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I’m that guy.
Camilla Landry rustles against me, the silky fabric of her overpriced lingerie slipping along my bruised rib. The porcelain perfection of her skin is even more innocent against the colorful ink dotting my own. It’s demure meets damage, pampered meets punctured.
So, yeah, it’s obvious I’m that guy. Dominic Hughes. Her attempt at rebellion. Her bid to see what the other side of the tracks feel like. I’m okay with being used because, from where I’m sitting, the other side of the tracks have never looked so good.
If this is truly the last one, Adriana Locke knows how to end a streak on an extreme high note. Cami and Dom are out of this romance world fantastic. From the first flirty chapter to the final perfect page, this emotional journey flows flawlessly. I couldn’t read fast enough yet I wanted to savor each word. Swink is a novel I will return to when in need of a pick-me-up. There was never a dull moment or low point.
Dominic Hughes is all male. The type your dad wouldn’t approve of upon first glance but you fall for him anyways. His grit and grime and doesn’t pretend to be anything else. Underneath Dom’s tough exterior lies a soft spot for a particular classy gal.
Camilla Landry is a woman who gets what she wants if she doesn’t already have it. Her older brothers keep her safe but she pushes boundaries like any typically over-protected girl. She’s driven and responsible yet reckless and free with Dom.
Their connection was instant upon first sight. The bad boy and the sweet girl destined be apart but fights for their future. From every delicate touch to each deliberate pull, Cam and Dom set fire to the pages. Fireworks boom and explode in a rainbow of colors whenever they share a scene.
“If I didn’t have to get up so damn early in the morning and head up north for a job, I’d be on my way over,” he promises.
“What would you do when you got here?”
It’s a loaded question, one that will only make it harder that he’s not here tonight. Not that he would be here all night anyway. He doesn’t sleep here. He won’t. He’ll come over, but I always wake up in my bed alone.
“I’d hope you’d be wearing that yellow silk robe that isn’t long enough to cover your ass,” he says, a grit to his voice that’s as smooth as it is rough. It reminds me of his hands—soft enough to caress, yet coarse enough to cause my body to fire on all cylinders. “I’d find you standing in the kitchen, watching porn on your phone.”
“No, you wouldn’t!” I giggle. “I don’t watch porn on my phone.”
“This is my little fantasy,” he teases. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Fine. Continue on,” I say, propping one leg up on a neighboring chair.
“I’d walk in behind you and almost lose it when I see you with your hand between your legs. Your head would fall back just a little as you moan like you do when you’re turned on. I’d wrap your hair, still wet from a shower, around my fist and tug your head back just a little more so I can bury my face in the crook of your neck.”
The whimper that passes my lips isn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it if I wanted to. The thought of his hands on my skin, his breath against my cheek, his cock rock hard and long against the small of my back, has me shifting in my seat.
Lifting the hem of my floral-print dress, I move aside the lace of my panties and feel the heat and wetness radiating from between my legs.
“I’d kiss you right behind the ear just so I could feel you shiver against me,” he breathes. “Smelling your vanilla perfume mixed with the scent of you all turned on would make me so fucking hard.”
“And me so wet,” I whisper.
“I lay my hand over yours,” he continues, “my fingers holding yours in place. You breathe in, the top of your robe falling open so I can see those big, round titties swollen for me, wanting my mouth on them.”
“God, Dom,” I groan, spreading my legs a little wider. Flicking at my engorged clit, the sensation makes me gush a breath of pure need.
“What are you doing right now?” he whispers.
“Ah,” is my response as I roll the nub with my thumb, my eyes squeezed closed imagining it is Dominic’s hand on me and not mine.
“Are you touching yourself, Camilla?”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you wish it were me?”
“I’d shove your robe up, bend you over the table, and bury myself inside you so deep you almost can’t take it. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” I almost moan. My back is now arched, my breathing heavy and panting, as I replay two days ago when his words tonight were almost a play-for-play.
“I love the way you squeeze around me. Your little pussy almost milks my cock, begs for it. Do you know that?”
My eyelids squeeze together harder, almost painfully hard, as I touch myself in just the right way. The burn begins low in my stomach, the rumble getting louder with each and every movement of my hand.
The lace of my panties causes friction against the back of my palm, just another bit of sensation that sends me on a spiral higher and higher.
“Think of how good it feels when I hit that spot in the back of your pussy,” he coaxes. “The way you let loose. How your legs shake as you flood my cock with so much fucking juice that it almost shoves me out of you.”
“Dom,” I utter through clenched teeth as the tremors of my orgasm start to hit me full-on.
“You coming, baby? You coming thinking of me buried inside you?”
My body hums at the imagery he’s painted for me, the thought of him doing all of those things sending me on a high that could only be topped if it were him doing them.
Sucking in a breath, I hear him follow suit, as I whimper at the aftershocks of my climax. My legs relax, the riot in my stomach eases, as I let my head fall back with a contented, satisfied sigh.
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USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.
She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket.
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