by Clara Stone
“What are you doing, Jess?”
She flails her arms, legs, and—I flinc—hair. The slick black and purple and pink strands whip my face as she tosses her head from side to side.
“Shit, woman.” I secure my grip on her wrists and stretch her arms over her head, pinning her legs with mine. “Calm the fuck down,” I yell, my breathing hard and heavy, matching hers.
“I don’t like you,” she spits.
I chuckle. “You don’t say. Now, if you promise to be a good girl and don’t knee me in the balls, I’ll let you go.”
She growls.
“Did you seriously just growl at me?”
Her lips curl upward.
“Cute. Very cute.” I grip her wrists a little harder. “Feel free to keep this up, sweetheart. I’m one hundred percent okay with having you beneath me, me in between your legs.”
“Wha—” Her eyes turn big and round, like she’s only just realized our very intimate position. The anger in her eyes simmers, and her gaze finds mine.
Her mouth parts and mine goes bone dry. We look at each other for one hell of a long moment before I let go of her wrists. She doesn’t move, like she’s a frozen piece of humancicle.
Putting my weight on one arm, I reach over the messy locks of hair and shove them out of her face.
That’s when she attacks me.
Again.
But this time, I comply.
Oh, holy Batman, do I comply.
Her mouth is on mine and her arms wrap around my neck in a vice grip. My hand cups her face as a shiver shoots up my spine.
I let out a groan that rumbles from deep within.
One of my hands snakes its way into her hair while the other caresses her cheek. Our breaths mingle and our teeth clash while we kiss. The next time I come up for air, she shoves me to the side, so hard my head bounces against the comforter. Jess straddles me, her mouth attached to mine once more. Her hands are all over me, frantic. It’s like she doesn’t know where or how she should touch me, feel me.
I pour every ounce of my frustration, lust, and undeniable attraction for this woman into our kiss.
Her hand dives into my short hair, pulling it hard. I growl, craving that pain. I circle her waist with my arms and flip her over.
“Ugh.” She falls, her body bucking and writhing beneath my touch. Her hands tug and pull at my shirt, her legs falling apart to let me get low and comfortable against the apex of her thighs.
I leave her lips, seeking the warm, soothing sensation of her skin. I travel down toward her chin, peppering kisses along the column of her neck.
Her soft moan is my undoing. I open my eyes, tilting my head up for the first time since she kissed me. I smile. She stares back at me with an unreadable expression, pushing up on her elbows.
“Wha—”
A flash of white streaks through my peripheral vision.
“Hey!” I cover my face with my arm to block the attack from a . . . pillow?
She’s trying to hurt me with a fucking pillow.
“What the hell, Jess?” I roll off her, turning onto my back, and she follows, straddling me again, pillow in hand. I tuck my chin and block my head with my arms.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
“Stop!” And when she goes for round six, I block her, pulling the pillow out of her hands and chucking it across the room. That doesn’t stop her. She picks up another pillow and . . .
Whack.
I somehow manage to get free from her and jump off the bed, putting my hands up before me. “Can we at least talk about this like adults?”
“No.” She comes at me again. Out of instinct, I pick up the pillow on the floor and use it to protect myself. Before I know it, we’re in the middle of an honest to God pillow fight, both of us yelling at each other.
A few more minutes pass before a realization hits me, right square in the chest. I stop. This isn’t why I’m here. I throw the pillow in my hand onto the floor and just stand still.
She’s pissed and frustrated. I don’t know why, but hell, if she needs to get it out, then fine. So I let her take it out on me, cringing as the pillow strikes me again and again, until finally, she’s done.
She falls to her knees, gasping. “Why . . . ?”
I drop to my knees before her and slowly wrap my arms around her. She falls into me, whispering, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to myself.”
I find myself whispering back, “Whatever it is, you don’t have to. You don’t have to. I promise.”
And we stay like that for a long time, not whispering another word.
CAT WHISPERS SOMETHING in Jess’s ear that makes her giggle. When she notices me walking toward her, her eyes brighten further, though her smile fades a little.
She playfully shoves her friend away and takes a step toward me. “How can I help you?”
My voice feels rough when I say, “Shot of whiskey. Neat, please.”
She swallows and nods, before reaching for the whiskey bottle behind her and pouring me one. I down it in one gulp and slap the glass on the table. She presses her mouth together into a thin line. She folds her arms and leans forward, giving me one hell of a shot down her low-cut shirt. “Anything else I can do you for?”
My throat goes bone dry and I lick my lips, my gaze taking in every beautiful curve of her soft chest. I nod. “I’ve always wondered what the storage closet in the back looked like.”
She giggles, leaning even further forward. I don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing to me. If she does, she’s playing one hell of a game. And one hundred percent winning.
“You have, huh?”
“I have.” I nod. “Mind giving me a tour?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all.” Cat steps in, nudging Jess’s shoulder.
Her cheeks warm with a brilliant shade of red, and I wonder if she’ll follow through with my request. But then she nods, discreetly, and with a wink, walks across the bar headed to the back. I grin, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. Holy shit, is this really happening?
“Lucky bastard.” Fisher slaps my back as I walk past him.
I knock on the supply room door; she pulls it open and jerks me inside. She shuts the door behind me and jumps into my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist. I moan the moment our mouths touch, my hands racing up and down her sides.
I walk us further into the closet, until her back slams into the wall.
She grunts.
I pull away from the kiss long enough to ask, “You okay?”
She nods, her nails scraping the back of my neck.
“Naughty, aren’t we?”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
“And bossy.” I grin, pecking her mouth, then moving on to explore her long neck. “I like it. A lot.” I pull the soft skin of her throat into my mouth and suck on it.
She moans, rocking her hips against mine.
“Do you know what those small noises do to me?” She doesn’t say anything. I pin her to the wall, using my knee to support her, and drag my hands up from under her knees toward her hips. “And these . . .” I say, squeezing her there, putting just enough pressure. “I’m going to kiss every square inch of you, sweetheart, and you’re going to love it.”
Her head falls back against the wall and she makes a throaty noise in agreement. But I need more. So I stop kissing her. “Do you understand?”
She opens her eyes and looks at me, her lips parted like she’s coming up for air. Her grin is wicked. “Who’s Mr. bossy-pants now?”
I grunt and press my body into hers, letting my hands get under her shirt, wandering up to her chest. We’ve been fooling around more and more these past few days, each kiss getting hotter and more daring than the one before.
“All of this. I’m going to kiss of all this, sweetheart, and you’re going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.” I stop my hand just under the curve of her breast.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Now be a good little boy and stop talking.”
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I oblige as I resume kissing her senseless, squeezing and touching her anywhere my greedy little hands get to, all while my stomach is turning into tight knots and my body aches from the pressure.
Just when I think I can’t hold it back any longer, the most unbelievable thing happens—I feel Jess’s hand rubbing against my hard-on, caressing me through the fabric of my jeans. I stop kissing her and my head falls back as I groan. But it all ends too soon.
The storage room doorknob jiggles and the door swings open.
Thank god I had the sense to make out with her behind the door’s swing. If not, we’d have been caught red-handed. Whoever the person is takes a million years to get their shit together and leave.
Before the door closes again, a male voice—John—says, “Next time, use the broom closet next door, if you don’t want to get caught. That’s where I take Tracy.”
After the door closes, we both wait, frozen, staring intently into each other’s eyes, trying to hear if John’s really gone. A little snort escapes Jess’s lips. And soon, she’s full-on giggling, her head thrown back. I’m mesmerized as I watch her.
“That was close,” she says, relaxing her hold around me as she slides down to the ground.
I scoff. “That’s nowhere near close, sweetheart. We totally got caught red-handed.”
“Oh my god.” She laughs, her face turning a bright shade of red. “How can I ever go out there knowing he knows I’ve been getting frisky?”
“You do realize he just admitted to getting it on with his girl in the room next door, right?”
She swats at me. “It’s not the same. I’ve never caught him in the act, like he did with us.”
“If he gives you crap—”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell you about it and you’ll shut him up.” She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated motion.
“You catch on quick.”
She sticks her tongue out, and I have the urge to follow it back into her mouth.
“I think you should thank him.”
“And why would I thank the little cockblocker?”
She places her hand over my chest and walks two fingers downward. “Because I’ve never been more excited in my life.” She winks. “If you know what I mean.”
I groan, leaning down to press my nose into the curve of her neck. “I want to kill him even more now.”
She laughs as she opens the door and heads back out to the bar.
I have my support team to thank for making this book a reality. My family, my editor, Kisa Whipkey, and my dear friend, Jessica Baker--Thank you for letting me borrow your name for Harrington’s love interest. Without all of your help and support and feedback and the crazy amounts of edits, this book wouldn’t have turned out this amazing! LOVE you guys to the moon and back!
Thanks to Mandy Hollis of MHPhotography stock and custom photos for the amazing cover photo and teaser images for Fearless!
This was the first time I got to work with Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations, and I can’t say how happy I am with the cover design. Thank you so much for making this a beauty!
A special thank you to my beta readers—Christina Rhoads, Derna Fearon, Kayla Powell, and Shelby Von Wahl. Your feedback was super helpful in making this book extraordinary! Thank you for helping me with your unbiased opinions!
Readers, Bloggers, and Writing community. You inspire me to write stories that make you swoon. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
And last but not least, THANK YOU to the guy upstairs for giving me the chance to live out my dreams and the strength to continue in this journey. Without your blessing, this isn’t possible.
Clara Stone lives in the beautiful city of Boise, ID. Unlike what most believe about Idaho, it’s more than a sack full of potatoes. When she’s not writing, you’ll catch Clara reading mostly YA books and enjoying time with her family. She is a proud CW TV addict.
The Dracian Legacy is her first YA paranormal romance series. She strongly believes that true love conquers all and that’s a common theme you’ll find within her novels.
She is published through Reuts Publications.
Get in Touch with Clara!
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Eagle, ID 83616
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