Release Blitz ☆ Last Hit by Jessica Clare & Jen Frederick +Excerpt & Giveaway
**The first book in the series, Last Hit, has been optioned for a movie by Flame Ventures.**
Naomi: When I was kidnapped I thought only of survival. I don’t thrive well in chaos. That’s why I gave my captors exactly what they wanted: my skill with computers. Making millions for a crime lord who kept me imprisoned in his basement compound kept my family safe. When he was taken out, I thought my ticket to freedom had arrived. Wrong. I traded one keeper for another. This time I’m in the hands of a scarred, dark, demanding Russian who happens to be the head of the Bratva, a Russian crime organization. He wants my brain and my body. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued, but I can’t be a prisoner forever...no matter how good he makes me feel.
Meet Naomi & Vasily in the newest addition to the Hitman SeriesNOW AVAILABLE!
Published by Berkley, a division of Penguin
“Do you wish for me to touch you?”
I nod, sucking in a breath when his thumb skates across my lower lip. I should be thinking GERMS BACTERIA CONJUNCTIVITIS HERPES SKIN CONTACT PATHOGENS but all I can focus on is how skittery and excited his touch makes me. My pulse jumps, and I realize that I’m as aroused now with him talking to me and touching me with his fingers as I was in the bathroom when I masturbated.
He pulls his hand away again, and I realize his other is gripping my shoulder, his arm wrapped around my back. I’m pulled against his chest, and I feel oddly secure here against him. Then, Vasily moves his fingers in the air again, as if to get my attention. I watch as his free hand now moves to my knee and firmly presses it back, nudging my legs apart.
And I’m helpless to protest. I want this. I want to know what’s going to happen when he touches me. I’m throbbing and aching with need, and my breath is coming as small, gasping little pants that are registering even in my distracted mind.
“Are you still unsettled?” he asks in a low voice.
“No,” I whisper, my tone matching his. “I’m aching.”
He groans softly, and then his hand glides up the inside of my thigh, the backs of his fingers skimming along my leg. Then, Vasily’s hand moves and he is cupping my pussy. He feels scorching hot against me, and just the sensation of his skin touching mine is making me anxious.
“You are very wet,” he rasps, and I notice curiously that his breathing is as rapid as my own. One of his fingers presses forward, parting the lips of my pussy and pushing in. “Very wet.”
“I can’t help it. It’s a natural reaction to stimuli, but I understand if it disturbs you—”
“I like it.” His voice is a guttural growl against my ear, and I shiver. I didn’t realize how close he’s pressed to me but I can feel his breath on my neck, and his head is canted toward mine, as if he is telling me secrets. “I like that your wetness is for me.”
“I don’t know if—” I begin to protest, but his finger taps against my clit, and I gasp, completely and utterly distracted by that quick touch. It feels . . . different to have a man do it for me. Very different. Intense. Raw. I grab his hand at the wrist and press my flesh against his fingers, asking for more.
“Tell me what you want, Naomi.”
“More.” I press his hand again, breathless, and my hips twitch. “Start with an even rhythm and circle the hood of my clit. Over time, speed up and increase the frequency of touches. You can change the pattern as you go but don’t let up until I come.”
He laughs again, and I stiffen, but then his finger begins to move against my clit, stroking it in tiny circles like I told him. “I like that you tell me exactly what you want, Naomi. There are no games with you.”
I’m confused at that. Isn’t that what he wants me to do? But then a second finger follows the first, and he’s rubbing wide circles around my clit, and adding an extra little stroke every now and then, and it feels like he’s taking my flesh between his fingers and just rubbing rubbing rubbing . . . And I love it.
“Just like that,” I tell him, closing my eyes and falling against his shoulder. I hold my knees open wider so he won’t stop touching me, and my hips begin to move, involuntarily following his fingers as he touches me.
“Do you like this?” His voice is rough, biting, and so close to my face.
I nod without opening my eyes, letting the sensations take over. “It feels much better when you do it,” I tell him, and cry out when one of his fingers dips lower and touches me . . . deeper. “What are you doing?”
“I am seeing if you like more touches.” His nose nuzzles against my face, and I press against him, seeming to need his caresses as much as I need his touch on my clitoris. “Are you frightened?”
“No, but I like the other touch better,” I tell him as his finger circles lower. “That one just makes me ache.”
“It makes your cunt ache to be filled,” he tells me. “Someday, you will let me fill it for you.”
I don’t reply; I don’t need to, because he circles a finger at the entrance to my core a moment longer, and then shifts his hand. My fingers graze over his, exploring—I feel too good to open my eyes and leave the sea of sensations—and I realize he’s now working my clit with his thumb. His finger presses deeper again, and I gasp when he sinks it into me.
I’m riding his hand.
He murmurs something in Russian and I feel his mouth press against my brow.
Then, as if he’s a car that’s changed gears, he begins to press his thumb against my clit rapidly. His speed is so fast that he practically feels as if he’s vibrating . . . and these motions carry down to the thick finger that’s buried deep inside me.
I’ve never experienced this double sensation before, and it’s overwhelming.
I bite my lip, and when that won’t hold my feelings inside, I burst into noisy gasps and my hands start clawing at him, at his shirt. I don’t know what I need, but this feels like too much. It’s overwhelming and twice as powerful as anything I’ve ever done to myself. “Stop, stop,” I breathe, even as I press my legs further apart and lift my hips against his hand.
“Vasily, stop. Vasily!”
“Keep saying my name like that, Naomi.”
“Vasily, please.” I pull at his shirt, practically butting my head against him as I writhe against his hand. “I need . . . something . . . more . . . not as fast. Too much!”
But he keeps twitching that intense thumb against my clit, stroking his finger inside me. He’s not stopping. If anything, he’s going faster.
And all of a sudden, my body can’t handle it anymore. I burst and a hard, choked noise rushes out of my throat, and my body clenches and I’m coming, coming, coming, endlessly coming.
I feel as if I’m being torn apart by pleasure so intense it’s making my toes curl even as the breath leaves my lungs. And all the while, I gasp like a dying fish and cling to his shirt.Hypothesis? Destroyed.
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at email@example.com.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jensfredGoodreads: http://tinyurl.com/p3ptasx
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/_JessicaClareGoodreads: http://tinyurl.com/q4272wf