Dirty
A poem by Blaire Leon
If sex is dirty, why would I do it with someone
I love?
If sex is dirty, then didn’t we all come from
the dirt?
What if I like the dirt?
What if I want to get dirty?
What if I want to roll in the mud until I’m so
fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?
When twenty-five-year-old
graduate assistant Caiden Brenner asked Blaire Leon how old she was, she said
she was a senior. He chose to believe she meant in college. They
connect over Lord Byron’s Don Juan and, as their conversations
become increasingly thicker with sexual innuendo, Caiden finds himself
obsessing over a totally off-limits undergrad who’s bold, beautiful, brilliant,
and one of the most passionate poets he’s ever met.
But it turns out Blaire hasn't been totally
honest. She's the seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class,
taking courses at Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.
Will Caiden get too deeply into Blaire to back
away before he finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to
seduce him into risking his entire future on Jail Bait?
"A
thousand and one feels....Getting Dirty is a thrilling, tantalizing forbidden
romance you do not want to miss! I not only devoured this book, it devoured me
right back!"
--Katy Evans,
New York Times Bestselling author of
REAL
Excerpt
Without
realizing I’m doing it, I find I’m leaning toward her. I catch myself and stop.
But before I can pull back, she closes the rest of the distance and presses her
lips hard against mine.
Any
thought that I shouldn’t be doing this evaporates like fog in a stiff breeze at
the taste of her mouth, moving hungrily on mine. She’s scotch and fire on my
tongue as she devours me. Right or wrong, I’m powerless to stop her.
Her
fingers run down my face to my chest as she opens her mouth wider, inviting me
deeper inside. I take the invitation, tasting as much of her as she’ll give me.
Her hands tug at the hem of my shirt and my breath catches when cold fingers
meet my warm abs.
I
press harder against her, drawing her closer, and fire rips through my veins as
our tongues and hands explore the new landscapes of each other’s mouths and
bodies.
But a
shard of coherent thought finally manages to pierce the bubble I’ve constructed
to justify what I’m doing. “You’re a student,” I say against her mouth.
Her
lips skim to my ear. “I like you, Caiden,” she whispers, and her saying my name
with that hot breath, that wet mouth, is nearly enough to break my resolve. “I
like you a lot.”
I
take her by the shoulders and gently peel her away, my heart hammering out
African drumbeats against my ribcage. “You’re so damn incredible, but I can’t
do this. It’s totally against university rules. I’m sorry.”
“You’re
not my professor,” she says, her
expression wounded. “If we like each other, I don’t see why it should matter.”
“I’m
Dr. Duncan’s graduate assistant. My boss is
your professor. It’s a conflict of interest, since I do most of his grading.”
“So
you are conflicted.” It’s clear from
the predatory shift her expression takes that she hears that I’m trying to
convince myself as much as her.
I
drop my head against the headrest. “I am.”
She
leans closer again, her breast pressing against my arm through the thin cotton
of her top. “I’ll never say anything. No one needs to know,” she whispers, her
breath feathering over my neck.
About the Author
Mia Storm is a hopeless
romantic who is always searching for her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced
to make one up. When that happens, she’s thrilled to be able to share those
stories with her readers. She lives in California and spends much of her time in
the sun with a book in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, or
hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect with her online at
MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor, and on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.
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