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Showing posts with label Skye Warren. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Skye Warren. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Huge Ebook Sale
Monday, July 13, 2015
Love The Way You Lie by Skye Warren
Love the Way You Lie by Skye Warren
Publication date: March 12th 2015
Genres: Adult, Romance
Synopsis:
A dark romance about the lies that lead us down…
I’ll do anything to get safe, even if that means working at the scariest club in town.
I’ll do anything to stay hidden, even if it means taking off my clothes for strangers.
I’ll do anything to be free. Except give him up. When he looks at me, I forget why I can’t have him. He’s beautiful and scarred. His body fits mine, filling the places where I’m hollow, rough where I am soft.
He’s the one man who wants to help me, but he has his own agenda. He has questions I can’t answer.
What are you afraid of?
You.
Purchase:
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Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romantic fiction. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
Love The Way You Lie by Skye Warren
Book Title: Love the Way You Lie
Author: Skye Warren
Genre: Dark Romance
Release Date: March 12, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
~ Pepper Winters, New York Times bestselling author of Tears of Tess
I'll do anything to get safe, even if that means working at the scariest club in town.
I'll do anything to stay hidden, even if it means taking off my clothes for strangers.
I'll do anything to be free. Except give him up. When he looks at me, I forget why I can't have him. He's beautiful and scarred. His body fits mine, filling the places where I'm hollow, rough where I am soft.
He's the one man who wants to help, but he has his own agenda. He has questions I can't answer. What are you afraid of?
You.
“I LOVED it! Instantly compelling and thrillingly unpredictable, Honor and Kip’s story delivers a jagged, layered and enthralling adventure that weaves darkness and light with precision and purpose.” – the lusty literate
“Wow! I found Love the Way You Lie to be a dark, edgy and suspenseful romance. It’s also addictive, sexy and downright dirty (in the best possible way)!” – Tina, A Reader’s Review Blog
“It’s dark, mysterious, sexy, and I loved every page of it! There were twists and turns that I never saw coming! I love when an author is able to keep me guessing until the very end of the book.” – Book Fancy Book Blog
“Love The Way You Lie was heartwarming, exhilarating and tantalizing with just the right tinge of darkness.” – Warhawke’s Vault
The bright lights, the smoke. The wall of sound that feels almost tangible, as if it’s trying to keep me out, push me back, protect me from what’s going to happen next. I’m used to the dancing and the catcalls and the reaching, grabbing hands—as much as I can be. But I’m never quite used to this moment, being blinded, feeling small.
I reach for the pole and find it, swinging my body around so the gauzy scrap of fabric flies up, giving the men near the stage a view of my ass. I still can’t quite make anything out. There are dark spots in my vision.
The smile’s not even a lie, not really. It’s a prop, like the four-inch heels and the wings that snap as I drop them to the stage.
Broken.
A few people clap from the back.
Now all that’s left is the thin satin fabric. I grip the pole and head into my routine, wrapping around, sliding off, and starting all over again. I lose myself in the physicality of it, going into the zone as if I were running a marathon. This is the best part, reveling in the burn of my muscles, the slide of the metal pole against my skin and the cold, angry rhythm of the song. It’s not like ballet, but it’s still a routine. Something solid, when very few things in my life are solid.
I finish on the pole and begin to work the stage, moving around so I can collect tips. I can see again, just barely, making out shadowy silhouettes in the chairs.
Not many.
There’s a regular on one side. I recognize him. Charlie. He tosses a five-dollar bill on the stage, and I bend down long and slow to pick it up. He gets a wink and a shimmy for his donation. As I’m straightening, I spot another man on the other side of the stage.
His posture is slouched, one leg kicked out, the other under his chair, but somehow I can tell he isn’t really relaxed. There’s tension in the long lines of his body. There’s power.
And that makes me nervous.
I spin away and shake my shit for the opposite side of the room, even though there’s barely anyone there. It’s only a matter of time before I need to face him again. But I don’t need to look at him. They don’t pay me to look them in the eye.
Still I can’t help but notice his leather boots and padded jacket. Did he ride a motorcycle? It seems like that kind of leather, the tough kind. Meant to withstand weather. Meant to protect the body from impact.
The song’s coming to a close, my routine is coming to an end and I’m glad about that. Something about this guy is throwing me off. Nothing noticeable. My feet and hands and knowing smile still land everywhere they need to. Muscle memory and all that. But I don’t like the way he watches me.
There’s patience in the way he watches me. And patience implies waiting.
It implies planning.
I reach back and unclasp my bra. I use one hand to cover my breasts while I toss the bra to the back of the stage. I pretend to be shy for a few seconds, and suddenly I feel shy too. Like I’m doing more than showing my breasts to strangers. I’m showing him. And as I stand there, hand cupping my breasts, breath coming fast, I feel his patience like a hot flame.
This time I do miss the beat. I let go on the next one, though, and my breasts are free, bared to the smoky air and the hungry eyes. There are a few whistles from around the room. Charlie holds up another five-dollar bill. I sway over to him and cock my hip, letting him shove the bill into my thong, feeling his hot, damp breath against my breast. He gets close but doesn’t touch. That’s Charlie. He tips and follows the rules, the best kind of customer.
I don’t even glance at the other side of the room. If the new guy is holding up a tip, I don’t even care. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who follows rules. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about him or letting him affect me. Maybe my run-in with Blue made me more skittish than I’d realized.
All I have left is my finale on the pole. I can get through this.
This part isn’t as physically strenuous as before. Or as long. All I really need to do is grind up against the pole, front and back, emphasizing my newly naked breasts, pretending to fuck.
That’s what I’m doing when I feel it. Feel him.
I’m a practical girl. I have to be. But there’s a feeling I get, a prickle on the back of my neck, a churning in my gut, a warning bell in my head when I’m near one of them. Near a cop. My eyes scan the back of the room, but all I can see are shadows. Is there a cop waiting to bust someone? A raid about to go down?
My gaze lands on the guy near the stage. Him? He doesn’t look like a cop. He doesn’t feel like a cop. But I don’t trust looks or feelings. All I can trust is the alarm blaring in my head: get out, get out, get out.
I can barely suck in enough air. There’s only smoke and rising panic. Blood races through me, speeding up my movements. A cop. I feel it like some kind of sixth sense.
Maybe he feels my intuition about him, because he leans forward in his seat.
In one heart-stopping moment, my eyes meet his. I can see his face then, drawn from charcoal shadows.
Beautiful, his lips say. All I can hear is the song.
I’m not even on beat anymore, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because there’s a cop here and I have to get out. Even if my intuition is wrong, it’s better to get out. Safer.
I’ll never be safe.
The last note calls for a curtsy—a sexy, mocking movement I choreographed into my routine. Like the one I’d do at the end of a ballet recital but made vulgar. I barely manage it this time, a rough jerk of my head and shoulders. Then I’m gone, off the stage, running down the hallway. I’m supposed to work the floor next, see who wants a lap dance or another drink, but I can’t do that. I head for the dressing room and throw on a T-shirt and sweatpants. I’ll tell them I feel sick and have to leave early. They won’t be happy and I’ll probably have to pay for it with my tips, but they won’t want me throwing up on the customers either.
I run for the door and almost slam into Blue.
He’s standing in the hallway again. Not slouching this time. There’s a new alertness to his stare. And something else—amusement.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“I have to… My stomach hurts. I feel sick.” I step close, praying he’ll move aside.
He reaches up to trace my cheek. “Aww, should I call the doctor?” His hand clamps down on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
I grip my bag tight to my chest, trying to ignore the threat in his words. And the threat in his grip. I really do feel sick now, but throwing up on him is definitely not going to help the situation. “Please, I need to leave. It’s serious. I’ll make it up later.”
He’ll know what I’m saying. That I’ll make it up to him personally. I’m just desperate enough to promise that. Desperate enough to promise him anything. And he’s harassed me long enough that I know it’s a decent prize. I’m sure he’ll make it extra humiliating, but I’m desperate enough for that too.
“Please let me go.” The words come out pained, my voice thin. It feels a little like my body is collapsing in on itself, steel beams bending together, something crushing me from the outside.
Regret flashes over his face, whether for refusing my offer or forcing me that low. But this time he doesn’t let me go. “There’s a customer asking for you. He wants a dance.”
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Thursday, June 11, 2015
Better When It Hurts by Skye Warren
★★ REVIEW BLITZ ★★
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Better When It Hurts by Skye Warren Review Blitz @skye_warren
Genre: Dark Romance
Release Date: June 4th, 2015
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Other Books in the
series:
Love the Way You Lie
(Stripped #1)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1F2scZw
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Five years ago we
lived in the same house. He was the ultimate bad boy. And my foster brother.
Skye Warren is
the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romance.
http://www.skyewarren.com
http://www.skyewarren.com/blog/
http://www.skyewarren.com/newsletter/
https://www.facebook.com/skyewarren
https://twitter.com/skye_warren
http://www.skyewarren.com/books/
http://www.amazon.com/Skye-Warren/e/B006RDKS60
Excerpt
I try not to scan the floor when I enter. There’s
already a buzz in the air, the hunger and desperation of a strip club on
Saturday night. I’m ready to earn money, ready to move my body.
Ready to pretend Blue doesn’t bother me.
He’s nowhere in sight, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
A group of men are still gathered near the railing. They’d tipped me pretty
well while I was up there, so I figure I have a good shot at a lap dance. I
saunter over, my breasts barely contained in the red bikini top, my skin coated
in sweat and glitter and the thick smoke of this place.
“Nice set,” says a low voice from behind me.
I turn to see Blue standing there, arms crossed so his
muscles bulge, lids lowered in that intense way of his. Shit. “Thanks,” I say, but the only thing I’m really thankful for
is that my voice doesn’t shake.
He’s the head of security at the Grand, which should
make me feel safe. Except we have a history. And he hates my guts. So there’s
no affection in his eyes when they scan me up and down. No kindness in his
voice when he adds, “You look great.”
The way he says it, it sounds like a threat. He makes
me feel like the scared little girl I used to be when I knew him before. And
him? He’s like the big bad wolf, sizing me up before he swallows me whole.
I force myself to shrug at him, to toss my hair.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
He circles me, surrounding me. “But then, you always
look great. That’s what you like, isn’t it? Having men panting after you?
Leading us along by our dicks?”
My throat gets tight. I know that’s what people think
of me. They take one look at my lipstick and my short skirt and assume the
worst. God, they’re right. But it’s worse to hear it from him. Worse because he
once believed in me. “Do you expect me to apologize for earning a living?”
His lids lower. “Not for that.”
I can’t meet his eyes. I know exactly what he wants me
to apologize for. And he’ll never believe me. Even showing weakness in this
game is enough to get me killed. “I don’t apologize to anyone.”
“Of course you don’t,” he says, his voice full of
loathing. “But I don’t want your words.”
I can’t help but whisper, “What do you want?”
That makes him smile. It’s not a nice smile. “I think
you know the answer to that.”
He wants to hurt me, to use me. He wants to fuck me. I
swallow hard. “That isn’t for sale.”
“I wasn’t planning to pay you.”
This should be easy. Tell him no. Make him believe it.
I’ve done this for a thousand men before. Somehow he’s different. Maybe because
I don’t really believe it myself.
I know he’s watching me. I know he’s hatching his
plans. My heart speeds up every time I turn away from him, wondering if this is
the time he’ll pounce. One of these times, he’s going to dig into me with his
teeth and his claws. He’s going to hurt me, and I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
Not tonight, though. Not now.
I take a step away from him. “If you aren’t going to
pay for my time, I think I’ll find someone who will.”
His eyes darken. “Your call, gorgeous.”
I hear the unspoken message beneath his words, steel
under velvet. For now.
Excerpt #2
The whistle of a belt coming off follows
me into Blue’s bedroom. My breath stutters in my chest. I hear the threat of
the movement, the speed and power behind it. It’s more than a man getting
undressed.
There’s a hundred ways a belt can be used
to hurt me. I know them well.
I turn my head to the side, addressing him
but showing deference too. It’s an instinct now. It’s survival. “What are you
going to do with that?”
“I’d rather show you,” he says,
approaching me, prowling around me.
I don’t want him to hit me with that belt.
Not because I can’t take the pain. I know I can, because I’ve done it before. I
don’t want him to hit me because I might start hating him.
“Wait,” I say.
He doesn’t wait. One hand takes my wrist.
Standing behind me, he leans close. “What do you think I’ll do with this? Make
your pretty skin all red? Make you cry?”
I tense, twisting my arm. It only hurts
me, and I’m still held tight. “Don’t.”
“I’m going to do both of those things
before we’re done here, Lola.” He pauses, loosening his grip slightly. “But I’m
not going to whip you with this.”
There’s only a second where I can feel
relieved before I feel him drawing my other hand behind me. It’s a mistake to
relax around him. Whatever I’m thinking, he’s doing something different.
However much I brace myself, it’s still going to hurt.
He wraps the soft leather around my
wrists, binding them together behind my back. It pushes my breasts out in front
of me. Cool air brushes over my skin, tightening my nipples.
There’s weakness in this pose, being held,
being open.
And there’s strength too, the pride of
being wanted, the power of desire.
“On your knees,” he says so softly I
almost don’t hear him.
I don’t know what he’s thinking. Whether
he sees me as an object he can use or as an enemy he can conquer. I’m a little
off balance, lilting to the side as I sink to the carpet. His hands cup my
arms, helping me down, guiding my gently. It feels more like worship than
anger, more like kindness than cruelty.
At least until the sharp sound of his
zipper rips through the air.
His voice follows. “Candy doesn’t think
I’ll hurt you.”
I shiver at the foreboding underneath the
words. “Yes.”
He undresses slowly, methodically,
exposing rough skin and dark hair and a thick, jutting cock.
I have seen his cock before, but only in
the dark, holding it in my fist while I jerked him off, shadows and motion. Now
I see the skin like the dark side of a peach, almost the color of a bruise. I
see the curve of a vein underneath. I see the head of his cock, fat and proud
and already glistening at the tip.
I see everything clearly because the
saturated late-afternoon light still streams through his window. Our hours are
all backward and twisted. Where another woman would do this at midnight, would
expose her shame to the moon, mine comes open at five o’clock.
“She thinks you’re safe with me because I
protect the other girls.” He approaches me, his cock near my face, his eyes
looking down on me. “I even protect you.”
I choke out the words. “Because only you
get to touch me.”
He nods approvingly. Candy doesn’t understand,
he means. I understand. He’s showing me that we’re together on this, like some
perverted joint mission where I agree to be hurt. And haven’t I? I showed up
here of my own free will. Maybe I do want what’s coming to me.
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