Pretty
Reckless
By Jane
Anthony
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 22, 2017
Special
Price: $0.99
Addiction: the
fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or
activity.
Love: feel a
deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone)
Amazing how two
words with vastly different definitions can have the same adverse effect on the
spirit. I may be an addict, but I’m no longer foolhardy enough to be addicted
to one man. No, this girl finds her comfort in thirst quenching liquid -- it
dulls the pain caused by tainted love.
True love may
exist, but not for me.
Reckless:
without thinking or caring about the consequences of an action.
The guy I used
to be is a distant memory. I left him in the past, vowing never to be that man
again. But never say never, right? This time, I became him out of need. Need
for her. She only let me in assuming I enjoyed being on the outside, at arm’s
length. But the more I fight the desire brewing in my veins, the harder she is
to resist.
Wrong for each
other, but carved from the same stone.
He is my rock.
She is my air.
But rocks
shatter, and if you get high enough, air becomes unbreathable.
No matter how
good it might seem, getting wrapped up in each other is pretty reckless...
Without
looking up, she lifts her feet, allows me to sit, and then places them over my
lap. I watch her scan the small screen, the lighted background shining against
her dark brown irises. Every few seconds, she swipes to the left. “What are you
doing?”
“Just
messing around online.”
I lean
in just in time to see her swipe again. “Are you on a dating site?” The
contempt in my voice is hard to hide. Kat and I have spent every moment
together, pretty much, since the day we met. The idea that she’ll eventually
end up dating someone never crossed my mind.
“It’s
just Tinder.”
“You
really feel like you’re ready to start dating again?” Panic sits on my heart,
stabbing at the meshy membrane with a dull fork. The thought of her even
looking at another man makes me wants to go on a jealous rampage. She’s been
living in my house for the past five weeks, crawling into my bed when she can’t
fall asleep. Kat’s mine. Whether she knows it or not.
“Dating?”
She pulls her hair down, and all of mine stand up. The faintest hint of juicy,
ripened fruit wafts into my nostrils. Why couldn’t she smell like powder or
flowers? Anything other than apples. Because of Kat, the mere thought of a
Granny Smith stiffens my cock to an agonizing mass. If I don’t do something
about this soon, I’m going to spend the rest of my life in analysis. “No. I’m
just looking for a little release.”
I raise
an eyebrow, watching her feverish swiping continue. “You’re looking for a booty
call.”
Her
gaze leaves her phone and locks on mine. “Not everyone’s a sex camel like you
are, Chase. I can’t just store it in my lady humps and feed off it in tiny
increments.”
“I’m
not a sex camel.”
“You’re
right. You’re more a like sexual terrorist. My coochie has been on the no-fly
list since the day I met you, and right now, it just needs a little extra
mileage. I’m not looking for anything more than that. So,” —she lifts her phone
and waggles it back and forth— “Tinder.”
The
corners of my mouth turn down. I focus on the television, pretending to watch
the Kardashians fight when really, I’m imagining what it would be like to drag
Kat into my room caveman-style and lock her away. I’m a selfish prick. I can’t
have her, but I don’t want anyone else to have her either.
“Should
I get my lips done?” From the corner of my eye, I see her pressing her
fingertips against her puckered mouth as she watches the TV alongside me. “I
want Khloe Kardashian lips.”
“Your
lips are fine.”
“Word
to the wise, Chase. Never tell a woman she’s fine. Fine is the
kiss of death.”
I turn
to look at her. Your lips are perfect. Two plump little pillows that
would feel incredible sliding over my erection. “There’s not a thing
about you I’d change.”
“You’re
biased because you’re my friend.”
I just
know what I like. “Scout’s
honor.”
She
rolls her eyes and looks back down at her phone. Swipe . . . swipe . .
. swipe . . . all to the left. Then one to the right. My heart
sinks.
“You
right swiped.”
“Ew,
are you watching me? Creeper alert!”
I hold
out my hand. “Let me see.”
“No.”
“Come
on! Show me!” I reach out to grab the phone, but she jerks her arm back.
“No
way, Jose!” That innocent giggle wraps itself around my heart and travels to my
dick in an instant. My laugh. My girl. Fuck Tinder.
Gobs of
hysteric cackling erupt from her chest when I squeeze her knee with my fingers.
She squirms and writhes, attempting to tear my grip from her leg. My free hand
moves to her stomach. The phone falls to the floor and bounces across the
carpet, long forgotten.
When I
shift to my knee in an attempt to avoid a karate kick to the face, her arms
shoot up and grasp my shirt, pulling me down against her. Frantic breath beats
against my lips, her eyes wild with passion and fire.
Face to
face, her body trembles. Raven strands of hair stick to her mouth. I run my
fingers down her cheek and slip them behind her ear. Those lips. Those fucking
amazing lips are so close to mine I can almost taste them.
So
close . . .
The
first taste is everything.
Jane Anthony is
a romance author, fist pumping Jersey-girl, and hard rock enthusiast. She
resides in the 'burbs of New Jersey with her husband and children. A lover of
Halloween, vintage cars, & coffee, she’s also an encyclopedia of
useless 80's knowledge and trivia. When not writing, she's an avid reader,
concert goer, and party planner extraordinaire.
Jane loves
hearing from her readers! Connect with her on these social media sites, and
don't be too shy to say hello!
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