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~Synopsis ~With intertwining memories and a world of deceit and betrayal yet to be exposed, Survival, book #1 in the Twisted series, is an intense, compelling page-turner, seen through the eyes of Skye 'the Skillet' Jones.
With no friends, no family and a life of loneliness ahead, Skye was looking for a reason to fight. To live. To survive. A once happy family was torn apart, leaving a hazy cloud of confusion, abandonment and fear in its wake. Her twin brother, Oliver, was all she had... until the talons of death and the consequences of his dangerous coping mechanism tore his life from him.
Skye was left alone, mourning the loss of her brother and the life he would never live, when Cut Throat Curtis swooped in and taught her to fight; to control her emotional anguish with physical strength. But he was dangerous, a force to be reckoned with. A man with turmoil and secrets of his own. He soon left as quickly as he'd appeared, becoming a ghost in the life she no longer knew.
She had nothing. She had no one.
When all Skye had was her will to survive, fate gave her Thomas. He fought for her, he fought with her and he loved her like no other.
But fate was waiting, ready to strike with the force of a hurricane when she thought she had everything she'd ever wanted. It was coming, the cruel twist of fate that would bring Skye to her knees and threaten her survival once more...
~ Excerpt ~“That dress makes your tits look incredible.” Thomas curled his arm over my shoulders, taking one of my breasts, sheathed in midnight blue, in his hand. “Yeah, well, those trousers are too tight. I could see your cock twitching for me all night.” “Mmm,” he groaned, moving his arm and slipping both hands into his pockets. “It’s been twitching for you for thirty-six hours.” That was how long it had been. Sometimes we would only last an hour without each other. Sometimes we’d go at it all night, multiples times, until I was so exhausted I only just made it to work the next day. And sometimes we would go for days with nothing but a teasing touch and a goading glare. It was what we enjoyed most. The anticipation. Building the need until it was on such a base level we couldn’t stop for hours. It had been thirty-six since he was last inside me. The only contact we’d had was chaste kissing, an ass grab on his part and a crotch stroke on mine. I ached for him; I would have torn my clothes off and rode him on the back seat if it weren’t for the game. We played it every time we went out.
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~About Rebecca Sherwin~
“Mother of a superhero…Writer of romantic smut.”