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Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Chapter Reveal ♥ The Big O by Nelle L'Amour ♥ #giveaway $10 GC @givemebooksblog and @nellelamour

Title: The Big O
Author: Nelle L'Amour
Genre: Contemporary Romance 
 Release Date: August 4, 2016


From New York Times Bestselling author Nelle L'Amour, a new sizzling STANDALONE that's guaranteed to make your panties melt!

The first time Owen King sets eyes on her, she's in a focus group, biting into a cream-filled donut and having the most orgasmic reaction he’s ever seen. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cries out. He’s instantly obsessed.

Aspiring actress, Olive Cumming, has just lost her waitressing job and can’t pay her rent. But when the CEO of Donut King steps out from behind the one-way mirror and hires the curvy respondent to be his assistant, things are about to change. Big time.

Love at first sight has never been a reality for jaded, overworked Owen. And for sweet overweight Olive, love has never been within her reach. But when fate steps in, the king finds his unexpected princess, not knowing that someone is waiting in the shadows to keep them apart.

WARNING: Be prepared for over-the-top insta-love, a bit of kinky fun, and some yummy food play. This sugar-coated full-length novel is just waiting for you to take a bite.

Chapter 1

The Big O
©Nelle L’Amour 2016
All rights reserved




I studied the spreadsheet on my desk. The numbers for last quarter’s earnings. They sucked. We were operating in the red and facing bankruptcy. If my dick was the line of my P&L chart, it would look like it fell off a cliff. That’s how bad they were. For decades, Donut King had been the number one breakfast stop in the country, but year after year our market share had declined. Numerous locations had shut down. What the hell was wrong with our yummy donuts and coffee? Trust me, they were delicious. Customers loved them. But with little advertising, companies like Starbeans and Coffee Depot had taken over our business. I couldn’t even remember the names of their coffees or breakfast entries, let alone how to pronounce or spell them. A Venti Caramel Macchiato? What the hell was that? And what language were we talking? Had suddenly everyone in America become seasoned sophisticates and taken a Berlitz course? A familiar caustic voice cut into my disturbing thoughts.

“Owen, you’re missing the focus group.”

“Huh?” I looked up from the depressing data and met the steely eyes of our young marketing director, Mallory Clint. While only in her mid twenties, the mousy-haired Harvard MBA looked much older in her navy pinstriped pantsuit and horn-rimmed glasses. The daughter of financier Burton Clint, whose hedge fund was keeping us afloat, she walked around as if she owned me. She thought that her father’s clout entitled her to call me by my first name whereas everyone else in the company addressed me as Mr. King. It pissed me off, but I had to treat her carefully. What made me even more on edge was that I sensed that she wanted more than a professional relationship with me. Trust me, I had no interest in fucking her. She wasn’t for me. And lately, with business in the toilet, fucking anyone was the last thing on my mind. This was the longest dry spell I’d ever endured. I’m talking years.

“Sir, this is very important. It’s giving us consumer insights.”

I appreciated that she for once called me sir. I demanded and deserved respect. I was, in fact, known to millions from TV commercials as the eponymous “Donut King,” a title I inherited from my late father who started the chain. To be truthful, they should have called me “Your Majesty” or “Your Royal Highness” or at least, “My Lord.” But at this point, it was moot. Given our latest sales numbers, I was about to fall off my throne.

I hated research. Fuck this shit. I was the kind of guy who went by my gut instincts. Nothing in my life was fifty shades of gray. Everything was black or white. I want it or I don’t. I like it or I don’t. Even my love life was like that. Or should I say lack of one. I’d never found a woman to love. Someone who I’d fallen head over heels for. Sure I was one of Southern California’s most eligible bachelors with the fortune I’d amassed from my donut empire, but that didn’t help things in the love department. I obviously had very particular taste when it came to women. When the right one came along, I was positive I’d know it.

I followed Miss Know-It-All Clint, who’d convinced me to do the group, to the research facility at the end of the hall and took a seat on the couch next to her upon entering. A platter of donuts and a tin of coffee were spread out on a credenza behind me. I peered through the one-way mirror that spanned the length of the room. The group was already in progress.

Eleven motley women of various ages and ethnicities sat around a table. But one respondent, in particular, immediately captured my attention. Holy fucking shit! She was fucking gorgeous. Big, blond, and beautiful. I swear I felt the temperature in the room rise twenty degrees. And that’s not all that was rising. I loosened my tie. For some reason, she turned her head so she was facing me. I got a better look at her stunning face. Porcelain skin with just a sprinkle of freckles on her rosy cheeks…frosted rosebud lips…and a button nose. I swear I could feel her big chocolate brown eyes burn a hole in me right through the one-way mirror. My skin heated up, the flesh near my groin kindling. Sweat clustered beneath my shirt and my heart palpitated. I was having a hot flash.

I kept my eyes on her as the group moderator explained the “rules” of the group. She wanted the women to talk one at a time and to give their true and honest opinions.

“Who are these women?” I asked Mallory.

“They’re Donut King customers though some of them also frequent Starbeans and other coffee chains.”

“Who’s the blonde?”

“Can’t you read her name tag? Maybe you need glasses.”

I squinted my eyes. Shit. Maybe I did need glasses. But as I did, her name came into focus. Olive.

I said her name aloud in my head. AAAH-love. Her name took my breath away. It was almost orgasmic. I let out a loud sigh.

Clint snickered. “Please be quiet so I can take notes. The moderator is going to show the women the current Donut King commercial.”

Miss Bossy Pants. Sometimes I thought she was either a dyke or a dominatrix or both. She grated on my nerves and she’d done nothing to turn our sales around. In fact, since she joined the company three years ago, sales had eroded further. But because of her father, I was stuck with her.

After dimming the lights, the moderator grabbed the remote and our thirty-second spot began to play on the big screen TV. My eyes stayed on Olive as she swiveled her chair to watch it. Her profile was equally gorgeous and I loved the way her butter-blond hair fell over her shoulders. And holy shit. Those tits. Two gorgeous mounds that could be sweet melons; they strained against the flimsy fabric of her blouse, pulling at the buttons. Her fluttering eyes stayed glued to the TV while she put her hand to her mouth as if she was gasping. The rise and fall of her chest was noticeable. It was like she was having some kind of Pavlovian reaction.

I’d seen this commercial a zillion times and mock-said the lines as a mom and her son stepped into a Donut King shop.

“Mommy, look it’s the Donut King!”

“Welcome to my kingdom!”

Yup, that big burly guy with the shit-eating grin behind the counter was me, wearing my royal robe and a crown. A thick, cartoony beard was pasted on my face. I looked more like the Dork King. I hated this spot. But Mallory and her team felt we should be positioned as a family-oriented brand. My eyes darted back and forth between the commercial and the beautiful blond respondent, whose eyes never left the screen. The mom and the kid each ordered a donut, and as soon as they bit into them, sparkly crowns magically appeared on their heads. I looked into the camera and said…

“Donut King. Share the magic.”

The TV screen went black and the moderator clicked the remote. The lights went back on.

“So ladies,” began the moderator, “what did you think of the commercial?”

She went around the table soliciting responses from each of the women. To my dismay, the reaction was lukewarm at best, eliciting monotone words like: “It was okay…Nothing to write home about…I’ve seen better…Meh.” Every muscle in my body clenched. They fucking hated it. And then she got to my Olive. My gorgeous Olive.

“What about you, Olive? What did you think?”

She took a deep breath, her magnificent tits quivering as she did. “I thought it was amazing.” Her eyes did that fluttering thing again. “I love the Donut King.”

Her very first words. Her voice, despite her size, was like a sparrow’s. So sugary sweet. So full of sincerity and innocence. I thought I was going to jump right through the one-way mirror. No woman had ever said they loved me, let alone with such passion and conviction.

“Could you please elaborate,” responded the group moderator. “Are you talking about the donut shop or the man who plays the part of the Donut King?”

Mallory grunted. “The moderator shouldn’t be focusing on one respondent. I’m going to go in and give her a note to move on.” She rose from the couch.

Grabbing her by the elbow, I yanked her back down. “Sit down and shush up,” I gritted. “I want to hear what Olive says.” Oh man, did I love saying her name. I could say it over and over again. I was all ears as her lush mouth parted.

“Both. I love going to Donut King. I used to stop at one every day on my way to work. They have The. Best. Donuts.”

“You don’t go there any more?” The moderator, like me, was quick to pick up on her use of the past tense.

The dazzling dimpled smile on Olive’s face fell off. “I lost my job about a month ago, so I can’t afford to go there anymore. I can’t even pay my rent.” She paused, her eyes watering. “I may get evicted from my apartment.”

“Honey, that’s too bad,” chimed in one of the women.

“Hope you find a new job,” said another.

The rest concurred, a testament to the sisterhood of women.

“Thanks,” muttered Olive, quirking a small smile. Hot damn, she was cute. And I felt bad about her job loss.

The moderator brought the discussion back on topic. “So ladies, what do you think of the actor who plays the Donut King?”

I hated to think about myself as an actor. I was a salesman. A pitch person. So good I could sell ice to an Eskimo. So I thought. The fact that sales were down—way down—made me question my abilities.

The woman who was sitting closest to the moderator chimed in again. “My five-year-old is frightened by him.”

“Same here,” commented another. “He looks like a fairy-tale villain who gobbles up children.”

Yet another: “He’s more like a bad cartoon character with that stupid beard.”

The rest of the group laughed except my Olive whose mouth fell open in a big O. And then her face hardened, her eyes narrowing with fury.

“How could you say those things? I totally disagree. He’s beautiful. I mean, just look at those dreamy blue eyes. Those gorgeous big hands. His dazzling smile and that deep, sexy voice. I love everything about him. I’d be his princess any day.”

I was melting like milk chocolate. She was attracted to me. Insanely attracted to me. I couldn’t believe my ears. She saw in me what none of these judgmental women did. If only she could see me now in my custom-made Italian suit, perfectly groomed, and all buff. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I thought it would leap out and crash right through the one-way mirror. I wanted Olive to be my princess. I wanted to rule her body, her heart, and her soul. No woman had ever had such an affect on me. Not ever.

A heated argument broke out among the women, but my Olive, God bless her, held her own.

“I can’t believe you don’t see what I see in him,” she said convincingly, fending off the naysayers.

Truthfully, I wanted no woman to see what she saw. I could afford no obstacles. I wanted her to be mine. And mine alone. I was thankful when the group moderator intervened.

“Okay, ladies, let’s calm down. We’re going to move on to the fun part of our session. The taste test.”

While Olive’s eyes lit up, the reaction of the other respondents was lackluster. I watched as the moderator rose from her chair and retrieved a large box of donuts from the credenza behind her. She set it in the middle of the table.

“Okay, ladies, dig in.”

Not one woman moved.

“What’s going on?” I asked Clint.

“I don’t know.” Edginess peppered her voice.

“I thought these women were supposed to be donut lovers,” I grumbled.

“I thought so too.”

“Where the hell did you find them?”

“The recruiter ran an ad on Craigslist. I guess they lied.”

“Jesus.” Anything to make a buck. Each of these respondents was being paid one hundred dollars to be here and share their opinions. What good were they if they didn’t eat donuts? Adding in the cost of the recruiter and the report, my calculation for this qualitative research, as Clint referred to it, came close to ten thousand dollars out of my pocket. My blood curdled. I was so simmering mad I could see smoke coming out of my nostrils.

“Goddamn it, Mallory. This is a total waste of time and money.”

“No, this is very valuable. Obviously, the donut business is dead. My father should have never invested in your company.”

I was now breathing fire like an angry dragon. “It’s not dead. Everyone loves donuts. We’re just doing something wrong.”

And then as I was about to send her in to end the group, a sweet voice filtered into the observation room. My Olive!

“Would someone please pass me the box of donuts?”

“Be my guest,” said the woman closest to them, handing it down the line of respondents as if it were filled with dog shit. My gaze stayed focused on Olive as the box landed in front of her. She lifted the lid and peeked in. Her eyes sparkled and her lush mouth watered.

“Wow! These look so good! I haven’t had one in ages.” She studied the donuts. “Eenie meenie miney moe…”

I held my breath while my cock twitched.

“I’m going to help myself to my favorite…a cream-filled one.”

Oh yes, my favorite too. It had always been our top seller.

Like in a slo-mo scene ripped out of a movie, she reached into the box and put the donut to her lips. Her eyes closed as she slowly wrapped her mouth around the circle of dough. And then she did it. Bit into it, ripping off a large chunk with her teeth. My cock boinged as the creamy filling seeped out. Holy shit! It was like the donut was having its own epic orgasm. “Mmmm.” A soft moan drifted into the room. I felt like I was going to cream my pants

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she screamed out, arching her back and squeezing her eyes shut as she savored the biteful.

A look of ecstasy swept over her face. Every eye in the room stayed on her as she swallowed and cried out “Oh God” before going for another bite.

“I want whatever she’s having,” shouted one of the respondents.

“Me too!” echoed another woman. And then another and another. “Someone pass the box.”

While Olive finished consuming her donut, the box got passed around, and within seconds, moans and groans filled the room. It was like an orgasmic choir led by my beautiful Olive. Even the group moderator joined the chorus and I could hear her moan.

As I watched my Olive lick a little of the cream off her upper lip, I was having my own mental orgasm. My ready-to-burst cock strained against my pants. My know-it-all marketing director was wrong; she’d jumped the gun. There was nothing wrong with our donuts. Fucking nothing. Olive’s “ohs” whirled around in my head. Ideas were spinning too.

An infuriated Mallory broke into my delicious thoughts. “This is ridiculous. It’s like an orgy in there. I am going to put an end to this group.”

“Be my guest.” I had all the research—and answers—I needed. A satisfied smile stretched across my face. Orgy coincidentally began with a big “O” too.

“These women shouldn’t even be compensated,” Mallory hissed. “Especially that big fat ball of trouble.”

Rage pulsed through me; I wanted to smack her.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I growled. But then a bright idea hit me. “Actually, Clint, I don’t want her compensated. Please have her stay behind and bring her to my office. I will handle her personally.”

Mallory smirked as she headed out of the observation room. “You should give her what she deserves for disrupting the group.”

That’s exactly what I had in mind. And a lot more.

“And Clint, one more thing. Please fire our advertising agency and hire the hottest one in town to do a new campaign. I want a meeting set for this afternoon.”

Mallory fired me a puzzled what-the-fuck look. Before she could utter a word, I shut her up. “Do it.”

As a miffed Mallory disappeared, my eyes drifted back to my beautiful Olive.

She had single-handedly put the O back in our donuts. I broke into another big smile. Donut King was going to re-conquer the world. And I was going to conquer her.

Author Bio

Nelle L’Amour is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin teenage princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment industry with a prestigious Humanatis Prize for promoting human dignity and freedom to her credit, she gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but still enjoys playing with toys…with her husband. While she writes in her PJ’s, she loves to get dressed up and pretend she’s Hollywood royalty. She aspires to write steamy stories with characters that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon and stay in your heart forever.

Her bestselling series include Unforgettable, THAT MAN, Gloria’s Secret, Seduced by the Park Avenue Millionaire and critically acclaimed Undying Love. Writing under another pen name, she is also the author of the bestselling fantasy romance series, Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen.

To learn about her new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up for her newsletter and follow her on social media. Nelle loves to hear from her readers.

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