The Replacement
by
Rachael Wade
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult
*Contains sexually explicit content and mature
subject matter, including language and elements of abuse.*
A gritty New Adult drama about a young woman’s self-destructive quest to find purpose, self-worth, and love in a broken world.
My name is Elise Duchamp. I’m twenty-three years old and I’m known as the town whore.
No, not the kind who exchanges sexual favors for money. The other kind. The kind who gives it all away for free, whenever and however she likes. I am that girl. The one everyone whispers about and the one none of the girls seem to like, because all of their boyfriends either want to sleep with me or already have. Promiscuity is my thing—the kind that slowly, violently turns my insides black, but gives me something I need.
All things considered, I’m not completely reckless. I’m safe, and contrary to popular opinion, I do have a heart. I live in a world of careless choices, and with those choices come careless people. I cannot judge them, because I am one of them. I too bow down to the altar of the self-serving. I am not a good friend. I am not and never could be anyone’s girlfriend. I’m convinced any goodness in me shriveled up and died long ago.
But I am a replacement. That is something I know how to be, and this is a story of the lengths I’d go to in order to keep it that way.
A gritty New Adult drama about a young woman’s self-destructive quest to find purpose, self-worth, and love in a broken world.
My name is Elise Duchamp. I’m twenty-three years old and I’m known as the town whore.
No, not the kind who exchanges sexual favors for money. The other kind. The kind who gives it all away for free, whenever and however she likes. I am that girl. The one everyone whispers about and the one none of the girls seem to like, because all of their boyfriends either want to sleep with me or already have. Promiscuity is my thing—the kind that slowly, violently turns my insides black, but gives me something I need.
All things considered, I’m not completely reckless. I’m safe, and contrary to popular opinion, I do have a heart. I live in a world of careless choices, and with those choices come careless people. I cannot judge them, because I am one of them. I too bow down to the altar of the self-serving. I am not a good friend. I am not and never could be anyone’s girlfriend. I’m convinced any goodness in me shriveled up and died long ago.
But I am a replacement. That is something I know how to be, and this is a story of the lengths I’d go to in order to keep it that way.
“Stop!” I shriek, thrashing on his lap like a
fish out of water. “Ryder, stop!”
He digs at my hip again, sending me tumbling
into an endless fit of laughter. My lungs burn because I can’t breathe and my
sides ache from the exertion. I topple over and land on my side, and Ryder
comes with me, sliding on top of me in one smooth, swift movement.
“I think
we’ve played enough games for today ,” he says, running the palms of his hands
up the sides of my thighs. His thumbs roll slow, soothing circles into my skin
before hooking into the sides of my panties to peel them down my legs. My laughter
subsides and I look up at him, my chest heaving as I regain my breath. We lie
there on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, while the fire’s warmth gives
Ryder’s face a soft glow.
Small pops crackle from the fire and gravitate
toward us, saturating the silence.
Lowering his forehead to my shoulder, Ryder
kisses the skin there. “Do you feel it yet?”
“Feel what?” Desolation? Helplessness?
Excitement? I feel all of those things.
“This.” Ryder’s hand slides down my chest and
torso like silk, slipping beneath my skirt, easy as breathing. I gasp as his
fingers slip inside of me. “Desire. The same kind I feel for you.”
“You know I do.”
He strokes me for a moment then stops, leaving
me panting while he reaches back to the couch to pick up the bowl of ice cream.
It’s melted now, each color swirling together like mixed paint. “Feed me,” he
whispers, lifting the bowl to me.
My dazed gaze drifts to the bowl. I hesitantly
sit up on my elbows and cradle it, watching him curiously as I begin to spoon
him the milky leftovers. He accepts a spoonful, then another, groaning in
appreciation. He pushes the spoon away when he’s satisfied and I set the bowl
down, watching as he brings my hand to his lips.
Sucking one finger then the
next, he moves slowly from tip to tip, drawing me farther and farther away from
our question-and-answer session.
“Ryder,” I breathe.
He closes his lips over my right index finger
and sucks, drawing it slowly from his mouth. The mixture of cool and warm coats
my skin, and I wonder how I’ll ever enjoy ice cream without Ryder after
tonight. “I really want this,” he says. “Us.”
I shut my eyes and he moves in, brushing his
lips against mine. “You have us. Right here.”
“Do I?”
My eyes drift open.
He deepens the kiss, murmuring against my mouth.
“I’ll never just drive away, Elise Duchamp.”
The words zap me like a stun gun. My voice comes
out in a light rasp. Small and breathless. “I’ve hurt people, Ryder.”
He studies me for a moment but doesn’t respond,
only deepens his kiss. I cave into him, letting him devour me whole. I don’t
know what I can give him. I don’t know if I have anything at all. But I do know
that Ryder Jacobson is trouble.
The good kind.
Don’t forget to check out Rachael’s
novella, THE PRISONER, meant to be read AFTER the Replacement.
No matter how hard I try to break the habit, it’s a lost cause. Okay, maybe I haven’t really tried to quit this particular habit. All I can think about is owning her. Making her mine. Can you really blame me? With that sinful body, luscious mouth, and wicked tongue, she’s every man’s dream, and she knows it.
No one is immune to her charm, not even me, a man who has everything—a beautiful wife, an office with a view, and more money than most people can spend in one lifetime. Only I know how to make her toes curl. Only I know her body better than the other men she screws in her free time. None of them can compare to me.
But the joke is on me. I’m the prisoner.
The one who will never compare to him. The one man who makes me see red. His name is stored in her cell phone. It’s the first one she calls out to, the first one she cries for when all hell breaks loose. Ryder Jacobson.
The name makes me cringe.
She loves him, and I love her. In my own way, I always will. But the bad guy doesn’t always belong with the bad girl. Sometimes the bad girl needs a good man to believe in her, to give her that final push toward ultimate transformation. I wish I was that good man. That I could be her happily ever after. I guess that’s the thing about prisoners, though. They’re left alone with their torment, and in the end, they have no one to blame but themselves.
AUTHOR BIO
Rachael Wade is the Amazon bestselling author of
The Preservation Series, The Resistance Trilogy, and the upcoming sci-fi
series, The Keepers Trilogy. When she’s not writing, she’s busy learning
French, watching too many movies, and learning how to protect animals and
the environment. Visit her at www.RachaelWade.com and www.LightsOnOutreach.com,
or come chat with her on Twitter via @RachaelWade
Website ~*~ Facebook
~*~ Twitter ~*~ Goodreads Author Page
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