Rosalie Stanton

Romance With Pitchforks

EROTIC ROMANCE AUTHOR.

PRODUCT MAY CONTAIN SACRILEGIOUS HUMOR, IRREVERENT BELIEFS, AND TOO-HOT-FOR-PRIME-TIME SEX SCENES.

VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.

Insatiable Craving, Release date June 12

Have a new excerpt and a release date for INSATIABLE CRAVING, the follow-up to INSATIABLE NEED. Endless thanks to my amazing editor, Jillian Bell, for her suggestions. She truly helped me find the best version of the story, and ensured that was the version that we ended up with. instablecraving_msrInsatiable Nights, Book 2

Ginny finds herself at a trendy nightclub over and over for one reason—Razor, the lead singer of a popular band. While he’s far from her type, a little fantasy can’t hurt anyone. And after what happened to her, lust from afar seems close enough.

Razor is driven to distraction every night Ginny shows up. Something beyond her alluring looks and haunted eyes calls to him. But the last time he was with a woman, he lost control of his inner wolf and people got hurt. He won’t risk that again.

Razor and Ginny’s personal misgivings, however, stand no chance against their chemistry. When they’re together, their clothes have a way of disappearing. The more time they spend in bed, the more Razor becomes determined to keep Ginny in his life forever. But to convince her, he must first bypass the ghosts in her past and come clean of his own.

Inside Scoop: Contains references to rape and a hero with blood on his hands, as well as a woman learning to trust again, a werewolf learning to accept himself, and a meddlesome witch with a god complex.

Excerpt

“Can I help you?”

A shrill gasp escaped Ginny’s throat. She leapt about a mile in the air, whirled around and came face-to-face with Razor himself.

“Oh my God!” she squealed, slapping a hand across her heart. “You need a little bell around your neck, you know that?”

A small grin tickled his lips, which somewhat nullified the immediate mortification that flooded her system.

“Not a bell kind of guy, I’m afraid. What can I do you for?”

Ginny’s mouth ran dry. “What?”

“Sorry. What can I do for you?”

Good lord, such a loaded question. Her mind was frazzled and distracted, on complete overload from just the hint of his proximity. Damn it, he was just as pretty as he was at night. No, strike that. Prettier. At night he stood in a sea of smoke machines and strobe lights, and could only really be spotted through the cracks between his screaming fangirls. Up close, Ginny could take in his appearance in ways she never would have imagined or known to miss with so much space strung between them.

The scar that ran from the corner of his right eye over the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek was deeper than she realized and most definitely not fake. Not an addition to an otherwise beautiful canvas to make him seem more dangerous, even deadlier, and thereby tap into the bad boy fixation. No, who or whatever had caused that beauty mark had meant business. Though Ginny couldn’t automatically determine whether he’d been in an unfortunate accident or the target of a knife-wielding maniac, she could definitely see the line itself was straight and clean.

The scar did little, however, to diminish his ethereal beauty. The eyes she had always assumed were decorated in eyeliner looked untouched by makeup but no less dark and dangerous. A healthy smattering of whiskers—a day or so before maturing into an all-out beard—stretched across his chin and disappeared somewhere down his neck. His hair, shaggy and somewhat unkempt, seemed to know exactly which way to fall to give his face the best possible angle. His shoulders were broad, and where the sleeve of his black tee cut off, she could see his muscles were well defined.

A sound that might have passed for a sigh tickled her lips. Ginny shook her head—though not sure at whom—and managed a few steps back as though afraid her female hormones would have her jumping his hotness just because he was so damn close. As it was, she felt something twinge between her legs—something she hadn’t felt since well before the incident with Travis.

Holy moly, she was wet. From Razor. From just looking at Razor.

The realization nearly knocked her off her feet.

After a few more mortifying seconds, when she remembered she had a voice and he was likely expecting her to answer his questions, she braved another look at his face and opened her mouth to speak. Razor’s brow was furrowed, his nostrils slightly flared and something intense was happening behind those shimmering eyes.

“I-I—” Ginny took a step back, her nerves coiling around her arms and legs, winding her up tighter than a freaking snare drum. “I was looking… Ummm, see, something… I was here last night.”

“Yes,” Razor agreed, recovering one of the spaces she’d put between them. “I remember you.”

“Y-you do?”

“You’re in here most nights, aren’t you?”

“I— Ahh, yes, but it’s not what it sounds like.”

He arched an eyebrow, a smile flirting with that dangerous mouth of his. “So you don’t come because you like the music?” he asked, stepping forward again.

“No, I mean yes. I do. But I’m not…one of those people.”

“What? A fan?”

“No, I am—I don’t know what I’m saying right now.” Ginny’s feet continued their backward course, taking her to parts of the club she hadn’t seen up close before. For every space she put between them, Razor put it behind them. Her inner warning system—the same one that flared to dangerous proportions whenever she found herself in a bad part of town after the sun had set, the same one that had deafened her when Travis locked his front door and shut the blinds—refused to kick in. All she heard was her pulse hammering in her ears and her heart thundering against her chest. Her hands, which remained in her pockets, suddenly felt cramped and sweaty. She drew them out and flexed her fingers, walking back still until her spine met the unforgiving surface of the opposing wall.

Then something resembling actual fear shimmied up her spine. It did nothing, however, to calm the fire between her legs, or how slick and ready she felt. For the first time in months, her clit ached, desperate for some attention. The rest of her treacherous body had warmed and relaxed, all save her mind, which couldn’t stop running through the horror slide show of memories detailing what had happened the last time she’d been alone with a strange man.

Alone.

Something happened then. Razor stopped moving, his brows furrowing in what might have passed for concern. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said, unthinking.

His frown deepened. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back once, twice, a full three times to give her some much-needed breathing room. “I just…sorry.”

“For what?”

Razor smiled softly. “For…well, whatever. Umm, is there something I can help you with?”

Ginny blinked at him for a few mindless seconds, and then four words she honestly hadn’t meant to say—hadn’t even thought to say—found their way up her throat, pressed against her lips and were released into the terrifying out there before she could consider the ramifications. Before she could evaluate and determine if she meant what she said or if she had entered some demented parallel universe where fears regarding repeats of past horrors were tossed out the window.

Those four words, four deceptive syllables, were “You could kiss me.”

© Rosalie Stanton 2016