Shame
by Rachel Van Dyken
Publication Date: October 6, 2014
Synopsis
Everything done
in darkness, will eventually be brought into the light.
I ran, but all it
did was keep me one step ahead of my past. I tried to start over; new name, new
identity. But you can't change your soul.
A fresh start at
college was just what I needed. For a while, it worked. I was the party girl,
the one that seemed confident, but it was a lie.
When guys kissed
me--I felt only pain.
When they touched
me--Nothing but fear.
Deep inside,
every girl wants to be the beauty in the story, to find someone that will see
you as their world.
But the truth? I
was the beast. And as much as I wanted redemption, I wasn't fool enough to
think I'd ever get it.
Until he walked
into my life.
I wasn't prepared
to fall for someone. My scars were too deep, the wounds too raw. But he offered
me peace, he offered me security. I should have known it was just another
lie--I should have known that falling in love with my professor was a bad idea.
But I was
powerless to stop myself from falling.
And he was
powerless to catch me.
Because the
darkness finally caught up to me, and as fate would have it, a cruel twist
almost bled me dry. But I'm stronger than I knew. I'm stronger than you think.
You think you
know my story, but you don't....after all everyone has Shame in their lives--
and I'm no longer afraid to show you mine.
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Excerpt
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers. A shaky
breath escaped her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Are you trying to prepare me or ask permission?” she
whispered, her voice beckoning me like a siren’s call.
“Both.” My lips hovered near hers. “I figure it’s only fair.”
“Fair?” She pulled back slightly. “How so?”
“Ten thousand.” I angled my head and watched the pulse jump
on her neck. “That’s how many nerve endings, on average, are in your lips.
Consequently, when your body anticipates pleasure, the build-up is the best
part. Imagine, those ten thousand nerves are swelling, allowing blood to surge
through them in anticipation of… what?” I swept my tongue across her lower lip
and whispered, “Of being touched. I ask permission, not because I’m being a
gentleman. It’s actually the complete opposite. I ask permission so your brain
anticipates the pleasure before I’ve ever even touched you.”
I tasted her lower lip again and abruptly dipped my tongue
into her mouth. Then just as quickly retreated. “The human body is an
instrument. Know how to master it… and well…” I let my voice drop as I moved my
hands slowly to her shoulders and tugged her body flush against mine. Our
mouths met softly at first. I deepened the kiss, memorizing her taste, knowing
I wouldn’t experience a kiss like this again in my lifetime. The way her scent,
her soft moans destroyed my body, wrecked me from the deepest part of me, was
nothing short of life-altering.
And I’d like to think I’d kissed a lot of women.
I’d studied the psychology of sexuality.
I was an expert in pleasure.
But she was schooling me, absolutely wreaking havoc on every
logical thought as her soft whimper cascaded over me. Blood surged through my
body as it tightened with awareness at her proximity.
She pulled back, her lips swollen. “That was… not a good
enough warning.”
Laughing softly, I cupped the back of her head and gently
drew it toward mine and kissed her again, angling my lips differently,
searching her, consuming her, drawing pleasure from her lips as if it was my
life goal to discover every single secret she owned.
Her arms wrapped around my neck. She was shy; she didn’t push
against me, didn’t wrap her legs around me or moan into my mouth like I was
having sex with her rather than kissing her.
My hands moved down her corset to her hips, and I lifted her
into the air and walked her backward toward the brick wall. The whole time, our
masks collided. In frustration, I ripped hers off, then mine. The shadows of
moonlight hid our faces as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her.
Her nails dug at the back of my neck as she jerked my head
harder. Groaning, I let her fall to the ground as I placed my hands on the
brick wall to keep myself from ripping the dress from her body.
Shouting started from the ballroom.
“Ten, nine…!”
“Eight,” I whispered against her mouth. “Seven.”
“Six.” She sighed, her breathing labored as her tongue found
mine again. “Five.”
“Four, three.” I pulled back and trailed kisses down her
neck.
“Two.”
We broke apart, both breathing heavy. “One.”
People burst out onto the balcony as the fireworks started,
lighting up the sky. And our faces.
And the only thing I could say as she gasped in horror was
“Oh, shit.”
About the Author
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall
Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary
romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks
and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
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