WICKED RUSH (Wild Rush Book 1)
know what I like, Caitlin. You know I want you to beg for it.”
up on something I want. Now, I refuse to take no for an answer. I want this
girl. I want to help her, and sleep with her, and steal things with her, and
make her laugh the way she did right that night in her friend’s car. We’re
going to have a summer neither of us will ever forget, and by the time we go
our separate ways, she’ll have enough money to go to college, and I will have
had her…every way I want her.
to get in any deeper with a boy who is a walking, talking contradiction. A boy
who has a taste for breaking the law, a wicked way with words, and a confident
touch that leaves no doubt he’s way more experienced than I am. I’ve spent my
life putting aside my own needs and cleaning up after other people’s mistakes.
Now, I want to make a mistake of my own.
I’m willing to beg to be burned.
boundary-pushing read intended for readers over the age of seventeen. The book
features graphic love scenes, violence, strong language, and thieves in love.
Read at your own risk.
steamy, high-octane love story that will have you wondering how far you’d go if
you stopped playing by the rules. And may even make you want to step over the
lines.” –New York Times Bestselling Author, Lauren Blakely
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Gabe asks, turning left toward downtown. “I don’t want to be accused of breaking my promises.”
“Do you want to take me home?”
“Hell, no,” he says, voice husky. “I want you to put your hand down your panties.”
My breath hitches. “What?”
“I want you to touch yourself,” he says, glancing my way, the heat in his eyes enough to make me feel flushed all over. “You’ve done that before, right?”
I swallow. “I’m twenty years old. What do you think?”
“Show me how you do it,” he says, slowing the car a few miles per hour, making something inside me send up a wail of frustration, angry that he’s costing us precious seconds. “Touch yourself for me, Caitlin.”
My heart lurches, and my hand trembles as I reach for the hem of my dress. I’m shocked by how turned on I am, and even more shocked that I want to obey Gabe’s order. That I want to lift my skirt up around my waist with one hand as I slip the other—slowly, slowly, knowing Gabe’s watching out of the corner of his eye as he drives—down the front of my white satin panties.
My throat tightens and my eyes slide closed as I ease my fingers through my swollen folds, feeling the molten slickness of my own arousal, trembling as one knuckle brushes over my clit, sending a ripple of excitement sweeping through me, making my nipples tighten inside my bra. A part of me is mortified that I’m doing this in front of Gabe—especially while he’s still fully dressed—but another part of me is already flying, loving the rush that sweeps through me as he curses beneath his breath. The desire in his voice makes me feel powerful, beautiful, fierce and lovely, and in touch with the most primal part of myself—like dancing, only better.
So much better.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he says, his voice ragged.
My eyes squeeze more tightly closed, my breath coming faster as I dip my hand lower, dipping into the well of heat between my legs.
“Fuck it,” he says. “I don’t want to wait.”
His fingers close around my wrist and my eyes fly open. He tugs my hand from my panties, bringing it to his mouth, slipping my index finger between his lips and suckling, moaning as his tongue sweeps up and down, licking my arousal from my skin. The firm pressure of his tongue and the light suction of his mouth send a jolt of excitement speeding through me.
I’ve never thought of a finger as an erogenous zone, but in Gabe’s mouth, it is. It feels like every nerve-ending in my body has relocated to my finger and every one of them is celebrating being closer to Gabe’s lips, his tongue, his teeth that drag lightly over my skin as he pulls one finger from his mouth only to insert the next.
He licks me clean with a thoroughness that makes it clear he loves the way I taste before threading his fingers through mine and squeezing tight.
“This is it.” He swings the car into a deserted parking lot, into a space marked “Reserved for the Law Offices of Aaron Alexander.”
He brakes hard; my pulse leaps in my throat.
This is it. We’re here.
mystery to write the sassy, Southern romances, and sexy, New Adult romances she
loves to read.
raising a few adorable, mischievous children in a tree house in the boonies.
She grew up in rural Arkansas, spending summers running wild, being chewed by
chiggers, and now appreciates her home in a chigger-free part of the world even
more.When she’s not writing, Jessie enjoys playing
her dulcimer (badly), sewing the worlds ugliest quilts to give to her friends,
going for bike rides with her house full of boys, and wandering the woods,
glass of wine and camera in hand, on the lookout for Bigfoot.