It all started with a simple phrase.
The moment Vanessa Hilliard walked into the tattoo shop uttering those two words was the day my life began its downward spiral.
Or maybe it’s the day my life began.
My name is Rex Grayson.
And this is my story.
The day I met Rex Grayson, I got a hell of a lot more than I bargained for. He sparked something inside of me — possibility. A word that never existed in my world before. He caused me to question who I was and made me want things I never dreamed were possible.
We’ve both got a mountain of shit in our past.
My name is Vanessa Hilliard. I have an affinity for the unusual and seriously twisted.
He thinks this is his story.
But it’s really mine.
I subtly open my legs, hoping he might take the hint and move his hand where I really need it. Instead, he continues to drive me crazy with his calloused finger circling just above my knee. His warm breath fans my neck, and I bite back the noise that wants to escape when his tongue makes contact with that sensitive spot behind my ear. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, “and I bet you’re already wet for me.” “Beyond wet,” I whisper back, not wanting the taxi driver to hear and think that I’m a sex-crazed freak, even though I feel like one. Rex inhales a jagged breath, his hand finally wandering higher up my thigh. “I can’t wait until my tongue can find out just how much,” he says quietly. And when I glance up at him, his eyes denote a hunger that lights a flame inside of me. One that’s been buried for quite some time. I press my lips together, staring out the window in an attempt to distract myself. My skin tingles with anticipation as I try to rein in my breathing that is currently out of control. But I don’t have to wait too long. Within minutes, the taxi pulls up in front of his building. Rex pays the driver and practically jerks me from the seat, latching onto my hand as we fly into the building like two sex-starved lunatics. He hesitates the moment we enter the glass door, glancing up at the flight of stairs then back to me. With a devious grin, he scoops me up under my knees and I let out a yelp of surprise. “Ahh! What on earth are you doing, Rex?” I laugh, my head dropping back. He continues striding up the stairs with purpose. “What does it look like I’m doing?” “Why are you carrying me? I can walk, you know.” “Blondie, shut up and kiss me,” he demands. “I need motivation for climbing.”
Beth Michele is the author of Love Love, Lovely, Scarred Beautiful, and Finding Autumn. She is a Connecticut native who loves spending time with her husband and two children. If you can’t find her, though, she’s probably hiding out with her laptop or her kindle somewhere quiet, preferably a spot overlooking the ocean. She has an affinity for Twizzlers, is a hopeless romantic, and a happily ever after fanatic.