Explore Men of the Hamptons Series Seven E-Book Bundle

The sensual Explore Men of the Hamptons steamy romance series continues the war among the Black families in the Hamptons where Sag Harbor Black Romances left off. Get the two novellas and five full-length novels in this seven-book saga, and enjoy your fill of love, riches, and epic rivalries.

• Click the "Synopsis" link for the reading order and brief descriptions of each book.
• Emailed to you as individual books from Bookfunnel. 
• If you want the entire series of all twelve Hamptons books, that link is here.
• If you only want to start with the Sag Harbor Romances, that link is here.

Excerpt from Book One:

Somewhere, a door closes. There is no one left in the entertainment room. But us.

“Chenera, put your clothes back on,” Kevin tells me. He’s backed away and stands a few feet from me now. He licks his lips—not in a sexy way, but impatient—like he’s dealing with a child. Leaning down his long, lanky body, he picks up my shirt and shorts, and tosses them on the bar.

I don’t know what it is about this Negro that makes me want to defy him—probably my knowing he’s an a--hole is what triggers my inner a--hole.

“Are you fronting like you care about somebody besides yourself?” I taunt him.

I remember when Maddy would get all flustered. She was into this dude so hard.

“Not fronting. Unfortunately, I care.” He peeks at his phone and waits, as if I’m another one of his minions who’ll automatically jump at his command.

“I don’t think I will.” In another attempt, I hop up, my clothes still on the bar.

Before I can get away, his arm shoots out again, and crosses over me, steering me backward. “You know damn well I’m not letting you leave here drunk senseless. Put your clothes back on, just so no cameras catch you looking like this. And so security’s not uncomfortable escorting you back to your cabin.”

“So you are c_ck-blocking,” I mutter to him. I might be slurring now.

He smells like fresh linen and ocean water. Under the track lights, he hovers over me while I lean on the bar. In his hunter-green eyes are flecks the color of tree bark, like a deep forest I’m wading into. The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, not because of their color, but their intensity. Serious and penetrating, they sink into me as if they know things about me that I don’t.

With the alcohol now fully in control of my reflexes, I reach up and touch one of his storied natural curls Illy and my other girlfriends used to gush about. It is indeed thick and wavy. He doesn’t say a word. He must be used to it.

And I may as well be honest. I now wonder if other parts of him are everything we fantasized about as prepubescent girls.

In a sudden gush, a large flood of liquid pummels my face!

Splashes my eyes!

Sprays into my mouth and forces my hands up and over my head while I scream and twitch. Finally, it stops. I lower my hands to peek. This fool sprayed me with a soda dispenser hose!

“Clothes, Cher.”

The nerve of this _sshole!

“You are not my daddy!” Forget him! I try to kick him.

Kevin slaps my leg away and closes in. He’s back to spraying me again. Now I’m flailing and swinging but I can’t see. He only stops spraying once I calm down.

“And trust, you are none of my kid, or I would have whooped your _ss already.”

Now we’re face to face. So I’ll go ahead and take advantage of an opportunity I may never get again.

I palm him. He is enlarged. I’m curious. And I won’t lie. His girth leaves me more intrigued. “Well, well. Little Lion’s not so little after all.”

A tiny hint of a smile cracks his lips, but it immediately disappears.

His eyes unwavering, he grabs the clothes and drags them over. “Put‘ em on.”

“Since you want to be my daddy, put it on me,” I challenge.

His eyes never leaving mine, he leans in. Oh, damn. I wasn’t expecting him to actually entertain me. Those smooth lips are sensual, purposeful, full but not super thick. Now he’s close enough I can feel his breath on my wet, sticky neck. His forest eyes are so beautiful. I can see why he always got away with so much.

“I know how you were raised, Cher,” he murmurs in my ear. “You’re better than this.”

I roll my eyes, and beat back the geyser of tears that now threaten to soak my good time. Not all the expectations again. “Don’t remind me.”

Another voice of reason is the last thing I need. Instead of shriveling into an emotional ball, I embrace the only time I’ll ever be this close to Kevin F. Middleton. Still at the bar, I close on him until our lips brush one another. This hard “enforcer” vibe he’s pushing does make me long for him to teach me a lesson. Like he’s my daddy.

The pipe sitting between us isn’t part of the fixtures.

It’s scraping my thighs, while he clenches the paneling on either side of me. Lean, solid forearms and biceps cage me in.

“Are you putting your clothes back on or not, Chenera?”

His olive-and-caramel-candy eyes await my answer. Kevin tilts his head, and those smooth lips hover near mine. I close my eyes. A big part of me that’s always hated and envied his swagger knows his pipe won’t be a snooze.

“Not,” I murmur, eyes still closed for this kiss.

I wait.

And keep waiting.

Finally, I open my eyes. Now I’m alone.

But next to me lays Kevin’s phone.

To my utter horror, it’s on.

Now I see why he was using it.

The screen displays an active call, with a phone number that I recognize. The name up top: Randolph Germany.

I damn near fall off the bar.

“Chenera G_td_mn Germany!” he rails from the other end.

“Daddy!”