. . . Saylor . . .
The emotion and intonation I need to inflect in each word of the script.
. . . the seventeen-year-old girl I left behind . . .
The facial expressions I’ll need to emulate to convey my character’s inner turmoil.
. . . sweet smiles, soft lips, my teenage world . . .
The physical actions required to show a man in conflict as he makes love to the woman he suspects has a hand in murdering his father and yet he can’t help but love.
. . . the only regret I’ve ever had . . .
“Goddammit.” I scrub my hands over my face in frustration. I need to focus. To concentrate. And not on Saylor. The girl I never said goodbye to. The promises left empty. The door I slammed shut so I didn’t feel like the selfish prick I was for chasing my dreams without a thought to hers.
Fuck. It’s amazing how the bright lights in this big city have pushed that all away. Faded the memories. Reinforced my decision with the success they’ve brought me.
And all it takes to bring me right back is one text from my oldest friend who never asks for anything.
Cashing in that IOU. It’s Saylor. She needs your help. Call when you can.
Fuck, man. Trying to forget her is like trying to remember someone I’ve never met. It’s impossible. And no matter how hard I try to push Ryder’s text out of my mind, she’s still there.
Clear as day.
Because nothing improves the memory like trying to forget.
Want to read more about Saylor and Hayes in this second chance romance? Sweet CHEEKS will be available on November 14, 2016 from all publishing platforms.
Sweet CHEEKS will be a live release on Amazon.
To be notified when the e-book becomes available, please enter your email HERE.
About the Author
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.
She’s a mixture of most of her female characters: sassy, intelligent, stubborn, reserved, outgoing, driven, emotional, strong, and wears her heart on her sleeve. All of which she displays daily with her husband and three children where they live in Southern California.
On a whim, K. Bromberg decided to try her hand at this writing thing. Since then she has written The Driven Series (Driven, Fueled, Crashed, Raced, Aced), the standalone Driven Novels (Slow Burn, Sweet Ache, Hard Beat, and Down Shift (Releasing 10/4/16)), and a short story titled UnRaveled. She is currently finishing up Sweet Cheeks a standalone novel out at the end of 2016.
Her plans for 2017 include a sports romance duet (The Player (#1) and The Catch (#2)) and the Everyday Heroes series (Cuffed (#1), Combust (#2), and Cockpit (#3). She’s also writing a novella for the 1,001 Dark Night series that will be out in February 2017.
She loves to hear from her readers so make sure you check her out on social media.
For more information on K. Bromberg, she can be found here: www.kbromberg.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKBromberg
Twitter - https://twitter.com/KBrombergDriven
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Eden Butler
Read the final moments in Eden Butler’s Thin Love series in this deleted scene story, My Always - Every marriage has a moment—it defines the future, it settles doubt. That moment comes for Keira Riley-Hale when her marriage is threatened and she forgets how to find her way back to her husband. Will a brief getaway to the Tennessee mountains bring Keira and Kona to the moment that changes everything in their marriage? Or will that moment never come?
Foreword
My Always completes the THIN LOVE series which began three years ago with Keira and Kona’s first meeting and the whirlwind that became their love story. Since that time the series has grown to three full length books and a novella. This story is not an additional novella, but rather a deleted scene from the last book in the series, Thick & Thin. I hope you will familiarize yourself with those stories to appreciate the full impact of what is happening in this scene. Thank you to my readers for trusting me with these characters and sticking with them until the very end.
Love fiercely, wildcats.
Eden
1
We are never more vulnerable than when we’re naked.
You would think that after weeks of estrangement, after all the lies and manipulations, the accusation and the silences, that the fierceness of my husband and my lovemaking following the dispelling of all our doubts, about Kona’s past, about the false claims lodged against him, about Cass’s artifice, would have brought me peace, brought me comfort. It did. But only briefly.
Drunk. That’s what we’d been in the minutes after forgiveness was given and taken. Drunk on each other, on the love we had, on the desperate, eager exchange of our bodies. We wanted and so, like always, we took.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all the time Kona needed to pull me through our bedroom, kissing me as he walked backward, drawing me so close I had to rest my feet on top of his just to reach his mouth.
Us together, touching, had felt like home. Always. That thick bottom lip, the wide delicious strength of his tongue, how he held me, took me, controlled every movement we made.
“Wrap yourself around me, baby.” He lifted me, fitting his hands under my bottom as he kissed me, held me tight. His voice bordered on frantic, desperate and I let him lead because that was what he liked best—controlling us, directing our lovemaking. Outside the bedroom, I was usually the one in control, the strong one, the one who ran a business and a career and a family. But in that room, alone with my husband, I didn’t need to be in control. I loved surrendering to him, I loved how it made him smile. I loved giving myself to him, completely.
Moments and minutes. They got tangled in the heat that filled our bedroom, in the quick race to feel and touch everything we’d denied each other for weeks—my needing distance, him giving me my space. Now it was like dancing; the same seductive steps we’d been perfecting since the first time he’d kissed me decades before.
Kona was strong and beautiful. That had not changed in the years we’d been together. I held his face between my hands, biting on his bottom lip, smiling at the flash of heat that darkened his eyes. They were black as pitch, those eyes, swimming with a fire I hadn’t seen in months, and I fit my fingers over that beautiful face—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the small cleft in his chin. There were generations of warriors in those features; fierce Polynesian ancestors that lived and breathed on the surface of his skin and in the strength of his large body.
“Wildcat,” he started, kissing me so carefully I knew he held back that frantic urgency; I could feel it in his trembling fingers. “Baby, I need you. Now.”
I hadn’t, couldn’t say anything, but kept my hands gentle on his face as his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and he lowered us down onto the bed. He pulled my leg even higher around his waist as he hovered above me, and paused; the trembling of his hands had lessened even if the quickening of his pulse had not.
“Keira…”
But I silenced him with my thumb over his bottom lip. “Come take what’s yours.”
He groaned then, and the sound was something feral, something ancient. His need was so great that he couldn't even wait for us to disrobe, finding his way inside me, speeding toward completion, racing to release into me all the need and ache he’d been holding onto for so long.
“I can’t slow down,” he gasped as his thrusts became more frantic and his orgasm rose to erupt into my body. There was an apology somewhere in that confession but I didn't need to acknowledge it. I knew my husband—he’d make up for it. He always did.
And yes, once his breathing had steadied, and the pounding of his heart had returned to something like normal, Kona’s movements slowed and his pace shifted. Now, it was his mouth on my skin, his tongue and teeth dragging over my shoulder, across my breasts as he freed them from first my shirt, and then my confining bra. Slowly, he undressed me there, on the bed, and then he held my waist, arching my tired body as he fused his mouth against my stomach, his thick, warm tongue drawing wet lines and circles on my navel, down to my hips as I spread out before him like a meal.
And he was ravenous.
“I love you.” A promise, one he never spoke lightly, one that never failed to make my heart beat faster. It never went away—that feeling of excitement, the radiant energy that hearing those words from Kona gave me. “I love you, baby.” He continued to worship my skin, his hands smoothing over every inch of me, rubbing, brushing, grabbing as though he could not believe I was real, as though he needed to touch and touch again to see if I was more than merely hope and wish. “I love you so much.”
I loved him, too. More than I ever thought I could. More today, than I ever expected I would after all those years I spent alone, with Kona off living a life that I wasn’t part of. Back then, with our baby sleeping beside me, the baby Kona knew nothing of, my mind would race with fantasies of what could have been, and memories of our short time together. How fiercely I loved him, even then. Even then, I knew that I would never love anyone else, save for that baby by my side, more than I loved Kona.
It was almost too much, the way I loved him. Right then, at that moment, with Kona’s heavy weight over me driving me towards my own climax, right then I knew I’d go on loving him every day, and that my love for him would only grow more and more as time went on. The heart has no limits. Its capacity to love goes beyond all human comprehension. Hearts full of love never burst, they just keep taking.