I’m J.D. Wilder, and it takes a lot to shame me, but we’re about to see where you draw the line.
Gabrielle Duval once belonged to me.
And like it or not, she’ll be mine again.
In a world where money, power and corruption rule, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.
Although nothing with that woman is ever easy.
But believe me when I tell you, I’ll enjoy every minute of the fight.
And get ready for the second book in the duet – it releases next month!
I’m the devil’s spawn.
The son of evil incarnate.
The heir to corruption and depravity.Gabrielle Duval once belonged to me. And whether she likes it or not, she’s destined to be mine again. What will it take to lure this luscious woman back into my bed? A deal with the devil himself, of course.My name is JD Wilder, and this is the story of how I reclaim what’s mine.
GABRIELLE
“What exactly does this—arrangement—you’re proposing, entail?”
“I won’t delve into every salacious detail, because I know you’re fully aware of what it entails.”
Not an answer. “What do you expect from me?”
“You don’t really want me to spell it out.”
“But I do. Spell it out, JD. Tell me exactly how you plan on degrading me, as though I’m not human. Go ahead,” I challenge. “I’m sure it’ll bring you lots of pleasure.”
“Gabrielle, you test my patience too often. One day you’ll get more than you bargained for.”
He’s fiddling with his knife. He can’t meet my eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. Something about it makes him uncomfortable. Somewhere inside he knows it’s wrong. I’m a bit relieved, but I won’t let him off the hook. I want him to squirm with discomfort. I want his stomach to churn until he tastes the bitter bile in his throat. I want whatever spark of conscience is left to keep him awake at night. If he wants to do this to me, he’s going to pay. “Spell. It. Out. Unless you’re too ashamed to say the words out loud.”
His eyes are black when he drags my chair to him, pinning my legs between his until I can’t move. His right thumb finds my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It takes a lot to shame me. But we’re about to find out where you draw the line.”
I jerk my chin from his hold. In return, he squeezes his thighs around mine, holding them in a vise-like grip, the exquisite pressure forcing a bloom between my legs.
“You’ll get on your knees and put my cock in your sassy mouth any time I tell you to. After I come, you’ll lick every drop off your lips, and you’ll enjoy it. Just like you enjoyed it before. Like you enjoyed everything filthy thing I did to you. Are you ashamed yet, Gabrielle?” He lowers his head and the heat from his mouth grazes my temple. “I don’t think you are.”
My heart is racing. I can’t control it.
“Remember all those times I buried my face in your sweet pussy while you writhed under me? How you begged me to sink my cock into you? How you screamed and clawed before you trembled? It’ll be just like that. Only nothingis off limits this time. You were a dirty, greedy girl who begged shamelessly for release. I bet that hasn’t changed.” He runs a finger over my bare arm and I shiver. “You loved it then, all of it, and you’ll love it even more now.”
I maneuver back, and swing my arm to slap his face. But he catches it before I make contact. “I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me. You hate that you want to be under me again. If I stick my fingers in your pussy, it’ll tell the real story.” He lowers his head again, and murmurs near my ear. “Want me to do that? Slide a finger or two inside you? It’ll feel so good. Remember how much you liked it? This is just too much for you to process right now. You don’t know how you feel. I can help you figure it out. Let me.”
I’m aroused. Disgracefully aroused by his husky voice, his filthy words, and the memories of him pleasuring me. My core is throbbing. And I don’t need him to check if I’m wet. I’m drenched.
He’s right. I don’t hate him. I’m filled with unresolved anger, resentment, and hurt. And I’m confused. So confused. But if he stroked my breast, or brushed his fingers over the slick flesh between my thighs, I would press my pussy into his hand. No, I don’t hate him. I hate myself for being so weak.
A confirmed city-girl, Eva moved to rural Western Massachusetts in 2014. She found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkey, deer, and coyote roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she had been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into steamy love stories.
A romantic at heart, Eva looks forward to date night all week. The perfect evening includes well-crafted cocktails, a fabulous perfume, Cherry Garcia ice cream, and her husband, of course. If you add good friends, live jazz, and impossible shoes, she will follow you anywhere.
Eva holds a BA from Boston College, and a JD from the Washington College of Law. She spent a career working in domestic violence, child abuse and neglect, and civil rights. Aspects of this work often find their way into her books.
When she’s not writing sexy stories, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons, or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
