Welcome Today's Featured Author
Jane Anthony!!
Pretty Reckless
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...
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Excerpt:
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.
About Jane Anthony:
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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