Envy is a silent, cold-blooded killer, extinguishing a little more life from me every day.
Hitting sharp, fast, and seemingly out of nowhere; struck by lightning without a storm cloud in sight...in she rolls. Reece Kelly, a force to be reckoned with, head of the class-- which means one thing-- she's out of mine.
"You're wasting your time, Rhett Foster. Locks have keys and walls can be climbed. I'm not buying your broody, skeptical act for one minute."
And then there's that...
As much as she compels me to open up, to show her what no one else gets to see...there are guilty shadows lurking in the depths of her eyes that she cannot hide from me.
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S.E.Hall, lover of all things anticipation and romance, is the author of The Evolve Series: Emerge, Embrace, Entangled, Entice and Baby Mama Drama, as well as the stand-alone novel Pretty Instinct. Her co-written works included The Provocative Professions Collection: Stirred Up, Packaged and Handled, One Naughty Night and full-length novel Matched with Angela Graham as well as Conspire, a romantic suspense with Erin Noelle.
S.E. resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 3 daughters of the home. When not writing or reading, she can be found "enthusiastically cheering" on one of her girls' softball games.
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It always happens the same way, every time. The second I finish coming, the blip of exhilaration dissipates, and I’m left feeling vapid and angry. I turn my back on my latest conquest and, blocking out the images of insincere, physical satiation, I scurry off like a criminal. Maybe I should quit fucking them.
Or maybe I shouldn’t. The tête-à-têtes, and unrequited clinginess as much their fault as my own—more in fact, if everyone’s being honest with themselves. I tell them, straight up, in plain English, no “code” or sidestepping what I’m really saying, that it’s one fuck. I offer absolutely nothing more, and they accept. But women have a specific order and purpose to everything they do. It shouldn’t eat at me when another woman discovers her plan didn’t work, and surprise, she isn’t the one “different” enough to change me.
You want to be the lady worthy of a call the next day, flowers, a ring? Then don’t ride the dick until you get at least one of them. And if you do jump on—gyrating and grinding in what you’re just certain is some mystical, “He’s never had it so good before” kind of way, and it doesn’t work—don’t blame anyone but yourself. Who was really trying to manipulate who?
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