball of dough in my mouth, which gives me a moment to chew and mentally freak out. What the hell? Did the agency I work for not give me a complete bio? My mind goes blank. What was I supposed to do for a living? Didn’t my briefing tell me? I was so busy thinking of all my holes I wanted him to stuff, that I got distracted from my real purpose.

I swallow and look down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. “Actually, they fired me right before I left and it’s a bit of a sensitive subject still. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. I sound cagey and weird. I probably ruined my chance of dessert sex.

He relaxes back in his chair. “Sure.”

I peek at him from under my eyelashes and he looks amused at something. Oh shit, does he recognize I’m a fraud? Was this a setup? Wait, maybe he drugged my food, and that’s why I can’t think around him? I’m ten seconds from a panic attack when he stands up and starts clearing the table.  

“I also made dessert. I hope you like pie.” 

Pie? I perk up and my sense of alarm eases. If he’s feeding me dessert, he probably suspects nothing. I’m obviously being paranoid and a horrible secret agent. I should have memorized my personal information on the shuttle flight, but I was too busy making friends and daydreaming about alien sex with the rest of the girls. 

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