Series: Standalone Novel
Published by Self Published on 3/14/19
Genres: Contemporary Romance
Leather pants? Check.
Tormented Soul? Check.
Rock star extraordinaire? Check.
He's the guy most women would pay to have break there hearts.
Except me. I already know how hard it is to get over him. Spencer made me believe in the notion of a soulmate at the age of seventeen. By twenty-three, he made me realize you can only truly hate someone you once loved.
Some people change the world.
Some people let the world change them.
Unfortunately, Spencer turned mine upside down.
I love a gritty, angsty, intense rock-star romance! And man, has it been forever since I’ve read one. I am so so so looking forward to Stevie J. Cole’s next release, Over You! I’ve been told to prepare for an asshole hero (my freaking favorite) and lotsssss of angst! And I gotta say, I’m totally ready to read, especially after the excerpt below.
Water splashed over the edge of the pool. The table sank, clanking over the concrete bottom like a weather-beaten battleship. I was angry and hurt and tired. Exhausted from the constant cycle of arguing and crying.
I had no idea how to help Spencer or how to help myself, and feeling powerless was not something I handled well.
Exhaling, I dragged my hands down my face. The therapist I’d been seeing told me I had to view Spencer and his addiction as two separate entities. But how I could separate the two when they seemed so intertwined was something I’d yet to understand.
I crossed the patio to the French doors that led into our living room, and went straight to the kitchen for a bottle of water. The door to the refrigerator closed. When I turned around, Spencer stood behind me with a frown of regret etched on his face. “I’m sorry.”
The cold water ran down my throat, and I nodded. His apology was sincere, but they always were.
He closed the space between us and gently placed his palm on my cheek. I leaned into his touch, rubbing against his calloused hands, and a familiar war bloomed between my heart and my head. Part of my soul lived and breathed for Spencer—for his touch—but there was a piece of me that resented him for picking up a hand of pills, a bag of coke. I loved him, but I hated him for putting us through this.
We used to have perfect even though it looked like nothing, and now we looked perfect while we hardly had anything of true worth.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ll do better. For you.” His warm mouth pressed to mine, his tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I caved like always.
He scooped me into his arms and sat me on the counter. The cold granite against my bare thighs sent a chill over me.
“I promise you,” he mumbled against my throat while his fingers tangled in my hair. “Just forgive me.” His lips pressed at the corner of my mouth then moved to my jaw, my cheek. “I’ll do anything for you.”
I swallowed, choking on tears I wouldn’t allow to fall. “Okay.”
His fingers brushed underneath the hem of my shirt before he lifted it over my head, then his hands caressed my arms, my shoulders, my back down to my hips. His thick tongue pressed against my throat while his fingers teased the edge of my thong, almost dipping inside me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
And that was how we worked, like a volatile storm, churning and destroying everything around it while leaving behind tranquil skies with the promise of a better tomorrow in its wake.
Spencer groaned when his finger slipped inside me. My muscles tensed. My head rolled to the side like it was on a broken hinge when he hit the spot even I couldn’t find.
I reached between us to unfasten his fly. “I don’t want to lose you,” I breathed when I shoved his jeans over his hips and gripped his hard length in my hand.
His mouth found mine again, kissing deep and hard, messy. “You won’t.”
He stepped between my thighs and nudged against me. My hips lifted on instinct in a bid to take him in. But he moved slow and steady, dragging out my need to fill him buried deep. Pressure faded into bliss, and I hooked my legs around him to draw him in more. Spencer played me well, like the strings of his guitar, coaxing chords and melodies from my body. The clap of his thighs against the cabinets the percussion.
He was the only man I’d ever had sex with, but I somehow knew there was nothing better. Making love to him was a taste of heaven and hell, something that brought me to the brink of ecstasy and torture.
His lips found my nipple. He pulled it in between his teeth while his other hand gripped my shoulder for leverage so he could go deeper, harder. My breaths came in short pants while fire built beneath my skin, tension mounting like a dormant volcano begging to erupt. Dropping his chin to the crook of my neck, he dragged me from the counter. My arms around went around his neck. I thrusted over him, and he fisted my hair on a hard tug. Warm breathes fanned my ear while my breasts slid over his sweat-slicked chest. In moments like this, I knew he was only mine, and I was all that mattered to him.
The tingle crackling through my veins caused me to move over him with more intent, and he stumbled a step, his back crashing against the pantry. And then the weightless feeling rolled through me like a rogue wave, sucking me beneath its currents until I gasped for air; until the only thing holding me up was Spencer’s arms.
His chest rose in ragged swells before his lips pressed to my neck. “Nothing is better than this,” he said on a groan.
And I believed him. After all, he didn’t know that was a lie, which made it easier for us both to believe.
About the Author
Stevie J. Cole likes to write realistic stories with raw, gritty characters you should hate but can’t help but to love.
She’s obsessed with rock music, loves sloths, and has an unnatural obsession with British accents.
Her books are not recommended for the faint of heart.