Sinful Ella (Seven Ways to Sin #6) Read Online Nicole Casey

Categories Genre: Erotic, Fantasy, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Seven Ways to Sin Series by Nicole Casey

Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Sinful Ella (Seven Ways to Sin #6)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Nicole Casey

Book Information:

The plan was to go on one kickass tour, not fall in love with seven rock stars haunted by a tragic past.
As the lead singer of my band, I’m thrilled when it’s finally time for us to go on tour. But instead of a fun road trip, I’m bombarded with complaints from my two bandmate sisters, who happen to think that nothing I do is good enough.
When we run into trouble and are forced to take a last-minute gig as the opening act for The Prince Charmings, I get cold feet. The venue, The Ball, has a latex dress code. Thankfully, I have a fairy godmother looking out for me who helps me find the perfect outfit.
To my surprise, I enjoy performing at The Ball. As for The Prince Charmings, they are not haughty rock stars, but eager to get to know me. I can’t resist their bad-boy charm and find myself agreeing to spend more time with them.
What starts out as fun and games, soon turns to more. For once, I shush my mind and strip off my good-girl persona as I allow seven mouths and pairs of hands to claim my body.
Caught up in my ecstasy, I forget the time and find myself in a pickle.
Will I figure a way out of my conundrum, turn my tour into a success, and reunite with my Prince Charmings? Or will my dreams come crashing down and my heart be broken?
Books in Series:

Seven Ways to Sin Series by Nicole Casey

Books by Author:

Nicole Casey



Thick, black smoke flooded my lungs, making me sputter and cough. The heat was unbearable, my lungs begged for fresh air, but I couldn’t leave, not yet. Not until I found her.

“Bernadette!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out barely above a whisper. She would never hear me over the crackling of the flames around us.

I could hardly see for the smoke. I tried to open a door—to where, I didn’t know, the smoke had me all turned around—and felt the palms of my hands immediately begin to blister from the heat. I swore and pulled away.

“Bernadette!” I called again, and thought I heard a whimper in response. She was close, she had to be. I spun wildly in circles, squinting against the acrid smoke that made my eyes sting and water. I felt lightheaded; I needed to find her soon, or I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. Maybe she already had. Maybe I was too late. I pushed the thought away before it had a chance to take root and fester. She was fine. I was going to find her. We were going to be okay.

My vision dimmed, and I didn’t think it was from the smoke this time. I shook my head as if to clear it and pushed on, calling for my girlfriend. I was dimly aware of the sound of sirens outside announcing the arrival of emergency responders. Finally. What had taken them so long? We didn’t have much time left.

The smoke had invaded my lungs; I couldn’t call for Bernadette anymore, could barely stay on my feet. My vision was blurry around the edges, my head foggy and unfocused. I was too late. I couldn’t find her, and now we were both going to die. I’m sorry, Bernadette, I said silently. I tried.

Strong arms closed around me, pulled me backward, and I struggled with the last of my flagging strength. “No,” I coughed weakly. “I can’t go yet. I have to find her. I have to find Bernadette.”

“We have to get you out of here, buddy,” a voice I didn’t recognize said. “Come on, easy does it. Good, good. Not far now . . .”

I tried to pull away, but soon realized it was hopeless: I was too weak, the fireman supporting me too strong. Resigned, I allowed him to drag me from the building.

We were barely out of the building when the ceiling collapsed. It took a minute for me to realize that the screaming I heard was my own.

“Grant. Grant!” Gentle hands shook me awake, and I came to slowly. For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was, what day it was. I was shaking, slick with a cold sweat. A nightmare, I realized. It was just a nightmare.

Only it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a memory too. A memory of the night one year previous that I had failed the only woman I had ever loved. A memory I could never escape, not even in sleep.

“Grant!” The voice snapped me back to the present. Saul regarded me with quiet concern. “You were screaming,” he said. “The dream again?”

I nodded, not quite meeting his eye. “I’m fine,” I said, but the slight tremble in my voice belied my words. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, wrinkling my nose a bit at the smell. Laundry day was way overdue, but lately I’d been struggling to perform even simple tasks. Yet another failure to add to the list.

Saul watched me, sympathy evident in his eyes. Saul and I had been best friends since childhood, and could read each other like no one else. There was no hiding my feelings from Saul. “It’s okay not to be okay,” he said quietly. “Especially today. We all understand.”

Today. The anniversary. The vigil. I swore. “What time is it?”

Saul understood what I was really asking immediately. “You have plenty of time to get ready,” he assured me. “The vigil isn’t for another few hours. We all thought you needed the sleep.”

I grimaced. I hated knowing that the band was talking about me, but I understood. For the past year, I had been plagued with insomnia, barely sleeping more than a few hours a night. Sleep, when it came, was precious, even if it was punctuated by nightmares.

Well, not nightmares. Nightmare. The only dream I’d had in the last year. My heart still pounded from the adrenaline that had flooded my body while I slept.

“We’re all here for you,” Saul reminded me. “If you need to talk or anything. We all want to help.”

“You can’t,” I mumbled. “No one can.”

Saul hesitated. I could see that he wanted to say something in response. Instead, his mouth snapped closed and he squeezed my shoulder firmly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “I just—I need to be alone right now.”