Chapter Reveal – Panty Whisperer The Complete series by Sloane Howell


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Releasing May 19th

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I love women. I’m not ashamed to admit that making a beautiful woman come is my main goal in life—one that I accomplish night after night. Women are as drawn to me as I am to them. I don’t get turned down. It’s not a brag, just a fact. At least it was a fact. Until I met Quinn—the one woman who didn’t fall for my easy charm. Now, I have to have her. She may not want to get close, may not want to admit that I turn her on and can give her a night that she’ll never forget, but she was mine the first moment I saw her. Eventually, I’ll have her beneath me, my hands in her hair, and my name on her lips. It’s what I do. I’m the Panty Whisperer.

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THE MAJORITY OF men want sex just to get off. They blow their load, roll over, and fall asleep. That’s not my style. I want you to remember my face. I want you to remember every inch of me. And you will. I want to watch your eyes roll up in your head, your toes cramp up while curling under your feet, your thighs trembling around my face, begging for my stiff cock inside your hot, wet pussy. Every time you tease your clit, longing for your hair to be pulled, while squeezing those quivering pussy walls around your slippery fingers, you’ll be wishing it was me inside of you, drilling balls deep into that aching cunt while you dig your nails into the sheets. I want to own your mind for the rest of your life. The thought of me will be a thirst you can’t quench, a drug you can’t have, an itch that can’t be scratched, no matter how hard you try. Nobody will send a shock of neural ecstasy from your pulsating little cunt to the tips of your toes the way I will. Care to bet me?

Jessica Moore

MOST PEOPLE HAVE something they’re good at: math, sports, music, art. I wasn’t born with some common talent. I’m a master of making women come. I don’t know why, or how it happened, it’s just built into my DNA. I’ve always been able to talk to women and get them to do whatever I want. Ever since I was a teenager, if there was a girl nobody could bed, I got there first.

My name is Joel Hannover. Well, actually, that’s a bit of a lie. Joel is my middle name. My first name is Herbert. I hate that name. It’s like my parents were trying to cock block me from conception.

I work as an accounting software consultant. It sounds fancy like I should be good with math or computers. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m a salesman. My job, however, is perfect for my hobby. Most accounting departments are comprised of women. Women that most people think are boring or uneventful.

I meet these women every day. Insecure, dressed conservatively, hiding their beautiful bodies behind layers of clothing, afraid a few pounds of baby weight might still show. They’re ladies who work crossword puzzles, and process numbers and transactions. It’s all a façade though. These women are just like any others. Sexual creatures who want to have all of their desires met and all of their needs fulfilled.

They’re practically begging for someone to explore them, to bring them out of their shell, and release the sexual tension that has saturated their entire being, afraid to break free. They get their rocks off reading erotica, watching porn, or using the shower head in a manner it was not intended for. I can’t allow this. They need someone to open their mind, and release their fantasies into the wild. Someone to spread their thighs and take them to places they never knew possible, where all of their darkest fantasies reside. This is the environment where I thrive.

Meet Jessica Moore: mid-thirties, married with two kids, unhappy.

Fucking hot.

She’s a senior fixed asset analyst at a company that’s implementing my firm’s new software. She is amazingly sexy and wasting away in a bad marriage that is held together solely for the kids. We’ve been working together on this project for about two weeks now and have grown somewhat close.

She cracks a smile as I walk through the door to her office. “Good morning.”

“Jessica—” I pause for a moment and eye her curvy hips and round breasts. “—you look nice.” She looks hot as fuck, if I’m being honest.

Jessica bites her lip and smiles. I want to put my cock in that beautiful mouth so badly. I have to have her. I’ve been observing her for the last two weeks, processing every bit of information she provides. She loves Starbucks, romantic comedies, and has an adventurous side to her that she’s afraid to act on. Well, she didn’t exactly say that, but like I said before, I can sense these things. It’s an innate ability. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“Completely boring, didn’t do much of anything. Philip went hunting and left me with the kids. So we had a movie night on Saturday. You?”

I can’t really tell her I filmed myself banging two twenty-year-old co-eds, and then watched it while going a second round with them. “Oh, I had a movie night myself. New indie film, you wouldn’t have heard of it.”

Hey, you didn’t lie to her.

I can’t stop staring at her black, mid-length skirt hugging tight around her hips. I get the slightest peek at her tanned cleavage protruding through her low-cut red top as she reaches into the bottom of a file cabinet. She’s dressed up today, and it’s for me; we both know it. The first day I was here she wore mom jeans and a sweater.

Her wavy brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her bright-blue eyes send my stomach churning in knots every time I catch a glimpse of them. It’s obvious that she works out and watches her figure, but she’s got these curves that send blood straight to my dick. I have to fuck this woman. No, I want to make this woman come harder than she ever has in her life, if she ever has at all. She deserves it. She works hard and is a good mother.

I’m going to plow her so hard she wants to scream but the words won’t come out. I can tell she wants it, constantly eyeing my six-foot-two frame, wondering what I’m packing in my slacks. It’s not ten inches, but it gets the job done. A massive cock is overrated anyway. I’m not trying to scar her for life.

I pull a caramel macchiato with no whipped cream out from behind my back and set it down on the desk in front of her. It’s all about paying attention to details.

“Oh my god. You’re my hero. Seriously.” She takes a sip. “I’m a slave to caffeine.”

“I know how it goes.”

Only my drug of choice is that yearning pussy that’s heating up for me in your panties while you eye fuck the shit out of me.


“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” She walks back behind her desk.

“Just a follow up consult, half a day. Make sure all the modules are functioning the way you like, and then I’m out of your hair.”

Her head drops a little and she stares down at the desk for a moment before looking back up at me. “Well, I’m taking you to lunch before you leave. On the company, if that’s okay?”

“I can’t say no to a free meal.” I laugh, knowing what I’ll be dining on. It’s under that skirt of hers. Today is a day she’ll remember for the rest of her life. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Most of the morning is uneventful, working out kinks in the software. Lunch can’t get here fast enough.

“Hey, can you take a look at this? I’m not sure this menu is exactly how we’d like it.” She turns back to me, then back to her screen.

I lean over her shoulder, perching up near her ear. God, she smells amazing. I try to look at the screen, but all I can focus on is a black lace bra corralling a pair of 38D breasts. She knows exactly what she’s doing, breaking out the sexy underwear for my last day here, longing for them to end up on the floor. “I think we should switch options three and four on this window.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” I don’t even look at the fucking screen. My eyes are busy, working down those creamy thighs with her knees pressed together, calves running down to a pair of black heels, legs crossed at the ankles.

I look up at the screen and try to buy myself some extra time. “Well, wait, what if we moved option two, and had a separate pop-up option for four?” I don’t even know if my words made sense or not, and I can tell she doesn’t care. She starts to speak and I exhale lightly across her neck.

“Hmm, I—” Her voice cracks a little as her eyes close, the tiny hairs on her neck standing at attention from my warm breath.

I interrupt her. “No, never mind. I think I like your idea better.” I breathe into her ear as I raise my head up.

I spy her brushing her hands across her legs and onto her knees as I walk away. She doesn’t think I notice, but I do. I can’t stop thinking about how wet her cunt is right now, her lips begging for my cock to drive into them. It’s going to be a long lunch.

I ride with her to the restaurant, but don’t make any moves. I want to tease her as long as possible. It’s a long-term investment for the eruption that will take place between her legs later, when I press the buttons in every erogenous zone in her brain. The clacking of her heels on the tile floor of the restaurant and her ass swaying back and forth in that skirt have my cock rock hard against the zipper of my pants. She knows she’s driving me crazy too. Jessica thinks she might know what’s coming, but there’s enough uncertainty to keep her wondering if she’ll merely be dreaming about fucking me when she rubs one out later.

I pull her chair out for her, to her surprise. “Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. My mom drilled the behavior into me since I was a boy.”

“Aww. A mama’s boy? I think it’s sweet that she taught you to be a gentleman.” She blushes.

“Yeah, she’s old school. Guys sometimes look at me funny, but it always seems to work in my favor with the ladies.” I flash her a devilish grin as I sit down.

The sexual tension is building, and for some reason seeing her wedding ring makes me want her more, as if it makes the game more of a challenge. I mean, I don’t go out seeking married women, but I don’t turn them down either. I didn’t make any promises to anyone to remain faithful, that’s their issue.

She’s staring at me with those seductive blue eyes again. Goddamn they drive me crazy. I’m a sucker for beautiful eyes. Her hair pulled back makes them pop even more. I want that red lipstick smeared all over my cock while I stare into them.

“So, what are you having?” she asks.

Definitely not the salad you will order. I can tell she’ll order one before the words leave her mouth. It’s a funny thing. Honestly, if she ordered a cheeseburger or steak it’d probably turn me on even more. I’ll order something decent, but not something that will make her feel bad for ordering salad. Grilled chicken or salmon is usually the go to.

“Oh, I think I’ll have the lemon pepper chicken.” I look over to see a guy tearing into a cheeseburger. Fucker. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay to get inside Jessica.

We laugh for a while, trading war stories about work, bad relationships, all the while flirting. Instinctively, I reach for the check when it comes.

“I told you it’s on the company.” She shoves my hand away, but not before holding on to it an extra split second.

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” Yeah right. I know exactly what I’m doing. She’s sharp, so I’m sure she’s caught on to some of the bullshit. It’s still worth it, as long as I don’t overdo it.

The drive back is the longest of my life. I can see her subtly squirming in her seat, anticipating what will come next, afraid that it’s going to end, and she’s going to be left with nothing but her hand and a cold shower. A memory of what might have been. I smile at the thought and glance over at her.

Don’t worry, Jessica. You’re going to get everything you want and then some. Just wait. Tension is building in my balls already as we pull into the parking garage. I’m on the verge of exploding in my pants. This is what I live for, the moments right before. All the anticipation, the sweaty palms, the stomach butterflies, my prick growing hard in my slacks, the animalistic instincts of wanting to drill the woman sitting two feet away, separated only by a console and some cup holders.

Finally, we pull into the parking space, staring at each other momentarily before opening our doors. I pretend to be a little upset that she opened the door for herself. “I’m so sorry. I’m not used to the royal treatment. My husband would have been inside the building by now.”

“Well, why don’t you make up for it and walk me to my car?”

That gets a giggle out of her. It’s cheesy as fuck, but she eats it up. Jessica holds out her arm to escort me, and I take it. I feel my forearm rub against her tight hard nipple and soft breast. It sends a warm sensation straight to my cock. The sound of her heels clacking on the concrete as we near my car has my pulse racing. I can see her biting her lip, knowing this is the moment for her. I can practically see everything she is thinking.

Is he really going to fuck me in his car, or in the dark corner of this busy parking garage? Why did he park all the way back here anyway? Did he plan this out?

You’re goddamn right I did, Jessica.

We approach my ’67 Fastback in the corner and she gasps. I’ve had it since I was 17 and restored it myself. Classic muscle cars are an aphrodisiac if there ever was one. She releases my arm to walk in front of me. Her ass is driving me wild in that skirt, I want to bite it and hear her squeal.

“Is that a ’67?”

Jesus Christ, she knows her cars. I’m now rock hard.

“Sure is.”

She’s walking faster, and I match her pace as she turns to the driver’s side door.

I have to check this out.” She runs her hand down the sleek metal in the sexiest way possible.

It’s time.

I walk up behind her and press my palm to the small of her back before smoothing it down to her ass. Her eyes close as she presses her tits up against the window, hands resting at the top of the car. I lean in close, next to her ear. “I have to check you out.” My voice is a whisper as I watch people get in and out of their cars, nothing between us and them but my Mustang. “I know you want this.” I whisper in her ear as I dig my fingers into her ass.

“But, I’m married.” Her words are a muttered gasp. She moans lightly as I run my hand up her skirt. She’s trying to tease me. She’ll find out who’s in control momentarily. “You sure? Last chance?” I exhale in her ear, and walk my fingers up her inner-thigh.

She won’t resist anymore. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

I rub my fingers back and forth on her hot, wet panties, circling around her clit. A shudder rips through her shoulders. I whisper in her ear again while breathing down her neck. “This is what you’ve wanted all week, isn’t it? Me, behind you, my hand up your skirt, playing with this pussy? Look at all these people. They have no idea I’m about to shove my fingers inside you.”

I lean forward and watch as she opens her eyes to see all the people in front of us who have no idea what we’re doing. I can see the spark in her eyes as the heat rushes through her veins like a strong narcotic. “You’ve been dreaming about my fingers inside this tight little cunt, knowing you could lose your job if you get caught. But you don’t care, do you? You want it too bad. You need me finger fucking this needy pussy, don’t you?”

I slip my thumb inside of her, two fingers swirling on her clit.

“Oh my fucking god, yes.” She coos, and spreads her thighs, giving me more access.

I roll one of her tight nipples between my fingers before running my hand over her breast. I can feel Jessica’s heartbeat on my thumb inside of her, panties cocked to the side. I focus on her clit, still running my fingers over it in small circles.

“Keep an eye out.” I drop to my knees slowly.

“What?” She glances back and down to me as I raise her skirt up, releasing her beautiful peach-shaped ass with black lace panties covering the upper half. She looks back up immediately before closing her eyes, finally giving in to the possibility of being discovered.

I massage her ass cheeks over her panties—I know she wore them specifically for this moment—before pulling them down around her knees, revealing her swollen, pink entrance, already wet and glistening between her thighs. I take my time, working up the back of her tan legs, teasing her slit with the tip of my tongue, before burying my nose in her ass, and darting my tongue into her.

Jessica lets out a slight squeal, and then covers her mouth, looking around to see if anyone noticed. A family of four is walking through the parking lot, oblivious to me tasting her sweet pussy a few cars down. I pick up the pace, flicking my tongue on her clit and probing her while she squirms against the car door, wanting to shout but knowing she can’t.

I grip her ass, and turn her around to face me, staring eye-level at her pink, freshly shaved cunt. I can see the lust in her eyes, and it fills me with a sense of power and satisfaction, knowing that she is going to finally open her mind and release all of the tension that’s been building for years in every bone in her body. I yank her pussy to my mouth, which sends her bending over me in surprise.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Her words are jumbled under her breath.

I start working my fingers up her inner thigh while teasing her bump with my tongue, licking her wetness that flows down onto my face. The closer my fingers get, the tighter she squeezes her legs together. I lean back and look up to her eyes. “Relax. You’re about to experience something you’ve never felt before.”

She loosens, and her legs slowly spread as I work my fingers in, still teasing my tongue on her clit and watching her paw at her breasts. Neither of us give a fuck about getting caught at this point. The attraction is too strong. Her eyes roll back as I take my two fingers to the hilt, curling them up to the ridge I find deep inside. Her walls squeeze tight around my fingers, and I imagine what they’ll feel like around my cock later.

Wow, this pussy is tight. She definitely hasn’t had it in a while.

The suctioning noise of my fingers pumping in and out of her echoes off the concrete walls surrounding us. My fingers are drenched as she grips the back of my scalp, the insides of her arms pressing those beautiful tits together. I snake my tongue over her and work it in circles as my fingers hammer away deep inside of her.

“Goddamn it, Joel, fuck!” Her words are a little too loud for comfort, but it doesn’t slow me down. She’s on the edge and doesn’t realize what’s on the other side. She’s always been too afraid to let go and take the plunge. I’m about to take her there.

I lift up my pinky finger. My entire hand and her thighs are shimmering, and covered in Jessica’s wetness. I slide my pinky finger between the crack of her ass with each thrust of my fingers, before teasing her tight little puckered asshole with it.

“Holy. Fuck.” She’s panting, barely able to breathe. Her hips fly back and try to push her ass through the car door, barely able to handle the intense nerve firings ripping to her core. I keep my head buried into her, my mouth latched onto her pussy, increasing the tempo of my tongue and fingers. I remove my head from between her legs for a brief second.

“Just let it happen,” I whisper, before diving back in, lashing my tongue across her pussy.

“Okay, okay. Oh my fucking god!” She covers her mouth, trying not to scream as my pinky slides slightly inside of her asshole, and I start rubbing over her g-spot in small circles, my fingers fully plunged into the depths of her.

She’s now bucking her hips into my face, fully engrossed in her fantasy. A shudder starts in her legs and shoots through her. Her entire body tenses as her thighs squeeze around my face, her nails digging into my scalp. Her pussy clamps around my fingers like a vise and she convulses against my face, before letting go and coming all over my lips, unable to make a sound. I savor every drop as time freezes for her, all of her sexual energy channeled into her pulsating clit, then shooting to her extremities. She finally relaxes a little, her beautiful breasts rising and falling with each deep breath.

I stand up slowly to meet her with a smile, running my fingers across her tight nipples just to see a shiver jolt through her torso. “You are a genius.” A huge smile spreads across her face. “Holy fuck!”

I’ve unleashed the beast. It’s inside of every woman, she just doesn’t know it.

She throws me up against the car, and my cock immediately rises to attention as she rubs her palm over it. Her eyes widen as she feels my length in her hand, growing more and more the tighter she squeezes. “I have a few things I want to do to you.”

“Do it then.”

I grin. She drops to her knees and unbuckles my belt, then pulls it apart with her teeth, one of my weaknesses that I find ridiculously hot. Her bright, blue eyes staring up at me have my balls roiling with tension, and I haven’t even been inside her yet.

She unzips my pants and pulls my briefs down with them in one quick motion, releasing my cock like a spring-loaded weapon. “Oh my.” She strokes the length of my prick slowly with one hand, the other rubbing on her beautiful tits over her shirt.

She teases my tip with her tongue. A tingling sensation shoots through my legs as soon as her warm tongue curls around the head of my cock. “You’ve wanted to suck that dick, haven’t you?” I stare down at her skirt that’s hiked up over her beautiful ass.

She nods, taking me a little farther into her mouth, those blue eyes locked on mine, logging away every reaction in her memory. The inside of her cheeks closing around the head of my cock sends my head flying backward. She’s surprisingly better than I thought she’d be. Accountants, they have a wild side to them.

She’s now hit her groove, stroking and sucking in one smooth, rhythmic motion. It feels amazing. I can’t stop staring at those ruby-red lips spread tight around my stiff prick, smearing her lipstick on the length of it. Suddenly, she lifts my cock and presses it to my stomach, before diving onto my balls and sucking on one and then the other, all the while stroking my cock with her palm.

“You like that, don’t you?” She pauses for a moment. I’m not going to lie; it feels fucking amazing. Apparently, I don’t answer her fast enough as she spits all over my balls, and takes one in her mouth, sucking forcefully on it.

Goddamn. I’m contemplating letting her have control of this whole ordeal. She might fuck even better than I thought.

“Hell yes, just like that.”

“I saw you staring at my tits in the office. You’ve been teasing me with this dick all week. You want to fuck them. Don’t you?”

I grin. What have I created? This woman is incredible, radiating sexual confidence. I’m going to change her life. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She looks around as if she’s suddenly worried about someone seeing her pull her tits out. Never mind the fact that she just smothered her face with my balls. Before I know it, she has her bra pulled out through her sleeve, and she’s lifted her shirt up, releasing a beautiful pair of natural tits that bounce slightly. I want to bury my face between them and never come out.

She squeezes them together and lets her spit slowly fall into her cleavage. “You like these?”

“They’re fucking perfect.”

“I can’t wait to watch you fuck them.” She spits on my cock, then scoops under her tits with one arm, her free hand palming my shaft. She slaps the head of my dick on each one, then teases at her nipples with it. I’m about to explode every time her tight pearls rub against my swollen head.

“You like it when I slap your cock on these big fucking tits?”

“Hell yes.”

Then she slaps it on her cheek and her tongue a few times, sucking the tip for a moment. Before I know it, she has those gorgeous breasts wrapped around the length of me, bobbing up and down.

God I love my dick between her tits.

She slides me back and forth between them, increasing and decreasing the tempo at will. I fist her ponytail in one hand, and cage her throat with the other. Her eyes grow wide as I thrust my cock back and forth between her tits.

I have to get inside of her. It’s uncontrollable.

I grab her under her arms and yank her to her feet. She lets out a slight squeal that turns to a moan as I flip her around and shove her up against the side of the car. Her legs spread, offering her ass to me. “You want my cock inside you?” I smack her ass and dig in with my fingers, as I lean in next to her ear.


I slap my dick on her ass from the side, watching the unsuspecting people come in and out of the building. “You’ve been dreaming about this all week haven’t you? This big fucking dick in your tight cunt. It’s been driving you crazy. Hasn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.” She nods.

“Ask me for it.”

“Can I have your cock?”

“How bad do you want it?” I grip her by the hair and she moans.

I rub my dick underneath her, back and forth between her soaking wet lips, coating it with her wetness.

“Give it to me. Please. I want to come on your cock.”

I pull back on her hair and her face tilts toward the ceiling. Her tits press against the car window as I tease my head around the edge of her pussy. I slowly push into her, watching my cock disappear an inch at a time.

Goddamn. She’s so fucking tight and wet.

She’s moaning and I haven’t even given it all to her yet. I can’t wait for her hot walls to spasm around me.

I work about three quarters into her and I start to speed up. Surprisingly, nobody has even turned a head in our direction. I lean in next to her ear. “You ready for me to fuck this pussy?”

“God yes!”

I grip her around the waist and go into jackhammer mode. She starts to scream and bites down on her forearm that is resting on the car. My pelvis is ramming into her ass cheeks, smacking into her as I plunge balls deep. Her tits shake against the glass.

“You like that shit?”

She can’t even respond. I grab her ponytail and smack her ass with my free hand, leaving a red hand print.

“You like that? You like being fucked like a naughty little slut?”

“Jesus, I’m going to come again.”

“Yeah, come all over this fucking dick you’ve been craving.”

Her hot cunt closes in on me. Her eager pussy clenching for more. She’s going to make me blow my load. I reach around and play with her clit, working tiny circles around it while ramming her full speed. Her thighs start to tremble. It’s all too familiar now. She knows what she’s capable of, and she needs it. I push her past the breaking point and her pussy clamps down on me, her ass and hips vibrating out of control as she bucks back into my cock.

I hear a moan and she pauses, unable to speak. Number two is a success. Her mouth opens to scream but no words come out, just a slight squeal and heavy, deep breaths. I flip her around and lift her against the car, working my cock back inside of her. The car is supporting most of her weight as her tits smash against me.

“Are you going to come for me?” She grips my tie in her right hand.


“I want it on my face.” She yanks me closer by the tie, those blue eyes locked on mine. I picture her on her knees, looking at me with those eyes, while I blast her face with my warm load. It sends me into a frenzy. I start pounding into her. The smacking sounds of me ramming her, coupled with my balls slapping up against her tight little asshole, have me in another world.

Tension builds inside me as I continue to fuck her as fast and as hard as possible. I can feel my load inching its way up my shaft as she starts convulsing on my prick with orgasm number three. When she squeezes that slick little cunt around me, it’s all over. “Get on your knees.” I slip my prick out into my palm and start stroking it furiously.

She kneels down and looks up at me, her mouth open wide with her tongue sticking out, those gorgeous blue eyes locked back on mine once more, begging for every ounce.

The head of my cock is expanding like a balloon. I can’t speak. I can only nod to give her a warning before thrusting and letting loose. I spray across her nose and up under one of her eyes, grunting with each thrust. Her eyes close as I explode all over her. Each stroke of my cock sends a new stream into her mouth and onto her forehead, some of it dripping down to her tits. The sight of her face covered in my hot come makes my balls ache as my pelvis and thighs quiver. Finally, I finish, releasing the last of it onto her soft, pink tongue.

I grab a tee shirt from inside the car. She cleans up the tip of my cock and shaft, before wiping the rest from her face and tits.

I can’t lie. I fuck all the time, but it never gets old. Every unique conquest is etched into my mind, a memory I’ll keep forever. Each orgasm is like a symphony, in a different location, with different instruments. I look back down into those huge, satisfied blue eyes. A huge grin spreads across her face.

“That was amazing.” My breath is labored as I admire her beautiful face.

“You think?” She giggles. “I didn’t even know that was fucking possible. Who are you?” The panty whisperer.  

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Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

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Chapter Reveal – Possess


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Expected Publication April 27, 2016

Pre-order links

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No weakness.

Maxim has stayed alive—and on top—for twenty years through a ruthless combination of brains and brutality. He’s grown the Syndicate into one of the world’s most powerful criminal enterprises.

He cares for no one.

Except her.

The woman he never should have saved…the one who holds the remnants of his long-dead heart.

No limits.

Senna doesn’t know why Maxim spared her all those years ago, or why he’s kept her by his side. But she does know that nothing—not his beautiful cruelty, not the black void where his heart should be—can stop her from loving him. Wanting him.

Even though she shouldn’t.

No turning back.

Years of obsession sharpen to a knife’s edge when Senna begins to crave her freedom. And when an old rival discovers her existence, Maxim must fight to keep her alive, even as he battles his need to possess her completely…no matter the cost.













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Ten Years Ago…

He stepped over the first body, careful to avoid the blood that pooled around it.

It was best not to make a mess, but as he looked around the room, his disgust rising with every passing second, he was reminded that the man who had come here before him not only had no concerns about making a mess, he reveled in doing so.

He looked around the room again, his face muscles twisting with his displeasure at what he saw. A small, tidy family room, pictures on the wall, a TV in one corner. The TV still played, but the screen was dimmed by the splattered blood that covered it.

He moved deeper into the house and maneuvered around the woman who lay in the middle of the floor.

He didn’t have to look closely to know that she, like the man at the door, was dead, so after a brief glimpse at her stiff, glassy-eyed face, he turned his attention to the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Get out here, you little bitch!”

He face muscles twisting even more, he focused on the man who had bellowed those words in a voice that vibrated with rage, menace, and more than a hint of excitement.

Santo Carmelli had centered himself in the narrow hallway, blocking any chance of exit. He was also frothing at the mouth, his entire body seeming to expand with rage—and anticipation—with each breath he took.

No different than usual, except now that Santo had had a taste of the violence he seemed to feed on, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d had his fill. And when Santo was like this, the two he’d already killed wouldn’t be nearly enough.

“No more, Santo. Let’s go,” Maxim said, keeping his voice calm, disinterested, and not letting his irritation come through, difficult as it was to hide it.

If Santo heard, he gave no indication, too far gone in the bloodlust that made him so valued by his superiors and such a pain in Maxim’s ass.

Santo let out an animalistic growl and began stomping down the hallway, uncaring of the gore that coated his shoes and hands.

Maxim didn’t follow immediately, and instead debated whether he should just end this now.

Santo, never a reasonable man, had gotten worse. Much worse. And it always fell on Maxim to clean up his messes, a task Maxim had more than tired of, a task made that much worse by Santo’s sloppiness and his inability to think when he was like this.

Maxim lifted his hand to the small but lethally sharp knife he kept in his waistband.

Finally being rid of Santo would be a relief, and would allow him to focus on more pressing issues. Santo was so distracted it would be easy to get close. Two quick slashes, and one of Maxim’s biggest annoyances and biggest potential rivals would be eliminated.

A tempting prospect, but one Maxim disregarded.

He was close, and all the pieces he needed for his takeover were in place. In a few weeks, the Syndicate would be his.

Then he’d deal with the Santo problem.

Until then…

“Santo,” he said, still calm, tone not betraying how close he’d been to ending Santo’s life.

His voice must have penetrated Santo’s blind rage, for he turned and looked at Maxim.

“Fuck off, Maxim. I’m busy,” he yelled.

“I can see that,” Maxim replied. “Busy and too fucking crazy to do this right. Go now, Santo.”

He shook his head. “No fucking way. She’s back there somewhere trying to hide from me.” As Santo spoke, he glared down the hallway, yelling even louder. Then, he looked back at Maxim, eyes wild with uncontrolled rage. “You think I’m letting this go? That bitch scratched me!” he said, gesturing at the gouges that marked his arms.

Good for her.

Santo probably hadn’t even felt it, but it was good that she’d fought back. Doing so had only pissed Santo off more, and only made Maxim’s already hard job harder, but Maxim didn’t care. A few scratches were nothing, but Maxim would welcome any victory against Santo, no matter how small and symbolic or how much it inconvenienced him.

“I’ll take care of it, Santo,” Maxim said, holding the other man’s gaze.

They were equals in the Syndicate, at least in name, and Maxim had no real authority to give orders, at least not yet. But while Maxim had no official authority over Santo, he had clout, influence, and support that Santo, despite how valued he was by certain members of leadership, did not. And even when he was like this, caught up in his rage and little else, Santo knew that.

Santo’s breath began to smooth out, some of the minuscule reason he had clearing the rage in his eyes.

He finally nodded. “You’re better at this than me anyway. Make it hurt,” he said as he brushed past Maxim and down the hall.

Maxim couldn’t really argue with Santo’s words. He was better, but he wasn’t a mad dog like Santo and he didn’t relish the idea of making someone suffer without good cause, wouldn’t do so simply because Santo had demanded it.

Once Santo was out of the house, Maxim began moving, only barely listening as the others who had entered began to clean the living room, instead focused on the hallway.

Three doors, all partially ajar, darkness spilling out from them.

Two bedrooms and a bathroom, Maxim assumed based on the layout common for houses in this area. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in a place like this, hunting for a person who’d had the misfortune of crossing the Syndicate’s, or Santo’s, path.

A shame, but a part of the job.

Maxim looked down the hall and quickly dismissed the door at the far end. If Maxim was right, and he’d been in this scenario far too many times to be anything else, the person Santo was chasing had planned to slip out behind him as he thrashed through the other rooms. So going to the far door wouldn’t give them the opportunity to get past him.

Which left the second bedroom or bathroom.

Both had merits.

The bedroom offered more places to hide, like the closets people were so fond of. But the bathroom had its own benefits. A window that might serve as an alternate escape, and all kinds of chemicals and cleaners that could do some damage if it came to that.

The scratches on Santo’s arms, the fact that she had gotten away, proved Santo’s prey was a fighter, so Maxim turned into the bathroom and pulled the floral shower curtain aside.

The girl was younger than him, twenty, maybe, and as he’d suspected, clutching a spray bottle of bleach so tightly that her brown fingers were turning white at the knuckles.

Her grip was so tight that it took a moment for her to react, but she did, loosening her hold and then squeezing the nozzle on the spray bottle. Her movements were jerky, panicked, and her aim was off, so the spray flew over Maxim’s shoulder and landed harmlessly behind him.

He glared at her, and her eyes widened but the rest of her body went stiff as she froze in place, staring back at him. Maxim watched her for a moment, two, saw as she debated whether to try to spray him again, saw her fingers twitch around the nozzle as she weighed the consequences of action or inaction.

Saw when she tightened her grip on the bottle.

She met his eyes, and Maxim stared back at her, curious as to what she would do. It felt like the longest time, but in reality it was only seconds. Long enough for Maxim to see that his perception of her as a fighter was true, and long enough for him to tire of their little standoff.

He pried the bottle from her hand and dropped it to the floor, staring at her, considering.

Her eyes were glassy and wet with unshed tears, but tears had long since lost the power to sway him. Maxim couldn’t say for sure if they ever actually had.

He watched her for a moment longer, unmoving. Everything he knew said he should have reached for his knife.

He didn’t.

Instead he grabbed the hand that had been holding the bleach and pulled her out of the shower.

She stared up at him, blinking rapidly, and Maxim could see the beat of her pulse at the base of her throat.

“Are you going to k-kill me?” she asked in a low whisper.

No witnesses. No loose ends. She was both.

The answer was easy.


Maxim looked at her eyes again and then shook his head.


AP new -about the author.jpg

Kaye writes hot, gritty, suspenseful romance featuring alpha males and the women who love them.

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Chapter Reveal Vexed

vexed - chapter revealVexed (Iron Bulls MC #4) by Phoenyx Slaughter


Release Date : April 4th



Cover designed by: AJ Lake



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Falling in love will only leave you vexed.


Recent high school graduate, Athena Vale might seem bubbly and uncomplicated, but she has big plans and even bigger dreams, she’s only ever shared with her best friend, Karina. Athena’s strict upbringing has left her curious about taking a walk on the wild side—just once. And she knows exactly who she wants to go wild with.


President of the Iron Bulls MC, Reed “Romeo” Crownover has no shortage of women willing to entertain him. But these days, there’s only one girl on his mind —Athena. When she shows up at his clubhouse on the night of her eighteenth birthday, he decides it’s time to work her out of his system.


But one night turns into two, two turns into three, and soon the no-strings fun turns into something more passionate than either of them expected. An intense romance neither of them have ever experienced or knew they wanted.


She’s half his age.


He doesn’t fit in her world.


She’s leaving for Los Angeles to start a new life in a few days.


Their connection was vexed from the start.


Vexed is the fourth novella in the Iron Bulls MC series. Although Romeo and Athena make brief appearances in the first three books, Vexed can be read as a stand-alone. It does not end on a cliffhanger.






HOW CAN I STILL BE fucked up over one little girl?


That sweet little bitch has had me acting stupid since the day her sassy ass showed up at my clubhouse.

It’s Dante’s fault. My Sergeant-at-Arms found himself a girl, Karina. Hot, smart, and down for about anything. Stare at her for longer than two seconds and you’re asking for an up close and painful introduction to Dante’s fists. My stone-faced-killer friend doesn’t fuck around when it comes to his girl. It’s her best friend I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

Tagging along with Dante to the girls’ graduation yesterday didn’t help. That’s high school graduation, mind you. All I thought about was how today she’d be turning eighteen. Not even running into her uptight, upscale, bitch-faced parents had settled my dick down.

Like fuck do I plan to chase after her. Not my style. Besides, there’s enough willing girls trolling my clubhouse who’ve been legal longer than five seconds. Any one of them will be thrilled to service me, then go away. The way I prefer my relationships. Quick and uncomplicated.

Unfortunately, my dick isn’t interested in any of them. No matter how hard the girls have tried to get my attention tonight.

Spotting Dante and Karina walk in the front of door, I glance behind them. No Athena.

I’m capable of casually asking about her without sounding like a complete creep, right?

Then she stumbles in the door. With her scared little Goldilocks expression, she looks like she’s about to meet up with the biggest, baddest wolf.


Dante’s wearing his I need to choke someone face. Hooking my thumbs in my pockets, I approach the trio slowly.

“What’s up?” I ask Dante, who rolls his eyes at me. He’s not fooled one bit by my laid back act.

“Hi, Romeo,” Karina says shyly. I still can’t get over how a scary motherfucker like Dante managed to snag such a beautiful and soft-spoken chick. “Um, Athena and I spent the day with her family for her birthday, and she asked if she could join us tonight. I hope that’s okay.” I appreciate the emphasis Karina puts on the word birthday. What a nice, subtle hint that her friend’s now fair game.


“Is it your birthday, sweetheart?” I ask Athena. When I put all my attention on her, she blushes and glances at the floor. A much different reaction than I expected, considering how tough she usually acts.


Dante sighs and steps away from the girls. Karina leads her friend to the bar and I ain’t happy about not being able to say more than a few words to the girl who’s taken over my every wank fantasy for weeks now.

Taking me by the arm, Dante pulls me a few steps away. “Listen, I ain’t got no say over what you do with your dick, brother. But I feel responsible for her, being she’s Karina’s friend and all. Treat her with care, please.”

It’s a lot for my Sergeant-at-Arms to say. There aren’t many females he gives two fucks about. And I sure as fuck don’t remember the last time I heard please come out of his mouth. For once, I set my sarcasm aside. “Yeah. She’ll be okay with me. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

Dante searches my face and must finally decide I’m sincere, because he nods. We join the girls at the bar. Dante immediately pulls his girl to his side.

“Athena, we’ll be upstairs. You need anything, call your girl.” He tilts his head toward Karina, then drags her upstairs. Not that she protests.

Athena watches them leave, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She pushes her shoulders back and slowly swivels her bar stool toward me. “Am I finally allowed to have a tour of your clubhouse, Mr. President?” she asks in a low, husky voice I don’t expect from someone her age.

Seems Miss Goldilocks isn’t so scared anymore.

“Come here, you,” I say as I pull her closer. I spin her seat, so her back’s to the bar and she has to tip her head back to see my face. Staring down into her bold, steel-blue eyes unbalances me. “Did you have a good birthday?”

“Not really. I think you can make it better, though.”

I can make it better, or I can make it the biggest mistake of her young life. I shouldn’t mess around with this girl. She deserves a nice guy, who isn’t almost twice her age.

Except, I’ve wanted her from the second we met. And now there’s no reason I can’t have her.

All day I begged Karina to let me tag along to her boyfriend’s motorcycle club, but now that I’m here, I’m terrified.

The reality is so much scarier than all the things I’ve fantasized about since the first time I visited the Iron Bulls MC’s clubhouse.

A few weeks ago, I’d dropped Karina off to visit her boyfriend. I hadn’t expected the president of the club to take an interest me. The intensity of his deep blue eyes tied my tongue in knots and I made a fool of myself. That had been during the middle of the day. Things were relatively calm.

Tonight, the clubhouse is in the middle of a big celebration, and I’ve never seen some of the sex acts being done around me. Not even on those five-minute Pornhub clips I’ve snuck a peek at once or twice when I found my way around my parents’ firewall.

My best friend has been keeping serious secrets. It blows my mind Karina hangs out around this erotic mayhem and never told me. I’m utterly shocked and throbbing with curiosity about everything I see.

You’re a whore just like your friend.

I give myself a shake, hoping to silent my parents’ ever-present criticism and focus. I swore if I had another chance to talk to Romeo, I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Yet here I am, gawking like a scared little girl.

This is the scene Romeo’s used to. The kind of behavior he expects. Sexy, confident girls. Not virgins who have no idea what they’re doing.

Well, some idea.

But my ex-boyfriend, Bobby, might as well have been an armadillo for all the similarity he has to Romeo.

The arrogance of having a road name like Romeo. Either he’s really good in the sack or has a micro penis.

God, I hope it’s not a micro penis.

The way he’s staring at me and running his hand over a chin full of scruff, I think I’m about to find out.

“Did you have a good birthday?” he asks while watching me as if I’m the only person in the room.

Because he wants to get in your panties, idiot.

He doesn’t even pretend he’s not checking me out. His deep sapphire eyes gleam with sex and mischief while they appreciate my long, bare legs, covered by a short, frilly skirt. I practically feel the weight of his gaze as it moves up my body, over my hips, and over the swells of my breasts, barely concealed by the flimsy fabric of my camisole.

“Not really. I think you can make it better, though.” Where the hell did I find the lady balls to say that?

Romeo likes my forwardness. A feral smile lights up his face. Hell help me, this man’s insanely hot. The beard scruff doesn’t hide the hard angles of his jaw. The fitted T-shirt he’s wearing under his leather vest hints at the rock-hard body underneath. Tattoos peek out from every available inch of skin. His thick, dark hair seems too wild to be contained and falls over his forehead in a way that declares badass. Every inch of him screams reckless, gruff, crude, dirty, dangerous, and utterly irresistible.

I’m so in over my head with this guy…this man.

And I can’t wait to see what happens next.






Phoenyx “Nyx” Slaughter has many roles, including writer, reader, and roughneck wrangler. She loves taboo stories—the filthier the better.

She loves to travel and meet new people with similar interests. Feel free to visit her on facebook or send her an email:



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Chapter Reveal Promise

promise - chapter reveal.jpgPromise By Dani Wyatt




Release Date March 24th


Add to your Goodreads shelf now.











Flames stole his childhood. Scorched his family. Scarred his face. Beckett Fitzgerald assimilated his hatred and his pain and gave it to the government. They trained him to kill and his life was set. Or so he thought.


Promise Henderson lives in quiet desperation. Her art is her solace, her brother her world. Only the State of Ohio has control over him and her only purpose left in life is to save Jordan from the same horrors she suffered. When the scarred face of a dark haired man with Monet blue eyes and a warrior’s countenance walks into her life everything changes.


When Beckett sees her, he knows this is his last chance. The little girl from the courtroom ten years ago is standing in front of him and he knows he cannot fail her again. One moment — one choice he made altered the course of her life forever. He must decide to go back to the only life that made sense to him, or tear down her walls and settle the debts of the past.














Chapter One


{Eight Years Later}


I’ve got my hand over Denise’s mouth.

She’s the loudest woman I’ve ever fucked. Not that I’ve fucked that many, I have to be honest, but enough to know that Denise is loud.

Her dime store, blue eyeshadow and the ever present snapping piece of Wrigley’s Spearmint didn’t deter my cock from being seduced by my landlord.

She’s Mrs. Robinson with red hair and a tramp stamp.

Her thirty-something body is twisted under me like a pretzel, the crooks of her elbows locked around the bend of her knees, holding herself high and wide. It’s how she likes it, and it sets my dick coal-miner deep, so win-win.

I’m in fifth gear. The sound of wet flesh slapping and the bed denting the plaster wall must be heard in all seven bedrooms plus the kitchen of this makeshift boarding house on the low rent end of Cleveland’s ass. Denise is letting loose, bucking like we’re in a damn rodeo while I try to muffle her crazy-ass screams with my hand.

I mean, come on. All that noise is distracting as fuck. I like to know the chick taking it from me is getting off, but I don’t need the whole fucking zip code to know.

She’s about to toss us both off the mattress when I realize the sheet is tangled around my foot. If we don’t finish this up, I may end up in the ER with a snapped ankle and a story to tell. I’m trying to kick the twisted linen off and not miss a beat. This is the second round with her this morning, and I should be enjoying myself, right?

But, I can’t keep my eyes off the clock.

7:41 AM.

Wrap it up, Mrs. Robinson.

I take my hand off her mouth. Her dilated, red-rimmed, emerald eyes widen then she gasps.

“Oh gawwwddddd— oh god!”

She starts right up with the fucking noise, so I slap my palm back onto her mouth.

I tip my hips, grinding down into her until her eyes roll to white, and I feel the tightness start to grab my dick. Then, I feel a warm rush as she gushes and from the way she’s flouncing and quivering, I’m hoping she’s done.

The muscles in my back spasm when Denise let’s go and her ankles lock behind my ass. I knock the last thrust home, and my chin falls to my chest. I cum along with her. It’s a sense of relief, but that’s about it.

A minute later, I’m off the bed, the discarded latex already taking a spin into the sewer and the shower heating up.

“You…” She points to me, making that single word sound like an accusation.

Denise is propped up on the threadbare floral pillows, checking her manicure and snapping on a fresh piece of Wrigley’s. Her tits are motionless, silicone coconuts standing unnaturally high on her torso.

Personally, I prefer whatever size mother nature designed. I’ll take a double A true-blue over triple D fakery any day.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, you know that? I shoulda never rented you that room.”

A touch of her Brooklyn roots comes through.

“How are you in trouble?” I put one hand on my forehead and one on my chin and jerk my head around. The twist and the pop pop pop as much a part of my morning routine as taking a piss.

I blow out a breath, feeling the momentary pressure-release the neck cracking gives. I’ll do that twenty times today. I have to.

No. Of course not. But someone’s gonna catch on. And, I don’t even want to talk about Leon. If he finds out, we’re both dead. That lady in that back bedroom looks like a bible thumper. She might stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.” Denise’s shrill voice rakes on my nerves. She is so much more appealing when my damn dick is in charge.

I want to tell her if she didn’t howl like a fucking hyena on a fresh carcass, maybe half the neighborhood wouldn’t know she was letting the resident who rents room 4B bone her twice a day and three times on Saturday.

Why I don’t have a better sense of self-preservation, I’m not sure. I should. I‘ve seen enough shit to last me seven lifetimes.

She’s right about Leon. He would probably kill me first, then kill her with my dead body.

“How would Leon find out? Huh? You said he got picked up last night, right?” I have to yell over the rush of the shower as I stick my hand in to check the temperature.

The steam is hanging in clouds and beginning to mist the mirror that is cracked like an old road map. Whoever mounted it must have been on their knees or ten years old. All I can see in it is the bottom of the shiny, textured skin on my left shoulder and the cut of my abs… along with the shadows of my ribs.

I need some groceries.

I like this mirror. My face is not my best feature.

I step into the shower trying to keep my thoughts about the day in check.

“Yep, he got picked up at the Diablo’s.  That biker bar on 2nd.” I hear the faint squeak of the bed springs just when I lean back into the steaming water, squirting shampoo into my hand.

Denise’s sharp voice makes me jump as she pokes her head around the shower curtain, her eyes shamelessly settling down below my waist with a wicked grin.

Not again, crazy. I’ve got real life happening today.

“He’s in holding at county.” She glances up over my chest, avoiding my face, then back down. “Two warrants and he won’t see the judge ‘til Monday.” She’s snapping her gum, and each time she does it my neck twitches.

My twitching is nothing new, but she’s not helping. Today isn’t just another day. It’s when a judge decides what I already know. That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself without help from the State of Ohio.

Don’t climb in here with me, please.

I lay my head back into the stream of hot water and close my eyes. Luckily, when I look again, her face is gone.

I throw on the one dress shirt I own and a worn pair of khakis. It’s the best I’ve got, and it’s been my standard uniform for the many days I’ve found myself visiting the fifth district court over the years.

One swipe of my fingers through my hair and I’m ready. I can’t see myself in the damn mirror without bending down, but I’m sure I’m as presentable as need be. I grab my backpack, double check my files and sketchbook are inside, then deep breath, and I’m on my way. My hand is on the door, my mind already halfway down the street.

“Do you even know how old I am?” I spin my head around to see Denise sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheets still twisted in a heap.

I grit my teeth until my jaw pops.


Her eyes light on my face then dart away. I’m used to people looking away, but when that person  just came on my dick four times, they should give me the courtesy of looking at me when they talk.

“Well, I’m not telling you.” She flashes me what she thinks is a coy smile, but it comes off as sad. She stands up and takes a step toward me.

Jesus, whatever.

I should tell her she’s beautiful. That’s what she wants. But, I’ve never told anyone that. My mother was beautiful, and I don’t just mean in the physical sense. No woman since has made me think of that word.

“I’m leaving.” I should say something else.

Something nice, less pragmatic.  Something nice.

She still won’t look at me, standing there with her silicone double D’s and a worn, pale green bath towel in one hand.

“Bye.” She chirps going for cute, and I don’t miss her added eyeroll.

She knows where I’m going, what I have to do today, and she’s pouting? Why I don’t think with my brain instead of my dick sometimes is beyond me.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I shouldn’t be fucking my landlord anyway, especially since her boyfriend is facing twenty to life.

My neck is aching, and I can’t stop the urge to twist and jerk my head three more times as I pull the door shut behind me.

Half a step down the hall and I hear the click of the bedroom door latch opening.

“Hey.” Denise’s voice is softer.

I turn and see the towel is thankfully around her torso. Her bedroom is on the first floor, and this hallway has three other rented bedrooms. So, it’s common courtesy to at least wear a towel where there may be other eyes — though I’ve lived in plenty of places where the word courtesy is as foreign as proper hygiene.

“Good luck today.” She forces herself to look me in the eyes. I can see her counting silently, trying to maintain eye contact a few seconds longer than makes her comfortable.

“Thanks,”  I say.

She looks down at the floor after a few seconds, and I make my way toward the back door.

At the end of the hall, I’m already wondering who I’ll be at the end of the day. Will I feel different? Will there be any relief?

“I could fall in love with you, you know.” Her voice knocks me in the back of the head.

Oh, hell no.

I’m not turning around for that. Not now. Not today.







It is ironic that on a day like today when something big is about to happen, I notice more of the small things.

Dimitri that works the metal detector didn’t shave this morning.

I toss my wallet, keys, and cell phone in the little plastic tray. No one needs to tell me what to do.

I also know exactly how much money I have in my wallet. Exactly zero.

Dimitri gives me a full nod with eye contact this morning.

Even he knows.

We’ve never exchanged much more than a few words here and there over the years. Today, I see something else in the movement of his head, the way he takes a deeper breath as I pass.

I fucking hate pity.

I step through the X-ray archway.

With any luck, when I walk out of here, I’ll be legit. On my own, according to the great State of Ohio.

Not that I haven’t been on my own for a long freakin’ time already. But, according to the law, I still need supervision. That shit is hilarious.

I grab my wallet and keys after I’m cleared through the metal detector when I look down and see the dark gray, flattened spot of someone’s discarded gum on the marble floor.

What kind of asshole does that?

I guess some asshole that might not like the way things are going for them. This place is ripe with people who think they’re getting the shitty end of the stick. Most of them sharpened the damn stick themselves and went about doing as much damage with it as they could. Then, they’re surprised when their lives turn into an episode of Cops.

You need a license for almost anything, right?

Want to drive? Well, you need to take a class, then a test, and then you have to abide by a fuck-ton of rules, or they will snatch that precious piece of freedom from you.

You want a dog? Get a license.

You want to burn leaves in the fall? You need a permit.

You want to start a business? Get a shit-ton of licenses, permits, and forms.

You wanna have a kid? Do your thing, nothing else required.

All along the top of the hallway ahead of me, there are slanted white streaks of dusty sunlight filtering through elevated windows. I’ve made this trek so many times.

I see the wide eyes and pinched brows on the people I pass. There is an overwhelming stink of old cigarette smoke when I walk by a forty-something lady with a worn, thick manila envelope clutched in her hand.

It’s not enough that none of the damn windows open in this catacomb of limestone and marble. You add in too many humans and not enough soap, stir that up with lawyers and the sharp scent of whatever they use to polish the floors, and my stomach is ready to reveal my breakfast.

My boots make a thunk-scrape sound with each step. Thunk-scrape, thunk-scrape.

I dip my right shoulder and put more weight on the right step than the left. For some reason, today I notice the uneven cadence.

Miriam at the information desk has a line of irritated people in front of her, yet she still manages to catch my eye, and I wink.

She tugs her lips to the side in an attempt to squash her smile. In her job, it’s important to stay in character. Just as quickly as I pick up on the rare curve of her lips, I see the same look that Dimitri gave me.

Pity and relief.

People pity me either because they know my past or because they can see the evidence of it on my face.

People feel relieved because whatever has happened to me, hasn’t happened to them.

I notice the way kids stare and adults look away. By now, it’s just an observation. I used to get pissed, now I understand.

I get it.

I catch a reflection in the glass that runs along the mile-long hallway outside the courtroom doors. I tower above most people. My hair isn’t unruly, but it does need a cut. Due to budgetary restrictions, a trip to the barber will have to wait.

The wall of glass is on my right, the heavy doors along my left. I hear the sniffles of a girl before I see her. I look down where she stands next to a bored looking woman with a thick file in her hands.

God damn, how hard would it be just to talk to her? Comfort her? Distract her from whatever bullshit is waiting for her today.

She’s probably six years old. I can’t help but notice she has a huge, unkempt knot in her dirty, blonde hair. She’s wearing a ponytail, a messy one, but no one bothered to brush her fucking hair before she came to court. Really?

On top of that, her socks don’t match, and she’s wearing green sweatpants with a cartoon image of The Hulk on one pant leg. Her oversized, yellow t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and I can see the jut of her collarbones through her pale skin.

Jesus, my heart breaks looking at her.

Sorry kiddo, life ain’t fair. Get a good armor going.

I try to smile at her, but she won’t meet my eye. I want to scoop her up and tell her I get it. I understand. You can’t trust anyone. Especially the adults.

A blast of cool air hits me as I open the doors to Judge Horace Carmichael’s courtroom. I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, and I knit my brow straining to see as I step inside.

From behind, Louis’s voice greets me.

“Early as usual.” He has a voice that needs to be on the radio.

I like Louis. He’s the only — and I do mean only — person I’ve met in this bureaucracy that even hints at still retaining some humanity.

And a sense of humor.

That is not easy.

Louis’s barrel chest and dark stare would be intimidating attached to anyone else. He’s a monolith, towering over me by a good three inches. He must get his hair buzzed every day, because, in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen it noticeably longer or shorter. A few more silver hairs replace black each year, but that’s the only change I’ve been able to detect.

“Yep. So, everything good? You think we’re good?” I despise the insecurity in my voice.

“Well, you know I’m always honest.” He gives me a reassuring smile. “Yes, I think we’re good. Could it still go sideways? Sure, there’s always that chance.”

“Fuck.” My hands go up and over my head, rubbing back and forth, gaining momentum. I can’t believe we could come this far and have it all fall apart.

I’m not going back. They can hang me by my balls; I’m not going. I will not live another day in another foster home.

“Hey.” Louis senses my rising ire, and he knows that will not work in my favor in front of the judge. “Breathe. I have a good feeling, okay? We’ve got all your bills, school records, recommendations — all the proof you’ve been knocking it out of the park on your own. You are the most organized almost-eighteen-year-old I’ve ever met.” He laughs, but I can still hear that halt of doubt in his voice.

I’m making a sound like a pressure relief valve on a steam engine when Louis lands a solid hand on my shoulder. My neck is twitching like a motherfucker.

After almost a year of taking care of myself under the watchful eye of my current social worker, I get a notice that Child Protective Services wants to place me in yet another foster home.  Fuck that.  I worked my ass off getting them to agree to let me live on my own even though I had just turned seventeen at the time.  They said it was a probationary arrangement, but I hit all my high notes for a year.  I worked, paid my bills, kept my grades in the four-dot-oh range and then this?

So, after I got the letter, I wrangled Louis and my social worker and petitioned the court to release me permanently from the nurturing care of CPS.  I’m just a bump shy of my eighteenth, so fucking come on already.

Louis gives my shoulder a squeeze, he can feel my tension.  He’s one of the only people I let touch me. I’m not a fan of people in my personal space.

“I’ve got another case coming before Judge Carmichael today. She should be here by now.” He scans the nearly empty courtroom and looks at his watch. “Just wait here, and I’ll be back.”

Louis turns away as I settle into the rearmost row of benches tossing my backpack next to me.

He stops a few steps away. “You bring your notebook?” He sets his eyes on me, raising his eyebrows.

It’s a rhetorical question; he knows I have it. I always have it.

“I want you to start right now. You’ll want to have something about today. I’ve got a feeling things will go your way.”

Over the years, I’ve discovered that sketching and drawing relieves my stress. Whenever I have a court date, I’m sketching faces, writing down thoughts, snippets of things I hear. It’s become a part of me.

Louis is out the door. There are two other people inside with me, huddled together in the kind of hushed whispers you find in the cool darkness of a court of law.

The room feels like a bulkhead, and no one leaves quite the same way they came in.

I unzip the top of my back pack and pull out my files and sketchbook.  I flip it open to a blank page and shift forward on the bench to dig for the pencil in my back pocket. I set pencil to paper. I love the sound of the surfaces meeting, and then making something new from the friction. I start writing.

Let this be the last fucking time.

I can’t go back.

I won’t go back.

The soft squeak of the hinges on the massive door draws my eye.

The very instant I lay eyes on her, my pencil comes to life.

Louis is guiding a young man a little younger than me inside the courtroom and gets him settled in a bench toward the front.

Right behind him, I see another little girl accompanied by what must be her social worker hustling into the room. Her eyes dart around like a cornered mouse, their color near translucent. Like the crystal clear shallow water of a tropical shore, I want to look away, but I’m mesmerized. Her hair falls to her waist in a tangle of silk the color of antique porcelain. She is as close to a living, breathing china doll as there could ever be.

My eyelids burn when she turns toward me. Her ivory cheek is decorated with an angry purple and red circle. I notice how she crinkles her nose when she looks up at the woman by her side, hoping she will be the one to save her. Because I can see she needs saving.  Then for just a moment, our eyes meet.

This broken, little soul with white hair and skin to match digs her sheer blue eyes into mine so deep, I feel her fear. My heart shatters inside my chest as I see the pain in her eyes and the way she moves so softly, gliding instead of walking.  Her arms around her waist, holding onto herself, hoping for protection that she seems to know will never come.

Someone else was born inside of me that day. Someone that knew she was part of me.














Dani Wyatt loves her alpha men; make them military, cowboys, MMA — any uber alpha with a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Receive a free exclusive unpublished title when you join Dani’s private readers group for updates, free chapters and discounts.


She’s a 40 something regular lady who just happens to love badass alpha males who pull your hair and love their women with a lethal passion.


When she’s not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can’t have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.



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Chapter Reveal….Walk the Edge

Walk the Edge - preorder graphicWALK THE EDGE Chapter One:

THERE ARE LIES in life we accept. Whether it’s for the sake of ignorance, bliss or, in my case, survival, we all make our choices.

I choose to belong to the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club. I choose to work for the security company associated with them. I also choose to do this while still in high school.

All of this boils down to one choice in particular—whether or not to believe my father’s version of a lie or the town’s. I chose my father’s lie. I chose the brotherhood of the club.

What I haven’t chosen? Being harassed by the man invad­ing my front porch. He’s decked out in a pair of pressed kha­kis and a button-down straight from a mall window. The real question—is he here by choice or did he draw the short stick?

“As I said, son,” he continues, “I’m not here to talk to your dad. I’m here to see you.”

A hot August wind blows in from the thick woods sur­rounding our house, and sweat forms on the guy’s skin. He’s too cocky to be nervous, so that dumps the blame of his shiny forehead on the 110-degree heat index.

“You and I,” he adds, “we need to talk.”

My eyes flash to the detective badge hanging on the guy’s hip and then to his dark blue unmarked Chevy Caprice parked in front of my motorcycle in the gravel drive. Twenty bucks he thinks he blocked me in. Guess he underestimated I’ll ride on the grass to escape.

This guy doesn’t belong to our police force. His plates suggest he’s from Jefferson County. That’s in the northern part of Ken­tucky. I live in a small town where even the street hustlers and police know each other by name. This man—he’s an outsider.

I f lip through my memory for anything that would jus­tify his presence. Yeah, I stumbled into some brawls over the summer. A few punches thrown at guys who didn’t keep their mouths sealed or keep their inflated egos on a leash, but noth­ing that warrants this visit.

A bead of water drips from my wet hair onto the worn gray wood of the deck and his eyes track it. I’m fresh from a shower. Jeans on. Black boots on my feet. No shirt. Hair on my head barely pushed around by a towel.

The guy checks out the tats on my chest and arms. Most of it is club designs, and it’s good for him to know who he’s dealing with. As of last spring, I officially became a mem­ber of the Reign of Terror. If he messes with one of us, he messes with us all.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks.

I thought the banging on the door was one of my friends showing to ride along with me to senior orientation, not a damned suit with a badge.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says, and I’m impressed he doesn’t shuff le his feet like most people do when they arrive on my doorstep. “As I said, I want to talk.”

I maintain eye contact longer than most men can manage.

Silence doesn’t bother me. There’s a ton you can learn about a person from how they deal with the absence of sound. Most can’t handle uncomfortable battles for dominance, but this guy stands strong.

Without saying a word, I walk into the house and permit the screen door to slam in his face. I cross the room, grab my cut off the table, then snatch a black Reign of Terror T-shirt off the couch. I shrug into the shirt as I step onto the porch and shut the storm door behind me.

The guy watches me intently as I slip on the black leather cut that contains the three-piece patch of the club I belong to. Because of the way I’m angled, he can get a good look at our emblem on the back: a white half skull with fire raging out of the eyes and drops of fire raining down around it. The words Reign of Terror are mounted across the top. The town’s name, Snowflake, is spelled on the bottom rocker.

He focuses on the patch that informs him I’m packing a weapon. His hand edges to the gun holstered on his belt. He’s weighing whether I’m carrying now or if I’m gun free.

I cock a hip against the railing and hitch my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans. If he’s going to talk, it would be now. He glances at the closed door, then back at me. “This is where we’re doing this?”

“I’ve got somewhere to be.” And I’m running late. “Didn’t see a warrant on you.” So by law, he can’t enter.

A grim lift of his mouth tells me he understands I won’t make any of this easy. He’s around Dad’s age, mid to late forties. He gave his name when I opened the door, but I’ll admit to not listening.

He scans the property and he has that expression like he’s trying to understand why someone would live in a house so small. The place is a vinyl box. Two bedrooms. One bath.

A living room–kitchen combo. Possibly more windows than square footage.

Dad said this was Mom’s dream. A house just big enough for us to live in. She never desired large, but she craved land. When I was younger, she used to hug me tight and explain it was more important to be free than to be rich. I sure as hell hope Mom feels free now.

An ache ripples through me, and I readjust my footing. I pray every damn day she found some peace.

“I drove a long way to see you,” he says.

Don’t care. “Could have called.”

“I did. No one answered.”

I hike one shoulder in a “you’ve got shit luck.” Dad and I aren’t the type to answer calls from strangers. Especially ones with numbers labeled Police. There are some law enforcement officers who are cool, but most of them are like everyone else— they judge a man with a cut on his back as a psychotic felon.

I don’t have time for stupidity.

“I’m here about your mother.” The asshole knows he has me when my eyes snap to his.

“She’s dead.” Like the other times I say the words, a part of me dies along with her.

This guy has green eyes and they soften like he’s apolo­getic. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve received some new evidence that may help us discover what caused her death.”

Anger curls within my muscles and my jaw twitches. This overwhelming sense of insanity is what I fight daily. For years, I’ve heard the whispers from the gossips in town, felt the stares of the kids in class, and I’ve sensed the pity of the men in the Reign of Terror I claim as brothers. It’s all accu­mulated to a black, hissing doubt in my soul.


It’s what everyone in town says happened. It’s in every hushed conversation people have the moment I turn my back. It’s not just from the people I couldn’t give two shits about, but the people who I consider family.

I shove away those thoughts and focus on what my father and the club have told me—what I have chosen to believe. “My mother’s death was an accident.”

He’s shaking his head and I’m fresh out of patience. I’m not doing this. Not with him. Not with anyone. “I’m not interested.”

I push off the railing and dig out the keys to my motor­cycle as I bound down the steps. The detective’s behind me. He has a slow, steady stride and it irritates me that he fol­lows across the yard and doesn’t stop coming as I swing my leg over my bike.

“What if I told you I don’t think it was an accident,” he says.

Odds are it wasn’t. Odds are every whispered taunt in my direction is true. That my father and the club drove Mom crazy, and I wasn’t enough of a reason for her to choose life.

To drown him out, I start the engine. This guy must be as suicidal as people say Mom was, because he eases in front of my bike, assuming I won’t run him down.

“Thomas,” he says.

I twist the handle to rev the engine in warning. He raises his chin like he’s finally pissed and his eyes narrow on me. “Razor.”

I let the bike idle. If he’s going to respect me by using my road name, I’ll respect him for a few seconds. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

Damn if the man doesn’t possess balls the size of Montana. He steps closer to me and drops a bomb. “I have reason to believe your mom was murdered.”

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One moment of recklessness will change their worlds

Smart. Responsible. That’s seventeen-year-old Breanna’s role in her large family, and heaven forbid she put a toe out of line. Until one night of shockingly un-Breanna-like behavior puts her into a vicious cyberbully’s line of fire—and brings fellow senior Thomas “Razor” Turner into her life.

Razor lives for the Reign of Terror motorcycle club, and good girls like Breanna just don’t belong. But when he learns she’s being blackmailed over a compromising picture of the two of them—a picture that turns one unexpected and beautiful moment into ugliness—he knows it’s time to step outside the rules.

And so they make a pact: he’ll help her track down her blackmailer, and in return she’ll help him seek answers to the mystery that’s haunted him—one that not even his club brothers have been willing to discuss. But the more time they spend together, the more their feelings grow. And suddenly they’re both walking the edge of discovering who they really are, what they want, and where they’re going from here.

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About Katie McGarry:

Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan.

Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine’s 2012 Reviewer’s Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.



Twitter: @katiemcgarry