Naughty Wishes Part I: Body
by Joey W. Hill

In Naughty Wishes Part I, the fearlessly sensual author of Naughty Bits—and “one hell of a writer”*—now draws readers into the desires of one woman, and the two men who make her every fantasy come true.

Samantha and her roommates Geoff and Chris have always shared an innocent and casual intimacy, but for Sam it has cloaked a deeper desire that remains tantalizingly out of reach. The two men have been best friends since childhood, and that friendship keeps them frustratingly hands-off toward her and each other. She wants to respect their code of honor, but Sam craves something more primitive, and she knows they feel the same way. Maybe there’s a way to bring it out in both of them—one man at a time.

When Chris goes out of town for the week with his landscaping company, it’s time for her to initiate her adventurous goal. Her plan is to go toe-to-toe with Geoff, the alpha of their trio, and tease to life that Dominant side of him she’s waited so long for him to express. And Geoff is more than willing to claim her. But things don’t go exactly as planned. They’re even better.

Includes a teaser for Naughty Wishes II: Heart

Joey W. Hill's Bio

I've always had an aversion to reading, watching or hearing interviews of favorite actors, authors, musicians, etc. because so often the real person doesn't measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics or religion are distasteful, or they're shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mop-head without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft or art, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, whenever I'm asked to provide personal information about myself for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: "Okay, the next couple of paragraphs can change forever the way someone views my stories." Why on earth does a reader want to know about me? It's the story that's important.

So here it is. I've been given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I'm a Type A, borderline obsessive-compulsive paranoiac who worries I will never live up to expectations. I've got more phobias than anyone (including myself) has patience to read about. I can't stand talking on the phone, I dread social commitments, and the idea of living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books and writing is as close an idea to paradise as I can imagine. I love chocolate, but with that deeply ingrained, irrational female belief that weight equals worth, I manage to keep it down to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I'm told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never ending "to do" list to snatch a few minutes to write.

Despite all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I manage to find enough time to write, sufficient enough that the precious "stillness" required rises up and calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they're feeling, and put it down on paper. It's a magic beyond description, akin to truly believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an animal who has known only fear or apathy, making a true connection with someone, or knowing for certain I've given a reader a moment of magic through those written words. It's a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.

If only I could finish that darned "to do" list.

I welcome feedback from readers—actually, I thrive on it like a vampire, whether it's good or bad. So feel free to visit me through my website.