Excerpt: Sweetest Taboo by J. Kenner

Excerpt: Sweetest Taboo by J. KennerSweetest Taboo by J. Kenner
Series: S.I.N. #3
Also in this series: Dirtiest Secrets
Also by this author: Say My Name
Amazon US
Goodreads

From the New York Times bestselling author of such “racy, sizzling Stark novels” (RT Book Reviews) as Release Me and Say My Name comes the provocative first Stark International Novel—the beginning of the S.I.N. series.

It was wrong for us to be together, but it was even harder to be apart.

The memory of Dallas Sykes burns inside of me.

Everyone knows him as a notorious playboy, a man for whom women and money are no object. But to me, he’s still the one man I desperately crave—yet the one I can never have.

Dallas knows me better than anyone else. We bear the same scars, the same darkness in our past. I thought I could move on by staying away, but now that we’re drawn together once more, I can’t fight the force of our attraction or the temptation to make him mine.

We’ve tried to maintain control, not letting ourselves give in to desire. And for so long we’ve told ourselves no—but now it’s finally time to say yes.

Dirtiest Secret is intended for mature audiences.

~ Excerpt ~

 

“There are so many things to say. Important things. Essential things.”

“Jane—”

“But not now. I don’t want to talk about any of it right now.”

Hope warred with fear inside him.

“I just want—oh, please, Dallas. I don’t want to talk. Right now, I just want you to kiss me.”

And that was it—that was the moment she broke him. He felt himself shatter, the fear that had hardened inside him like glass breaking into a million tiny pieces. He reached for her, then cupped her head and closed his mouth gently over hers.

Immediately, he became drunk on the taste of her, aroused by the feel of her.

He wanted to crush her body against his, to feel her heat, her heart. He wanted to bruise her mouth with his kisses and close his hands tight around her arms. He’d come so damn close to losing her, and he couldn’t stand the thought of ever letting her go.

But he didn’t—he couldn’t. She was too fragile, and the possibility that he might hurt her—more, again—ate at him. So instead, he littered soft kisses on her face, her neck. He stroked her. Touched her. Hell, he worshipped her.

“Dallas?” Tentatively, her fingers brushed his face.

He blinked and focused on a space over her shoulder, knowing that he’d come completely undone if he looked into her eyes. “I thought I’d lost you. First, when you walked out. And then—and then—”

The words caught in his throat, too horrible to even voice. “Christ, Jane. I can’t lose you.”

Gently, her fingertip stroked his lower lip. Even more gently, she took his chin and forced him to look at her. “I’m right here.”

“And thank God for that.”

Their eyes met and held, and for a moment there was no time, no space, no world that judged them. There was just them.

Then she lunged, her mouth closing over his with such firm finality that it both broke the moment and had him laughing. “This is how I want you,” she said, and he answered her silently but enthusiastically, pulling her hard against him, slamming his mouth against hers. Taking. Consuming. Until he was nothing but heat and need, an ache building in him that he couldn’t quench no matter how tight he held her, how hard he kissed her.

He was lost in her, drowning in the sensuality of her fingernails digging into his back. Of her teeth claiming his lips. Of the way her pelvis ground hard against his erection.

With a low, needful groan, he slid his hands down and grabbed her hips, craving an even closer contact. He tightened his grip, pulled her toward him, then immediately released her and stepped back when she released a soft, sharp, “Oh!”

“Jane?”

She stood before him, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “I hurt you.”

“No. No, I’m fine.” She shook her head, but he knew better. “Dallas, please. I don’t want—”

“What?”

“Distance.” She dragged her teeth over her lower lip as if she was unsure about how he felt.

“Oh, baby. No. Never.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”

She cocked her head, then narrowed her eyes. “Where?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The speed of her reply sang in his heart. “Then let me take care of you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “If you’re thinking about putting me to bed, you can just stop that nonsense right now. I’ve been in a hospital for almost two days. Between boredom and sedatives, I’m all caught up on my sleep.”

“I promise, sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

That was a little bit of a lie. She’d protest, he knew, but she needed more sleep. Good sleep, not with nurses popping in and out and a sterile bed with the scent of hospital disinfectant permeating the room.

She’d sleep, all right. But he intended to make sure she was ready for it. That she would drift under, safe and warm and content in his arms.

Gently, he drew her into the bathroom, her favorite room in the apartment. The previous owners had knocked out a wall, turned the small second bedroom into a closet, and used part of that space to make room for a steam shower and an oversize whirlpool tub. The day they’d moved in, Jane had told him this bathroom was a little slice of heaven.

He turned the water on, cranking up the heat the way he knew she liked it, then he stood her on the dense, white rug that filled most of the space.

“Are you tending me?” Her voice was as teasing as her expression, and it was all he could do not to gather her close and sigh with contentment. Yes, he knew she was still aching and sore. No, they didn’t know who her attacker was. Yes, her birth father was locked in a cell, and Dallas was the one keeping him there.

But none of that mattered. Not then. All he cared about—all he could hold in his head—was Jane. That she was alive. That she was his.

That she’d come back to him.

“Damn right I’m tending you. Now put your hands up,” he added with mock sternness.

She complied, and he peeled off her scrub top, delighted to find that she wore nothing beneath it. Her breasts were perfect, round and firm, and as he watched, her nipples tightened and her areolae puckered. He wanted to roll her nipples between his fingers. He wanted to taste her breasts and feel her arch back and moan, her tits hard and hot in his hands as he licked and sucked, taking her so far that she came in his arms simply from the pressure of the desire building between her legs.

Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he met her eyes. Then he lowered his gaze to her chest, watching it rise and fall as her desire heightened to match his. Her pulse quickened in her throat, another spot that he wanted to lick and tease.

Slowly, he reached for the drawstring of her pants. His fingers brushed her abdomen as he did, the touch so light it was almost negligible. It was enough, though, and he felt the shock of that connection all the way down to his cock. He was rock hard and straining against his jeans. And when her pants slid over her hips to the floor—when she stood before him completely naked—he had to fight the battle of his life not to step forward, slide his hand between her thighs, and feel the creamy heat of her arousal.

Instead, he simply stood and stared and wanted, his gaze caressing her. Reviewing every curve, every nuance. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, and the bruises he saw on her thighs and hips started a slow burn inside him.

He was going to kill whoever did this. No doubt. No question.

 

About J. Kenner

J. Kenner spent more than ten years as a litigator in Southern California and Central Texas, using her rare free time to indulge her passion for writing. California born, she now lives—and writes—in Texas, with her husband and daughters.



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