I don't think I've ever been so excited for a secret book to be released!! Birthday Girl is different from Penelope Douglas' other works...it's not dark or overly angsty, but it's still filled with heat and turmoil! This taboo romance will have you blushing and squirming from page one all the way to the end. I loved the sexual tension and banter between Pike and Jordan and enjoyed watching their dance. Once you pick it up, you won't put it down until you've finished.
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"You'll be wondering what I'm doing in my bed alone, if I'm awake and warm, or," I push up on my toes and hover my mouth over his jaw and whisper, "if I'm touching myself and dreaming about you coming in and eating me out through my panties."
"I'm dying to taste you," I tell him. "And to feel you. Every day it's getting harder and harder to ignore what my body wants. I wake up so wet, Pike." I move my mouth over to his layering our lips. "I want you to want me. I want to see you wanting me and getting off on me."
"Pull up your shirt, Jordan. I want to see your tits when I fuck you."
He took me in when I had nowhere else to go.
He doesn’t use me, hurt me, or forget about me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m nothing, take me for granted, or make me feel unsafe.
He remembers me, laughs with me, and looks at me. He listens to me, protects me, and sees me. I can feel his eyes on me over the breakfast table, and my heart pumps so hard when I hear him pull in the driveway after work.
I have to stop this. It can’t happen.
My sister once told me there are no good men, and if you find one, he’s probably unavailable.
Only Pike Lawson isn’t the unavailable one.
I took her in, because I thought I was helping.
She’d cook a few meals and clean up a little. It was an easy arrangement.
As the days go by, though, it’s becoming anything but easy. I have to stop my mind from drifting to her and stop holding my breath every time I bump into her in the house. I can’t touch her, and I shouldn’t want to.
The more I find my path crossing hers, though, the more she’s becoming a part of me.
But we’re not free to give into this. She’s nineteen, and I’m thirty-eight.
And her boyfriend’s father.
Unfortunately, they both just moved into my house.
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