Meet Dirty Dom in this fantastic stand-alone!
AVAILABLE NOW!
Blurb
I’d like to tell you that I’m ok.
That the meaningless sex with countless
women has somehow numbed the pain. That it’s deciphered the constant confusion
in my head. Eased the self-hatred that sinks into my gut every time I look in
the mirror.
I’d like to tell you that time heals all
wounds.
That we evolve and grow into
well-adjusted, stable adults, set on a path to right the world’s wrongs. That
we are not our past…we are not our pain.
I want to tell you all those things.
Hell, I want to believe all those
things. But I’d be lying. I’m good at that. Living a lie is the only way I
truly know how to survive.
But the day I saw her, I stopped
surviving. I stopped existing. And for the first time in 24 years, I started living.
She brought me back to life. Set me free
and sent my soul soaring. Made this useless shell of a man feel like…something. Something whole and real and
good.
She saved
me.
Although she believes I wasn’t even worth
saving.
This
story chronicles the journey of Dominic Trevino, a character from Fear of Falling. However, it can be read
as a standalone.
Excerpt
#1
I approached
her slowly, letting my eyes take in her soft, feminine curves. That’s what I
loved the most about women—their softness, their delicateness. It made them
appear breakable, just like me. And it made me appreciate that vulnerability,
in hopes that someone could—and would—one day, appreciate mine.
That’s why
even though I never offered more than a few hours of toe-curling pleasure, I
assured each second was spent tending to their sexual desires and making them
feel treasured. Just because I was a whore, it didn’t make me callous or
uncaring. If anything, it made me more aware of my humanity.
I pushed it
all away, trading my own hang-ups and idiosyncrasies for the mental numbness
that sex could provide and did what I do best: Fuck. I was good at this
part—touching, kissing, licking. And when we were both ready—too ravenous with
desire to consider my aversions—I drove into her slowly, all the way to the
hilt. Until her body completely covered mine and soothed the ache of loneliness
with wet warmth. This was the feeling I had been chasing since I was just a
child, barely a man. That sweet oblivion that only mindless sex could provide.
I was made whole by emptying myself into another, and for the barest of
moments, I became separate from my pain and anger. I became the type of man
that could look himself in the mirror and not see the horror of his past
standing behind him, its razor sharp claws cutting into the skin of his
shoulders while it smiled in that sinister way that still made my skin crawl.
I had seen
that malevolence in my dreams every day since as long as I could remember.
Sometimes it was in the form of a smile, a laugh. Sometimes it wore the face of
ecstasy and passion. But it was always terrifying.
I lay in
bed, staring up at the ceiling long after Alyssa had passed out in blissful
exhaustion. She came twice, once by my tongue, the other with her ankles on my
shoulders. She was a screamer, and I kept wondering if Angel would bust in
here, wondering if I was fucking or killing the girl. Then, if Alyssa was up
for it, she’d join, like she had just this past weekend with Cherri. It wasn’t
that we wanted each other in that way—oh hell no. We were just better…together.
It made it even easier to get out of our heads and lost in the movement of our
bodies.
It was
co-dependent like a motherfucker. And unhealthy. And unconventional. But it was
all we knew.
Excerpt #2
Velvet sucked me until I was on the brink
of release and for a quick moment, I thought about just getting it over with.
But I needed more. I needed that physical connection. I yearned for her touch,
her kiss, her smell. It reminded me that I was not like him. I was not what he
had hoped I would be. It stated that just because I had been violated, that
didn’t make me…it didn’t make different. It didn’t make me gay. I didn’t want that. I wanted this.
Spreading those shapely, toned thighs and
filling her up until I pulsed in her womb validated me. Every stroke was a
confirmation, and the deeper I went, the more whole I felt. But the moment it
was over, the moment I pulled out of her, my latex-sheathed cock wet with her
gratification, the doubt began to claw its way back in. Telling me that I was
dirty—stained. Used. Useless.
She smiled lazily at me, the dark kohl
outlining her eyes smudged along the apple of her cheek. I brushed it tenderly
with the pad of my thumb and told her she was beautiful.
“Oh, Dom. You’re such a sweet gent. Too
bloody sweet for this shit,” she giggled, looking soft and girlish. I liked her
better that way, untarnished by the hardness of life.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Good guys like you shouldn’t
be fucking strippers in the middle of the day. I mean, I’m not complaining—I
can still feel you inside me, for
crying out loud—but, I don’t know. You deserve better.”
I winced at her words, and how much I
longed for them to be true. She was just feeding me more lies, and I was
ingesting them like candy.
Except this one. This one I knew would
never be true. Even if it was the one I wished for the most.
“Nah, I don’t. They
don’t call me Dirty for nothing.”
Fear of Falling (A Fearless Novel)
ON SALE FOR $0.99
About the Author:
S.L. Jennings is a New York Times &
USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance, reality TV
junkie, obsessive coffee drinker and collector of crazy.
Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter |Goodreads
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