Warning:
Adult language and mature content.
TITLE: OCEAN ( DAMAGE CONTROL 5)
AUTHOR: JO RAVEN
MODEL: Marc-André Laparé
PHOTOGRAPHER:Paul Henry Serres
AUTHOR: JO RAVEN
MODEL: Marc-André Laparé
PHOTOGRAPHER:Paul Henry Serres
Blurb:
I thought I was a normal kid once. Do normal kids have to beg from door to door for food? Not sure. It wasn’t always that bad, I guess—and then it was. Really fucking bad.
I tried to protect my younger brother from the fallout. Lied to him about how bad things were.
But it wasn’t enough. And when the accident happened, he blamed me, like everyone else.
I’m guilty of many things. He’s right about that, at least. So damn guilty I’m sure everyone knows and will call me out on it.
Except they don’t. Nobody does, except my brother.
Not even Kayla, sexy and sweet and coolest girl ever, who keeps buying me coffee and trying to read my future. But my future isn’t in the goddamn cards, or even in my hands. I don’t see a future. I deny fate, but fate has me pinned like a moth and won’t let me walk away.
Won’t let me escape.
And yeah… you know you’re losing grip when the girl you want reads your palm, and you’re scared to hell of what she’ll see and of the pain you can tell is coming.
**WARNING** 18+ for sexual content, language, and violence.
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Excerpt:
He’s kissing me, his mouth hot and demanding, his hand sliding up my face, slipping into my hair.
Missed his mouth on mine, I realize, and God, he tastes good, like licorice and dark, salty caramel.
No guy has the right to taste and smell so good after waking up from a bad dream, drenched in sweat. A dream I came in to wake him up from. He’d been shouting in his sleep, twisting on the bed, his hands curled into tight fists on top of the covers.
And now his lips are over mine, rough and soft like raw silk.
Like him.
I lift my hand to his face without conscious thought. His stubble is rough under my palm. He runs his tongue over my teeth, over the roof of my mouth, and fire spreads down my body.
My brain fizzles out. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want this. Kissing him again has been on my mind since that first time in his kitchenette. But a tiny part of my sluggish brain whispers that this isn’t such a good idea.
Because running my hands over some serious man-candy like Ocean is cool. Kissing him once and bragging to my friends is okay—though I just realized I didn’t brag about it. Weird.
Anyway, copping a feel could be filed under “man-candy reconnaissance”, but a repeat? That’s like stepping into a minefield. I’m here as a friend, right? Are we friends? Are we something more?
Something less?
Then he swipes his tongue over mine, sending electric sparks over my skin, and the thought fizzles out. He shifts so that he pins me down on the bed and presses his body to mine.
Oh God, yes. So good, better than I imagined. Can’t think when it’s Ocean kissing me, touching me, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met. I can’t hold back anymore. All my doubts and questions and fears fade in the onslaught of desire. I’ve wanted into his pants for months now.
Heck, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him from the moment I met him—but he never seemed to care, so I’d convinced myself I didn’t care, either.
I reach up, tangle my fingers in his blue hair, soft like feather down, and arch up against him. He gasps against my lips and breaks the kiss.
Before I can protest, just as I start tugging lightly on his soft hair, he lays his body right on top of mine, long and strong and hard, propping his elbows on either side of my head, hedging me in.
Looking down at me, his blue eyes wide, his face soft with wonder, like I’m a hallucination. Or like he’s still asleep. Still dreaming.
“Fuck, Kay, you’re…” But he never tells me what I am because he dives for my mouth, invading my senses, and his body moves over mine, a heavy, hot wave.
He licks, bites and sucks on my lips until I’m writhing underneath him, my hands holding on to his lean waist, his rocking hips. He pulls back only to bow his head to my neck. He sucks on my skin, and it sends bolts of need down to my core.
“Need you,” he breathes against my wet skin, sending shivers skittering over my skin. His silky hair brushes my cheek. “Need to feel you.”
Oh God, yes.
He’s kissing me, his mouth hot and demanding, his hand sliding up my face, slipping into my hair.
Missed his mouth on mine, I realize, and God, he tastes good, like licorice and dark, salty caramel.
No guy has the right to taste and smell so good after waking up from a bad dream, drenched in sweat. A dream I came in to wake him up from. He’d been shouting in his sleep, twisting on the bed, his hands curled into tight fists on top of the covers.
And now his lips are over mine, rough and soft like raw silk.
Like him.
I lift my hand to his face without conscious thought. His stubble is rough under my palm. He runs his tongue over my teeth, over the roof of my mouth, and fire spreads down my body.
My brain fizzles out. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want this. Kissing him again has been on my mind since that first time in his kitchenette. But a tiny part of my sluggish brain whispers that this isn’t such a good idea.
Because running my hands over some serious man-candy like Ocean is cool. Kissing him once and bragging to my friends is okay—though I just realized I didn’t brag about it. Weird.
Anyway, copping a feel could be filed under “man-candy reconnaissance”, but a repeat? That’s like stepping into a minefield. I’m here as a friend, right? Are we friends? Are we something more?
Something less?
Then he swipes his tongue over mine, sending electric sparks over my skin, and the thought fizzles out. He shifts so that he pins me down on the bed and presses his body to mine.
Oh God, yes. So good, better than I imagined. Can’t think when it’s Ocean kissing me, touching me, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met. I can’t hold back anymore. All my doubts and questions and fears fade in the onslaught of desire. I’ve wanted into his pants for months now.
Heck, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve wanted him from the moment I met him—but he never seemed to care, so I’d convinced myself I didn’t care, either.
I reach up, tangle my fingers in his blue hair, soft like feather down, and arch up against him. He gasps against my lips and breaks the kiss.
Before I can protest, just as I start tugging lightly on his soft hair, he lays his body right on top of mine, long and strong and hard, propping his elbows on either side of my head, hedging me in.
Looking down at me, his blue eyes wide, his face soft with wonder, like I’m a hallucination. Or like he’s still asleep. Still dreaming.
“Fuck, Kay, you’re…” But he never tells me what I am because he dives for my mouth, invading my senses, and his body moves over mine, a heavy, hot wave.
He licks, bites and sucks on my lips until I’m writhing underneath him, my hands holding on to his lean waist, his rocking hips. He pulls back only to bow his head to my neck. He sucks on my skin, and it sends bolts of need down to my core.
“Need you,” he breathes against my wet skin, sending shivers skittering over my skin. His silky hair brushes my cheek. “Need to feel you.”
Oh God, yes.
Author Bio:
Jo Raven is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, best known for her series Inked Brotherhood and Damage Control. She writes edgy, contemporary New Adult romance with sexy bad boys and strong-willed heroines. She writes about MMA fighters and tattoo artists, dark pasts that bleed into the present, loyalty and raw emotion. Add to that breathtaking suspense, super-hot sex scenes and a happy ending, and you have a Jo Raven® story
Find all her books here .
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