Only for You
Lick, #3
By Naima Simone
Genre: Erotic Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing
Release Date:
December 12, 2016
She wants his
forgiveness. He just wants her body...
It’s been five
years since I’ve seen her.
Five years since
Gabriella James damn near destroyed me with her betrayal, sending me to hell in
a cage.
I’ve crawled
free, escaped the mob, opened a night club, and continue to battle my demons
through underground fighting and sex. But now Gabriella’s back, begging for
absolution, wanting my forgiveness. All I want is what she’s denied me for all
these years—her body.
Sex. That’s all
we’ll ever have.
Because
Gabriella is still keeping secrets. I see it in her eyes.
I don’t trust
her, and I’ll never forgive her betrayal.
But that won’t
stop me from taking her.
Over…and
over…and over…
“What is this?” Gabriella waved a hand toward the room, smothering the swell of jealousy surging inside her like Old Faithful. It appeared to be some kind of private room, probably for the VIPs and celebrities when the upstairs booths weren’t…secluded…enough. Too easily, she could imagine Killian’s big body covering another woman on that over-size couch. The taut muscles of his back and ass flexing as he pressed against her, drove his cock into her. Without any effort at all, she could envision him sprawled in one of those chairs, his hands buried in the hair of the woman kneeling before him, guiding her mouth up and down his dick. Once upon a time, that faceless woman would’ve been her—had been her. “You have a playroom in your nightclub? That walks the tenuous line between hot spot and stripper joint.”
“VIP room,” he corrected from behind her. Paused. “The playrooms are
upstairs.”
She should hate him for admitting they did have them. And if he hadn’t
delivered the explanation in that low, deep, coarse voice, she might have
dwelled on that resentment. But God, the texture of it—gritty, like a road that
had been churned up for repair and had just barely been smoothed over—slid over
her skin in an almost rough caress. Yet, something was…off…
“Did something happen to your voice?” she asked. Although years had
passed since the last time she’d seen his stunning face, inhaled his rich, dark
scent, or stroked his hard, sculpted body, she hadn’t forgotten one thing about
him. Not the scar that bisected his eyebrow or the mole on his left hip bone,
and certainly not his voice. Before it’d been just as deep, as shiver-inducing,
as smooth as bourbon—just not so…serrated.
“Jail happened to my voice,” he murmured in her ear, the undercurrents
of rage swirling in his voice. “Solitary confinement happened to my voice. Any
more questions?”
Jail…solitary confinement. Grief and horror at when he must’ve suffered
bombarded her with relentless fists. Her fault. Guilt was bitter in her mouth.
The accusation radiated from his words; he didn’t need to say it.
“Killian,” she whispered.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, finally circling her and
coming to a halt in front of her several feet away. As if he couldn’t stand
being too close to her.
“In Boston? Or the club?” she hedged. What the hell had she been thinking
coming here? That he would open his arms for her to run into? That he would say
all was forgiven and welcome her home? Had she believed time would cool his
anger? A part of her had. That whimsical, fanciful,
the-glass-shoe-is-a-perfect-fit side that time and the pain of loss hadn’t
completely beaten into submission yet.
“Either. Both.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze slowly
roaming over her. Flames licked everywhere his scrutiny touched. Her mouth,
shoulders, breasts, hips, legs. She couldn’t prevent the spike of arousal that
lit her up like a flare gun.
But staring into his fierce hazel eyes, at the flat line of his mouth,
and the tiny tic of a muscle along his jaw, she called herself ten different
kinds of idiot for even harboring that small hope.
He hated her.
Book One: Only For A Night
Naima Simone’s
love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey and Linda Howard many
years ago. Though her first attempt at writing a romance novel at age 11 never
saw the light of day, her love of romance and writing has endured. Now, she
spends her time creating stories of unique men and women who experience the
dizzying heights of passion and the tender heat of love.
She is wife to
Superman—or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent—and mother to the
most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, domestically-challenged bliss
in the southern United States.
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