March 29th 2016
BLURB
I was twelve when a stranger at a train station taught me the meaning of ugly. He forced himself on me and threatened to kill my family if I told.
I stayed silent and the ugliness grew.
Now, that word rolls in film clips through my mind. All I’ve done since my best friend, Keyon Arias, left town is cement how ugly I am. Ugly on the inside—deep down to my core. On the outside… I am a Vixen. I flash men a smile and make them moan out pleasure I control.
Not them. Never them.
After five years of being away, my beautiful boy has come back to town for his father’s masquerade ball. He’s different. Hard muscle supersedes the skin and bone of his once boyish frame. One thing hasn’t changed though: the murderous look in his eyes when he slaughters his opponents. In the ring, I see the bullied boy, all grown up, dominating in ways he couldn’t in high school.
He’s the mayor’s son. The rising MMA fighter. The beautiful one.
I’m not the Paislee Cain of before, not the sweet girl he once knew, the one who chased away his bullies. I’m the town slut. The dirty girl whose shame will never fade no matter how many men I use. He’d disown what I’ve become.
Because beautiful can never love ugly.
EXCERPT
KEYON
Her gaze travels up to my
forearm and rests on my bicep. Most girls have a thing for biceps, which is
handy. I flex it under the white shirt I pulled over my head before she arrived
and give it a passionate lip-smack.
“Oh my god. So lame,” she
mumbles, but her cheeks are red. She looks really good with red cheeks. I
scrunch the sleeve up slowly while humming a strip-club-worthy soundtrack.
“Stop it,” she says, giggling.
Of course I take it as a please continue.
I add a rhythmic wiggle of my hips into the equation, which makes her suck in a
sharp breath. I’m liking the turn of events.
I move in closer. Grab the
counter on both sides of her as I rock my body to the beat. There is no music
apart from my own and the occasional choked sound from Paislee. Does she know
she’s making them?
I’m getting horny myself.
Dude, I should be a stripper. Fighter-turned-stripper must have mad potential
with the chicks. I’d be up to my ears in pu—
“What are you doing?” Her hand
glides up my hip, feeling it move, and settles on my waist.
“Dancing with you.” What an
excellent idea. Thanks to Ma’s Dominican roots, dancing is in my blood, and now
I slide my arms around Paislee’s back and yank her to me.
“Keyon.” She says my name in
that breathless way. It’s how every man wants his name said by a woman. Oh this
is good.
I sway my hips slowly. I’m
dancing, not having sex, and there’s a difference in how I move. I hold her
carefully. Want her to follow me, play, and slowly she relents, her hips doing
slow undulations with mine.
I bring her closer to me.
Smile down at her as the song I hummed turns to a whisper. I bend my head. Run
my nose along her ear, breathe against her hair while I make our bodies sway
wider. Paislee’s hands slip around my neck and rest there, the length of bare
forearms warm against my skin.
“Wait,” I whisper and lean
over for my phone. I point it at Dad’s speakers, click, and a balladstreams out
of them.
“That’s better.” I smile and
scissor her in against me, my arms crossed over her lower back. She adapts
quickly to my flow, understands how I want us to roll.
My dick is hard from her
nearness, but I ignore it because this intimacy is of a different kind. It’s of
agreeing to the music, to the joint movement of our bodies and being in a
sensation that’s not a race toward an end.
When the song fades, her head
is against my chest. Her shoulders should be relaxed, her smile easy and
finding mine, but she’s tight shoulders and spine that holds pain.
Carefully, I gather her hair
in a ponytail. Pull her head back so I can see her face without her slipping
out of my arms.
“Baby?” I ask. “What’s going
on?” She drops her hold around my neck and shakes her head, sniffling. She’s
mad at herself.
“It’s nothing. Gah, I try not
to be all emotional and stuff, but—it’s just, I’ve never danced like this with
anyone.”
“And you hate it?” I smirk.
Girls and crying, man. All over the place.
“Right. You’re a terrible
dancer.”
ABOUTH THE AUTHOR
Between studies, teaching, and advising, Sunniva has spent her entire adult life in a college environment. Most of her novels are new adult romance geared toward smart, passionate readers with a love for eclectic language and engaging their brain as well as their heart while reading.
Born in the Land of the Midnight Sun, the author spent her early twenties making the world her playground. Southern Europe: Spain, Italy, Greece--Argentina: Buenos Aires, in particular. The United States finally kept her interest, and after half a decade in Los Angeles, she now lounges in the beautiful city of Savannah.
Sometimes, Sunniva writes with a paranormal twist (Shattering Halos, Stargazer, and Cat Love). At other times, it's contemporary (Pandora Wild Child, Leon's Way, Adrenaline Crush, Walking Heartbreak, and Dodging Trains, coming in late March 2016).
This author is the happiest when her characters let their emotions run off with them, shaping her stories in ways she never foresaw. She loves bad-boys and good-boys run amok, and like in real life, her goal is to keep the reader on her toes until the end of each story.
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