All men suck! They lie, cheat, and break women's hearts. I'd all but given up on relationships when I met Ethan Harlow, a drop-dead gorgeous boxer at Kidd's Gym.
He was sexy, muscular, tattooed, and talented.
So, I decided to give boxing - and men - one last try.
My name is Jaz. I'm a boxer. This story is about my rise to fame, all the while doing the two things I enjoyed more than anything on earth.
Fucking and fighting.
Along the way, however, I found out everything there is to know about being loved.
He was sexy, muscular, tattooed, and talented.
So, I decided to give boxing - and men - one last try.
My name is Jaz. I'm a boxer. This story is about my rise to fame, all the while doing the two things I enjoyed more than anything on earth.
Fucking and fighting.
Along the way, however, I found out everything there is to know about being loved.
And my life will never be the same.
Brawler is a STAND-ALONE, rags to riches romance. HEA, no cheating, no cliff hanger.
INCLUDED FREE after BRAWLER as an appreciation to my faithful readers is a copy of my #1 Amazon Best Selling Romantic Erotica F*ck Buddy. Thank you, and enjoy!!
I had decided I would tell Ethan what my concerns were, see what he thought, and make my decision on how to proceed with matters based on his responses. I didn’t expect him to commit to me, nor was a sure I wanted to commit to him, at least not yet.
As ridiculous as it sounded, I wanted confirmation that he intended to continue fucking me. I didn’t care what we chose to call our situation, I was concerned with more important things.
The most important thing.
Cock.
“How long have we known each other?” I asked.
“A month. Give or take.”
“Things have changed between us here lately, and I want to discuss it.”
He looked worried. “Okay.”
“We’re fucking now.”
He returned an awkward stare. “Is that bad?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not bad, it’s just. I don’t want it to stop.”
“Okay.”
Ethan wasn’t opposing me, but he sure wasn’t making me feel comfortable that he was vested in our conversation, either.
“I’ve got this fear that you’re going to walk away, and I’m going to be…”
It seemed strange telling him I was concerned that his big cock was going to ruin me from being able to be satisfied in the future. The longer I struggled with choosing the words to finish my sentence, the more ridiculous the entire conversation seemed.
I was mid-sentence into my explanation, and I wished I hadn’t even started our little cock talk.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I appreciated the reassurance, but I wasn’t convinced. “Give me a second. I wasn’t done with my thought, and I need to think of how to say it.”
“Okay.”
My brain was mush. I’d never been one for beating around the bush, and there was no sense in starting now.
“You’ve got a really nice cock,” I said.
He seemed embarrassed, but eventually he smiled. “Thanks.”
“Really nice. And. Well. I was afraid that in a few weeks I’d be ruined, and then…you know…it’d be impossible to be satisfied in the future.”
There. I said it.
He stared back at me as if waiting for me to continue. I returned his stare, waiting for his response.
His brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “I’m lost. You said a minute ago that you didn’t want to stop doing it. Then, you said if we continued, you’d be ruined. Did I hurt you or something?”
“Hurt me?”
“Yeah.” He gestured toward my crotch. “Tear your junk up?”
My junk?
“No.” I chuckled. “You didn’t tear me up.”
He looked confused. “So what are we talking about?”
“I said I wanted some commitment from you that you weren’t going to just…I don’t know…walk away. You know, that you weren’t planning on hittin’ it and quitin’ it. Not that that’s never happened, because it has. But if it happens with you, I’d rather it happen now than after a while. I just don’t want to be left, you know, struggling to have orgasms later in life because I’m all hung up on thick cocks and I can’t find one after you’re gone. I know there aren’t any assurances in a deal like this, but I was wanting…I was hoping that you’d tell me that you weren’t planning on…” I cleared my throat. “Are you going to fuck me again?”
His eyes went wide. “Wow.”
I scrunched my nose and glared. “What?”
“You are a girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“You fight like a man. You walk like a man. You talk like a man. Well, when you cuss, anyway. But that? Whatever that was? That was one hundred percent girl. It made no sense whatsoever.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
I had explained everything. For as polite and as attentive as he was, he was a complete man.
Never paying attention to what a woman says.
Born in San Diego California, Scott now calls Wichita, Kansas home. Residing in Kansas with his wife, Jessica, and six children, he somehow finds twelve hours a day to work on his writing.Addicted to riding his Harley-Davidson, tattoos, and drinking coffee, Scott can generally be found in a tattoo shop, on his Harley, or in a local coffee house when not writing.
Scott is a hybrid author who both self-publishes and conventionally publishes. Look for a three book (mafia erotic romance) series releasing in 2016 through Harlequin Romance.
Loyal to the fans, fan girls, and faithful followers who allowed him to make writing a full-time career, Scott communicates with his followers on Facebook almost daily. He encourages his readers to follow him on Facebook and Twitter.
.png)
0 comments:
Post a Comment
I would love to hear your thoughts. :) HAPPY READING !!!!