Author: Shanora Williams
Genre: MMA/Second Chance Romance
Release Date: June 15, 2016
When we were ten, he treated me like a friend.
When we were eighteen, he wanted nothing to do with me.
And now that we are twenty-two, he longs to claim every single inch of me.
He was wild—untamed.
And I, a reckless girl, who loved too hard.
But, what we had was special.
I was his serenity and he my protector.
Drake was consumed by my love…
but he also took advantage of it…
He’d broken my heart—left me hanging for years.
He ruined us.
And, now, he’s back.
He wants me.
And I want to hate him, I really do.
But, who am I kidding?
No one can deny Drake Davenport.
You can’t hide from the almighty DOOMSDAY.
Because he is a fighter.
And, just like me, he loves hard.
He never loses and he will fight as hard as he can if it means winning me back.
I gasped as the same hand wrapped round my arm and squeezed it with slight pressure. He whirled me around and pressed my back against the cold door.
Bold green eyes focused on mine, pink lips so close I felt my belly swirling with heat. His hands went outside my head, pressing on the car.
He smelled good, so good, sweet pine, sweet earth. His jaw was locked, hair on his forehead, breathing deeply through his nostrils.
“I’m trying to fucking save you from me, Jenny.”
“I don’t need you to save me from you.” My breathing accelerated with his.
“Why the hell do you need to be friends with a guy like me anyway?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have to. I just… want to.”
Sighing, he brought one hand down, roughly running it over his face. He was aggravated with me, frustrated, but like me, he couldn’t let go. He hated being away.
“What is it that you want, huh?” he bit through clenched teeth. “What is it, Jenny? You want me to talk sweet to you? Is that it? You want me to tell you some bullshit about how I’m actually a good guy deep down, how I secretly wish to be with you too, but my life won’t allow it—our lives, wont allow it?”
His questions were rhetorical, but they spoke to me. There was truth behind them. He was opening up and he didn’t even realize it.
Suddenly, his face straightened, and he moved in closer, pressing his crotch into my belly. I stilled when his hands came to my face and he clasped it, keeping my eyes on his.
Breath shallow, I watched as his eyes narrowed. He studied me like a piece of artwork, like I was some intricate masterpiece that no one could figure out. The kind of masterpiece that is too beautiful to replicate—too unique to pass by without a thorough glance.
That same torment and confliction from the previous week ran deep in his eyes again. He hated this, but liked it just a tad bit more.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, Jenny.”
“What?” I finally spoke, my voice hardly a whisper.
When she isn’t writing, she’s spending time with her family, binge reading, or running marathons on Netflix while scarfing down anything sweet and salty.