Meet Dirty Dom in this fantastic stand-alone!
I’d like to tell you that time heals all wounds.
That we evolve and grow into well-adjusted, stable adults, set on a path to right the world’s wrongs. That we are not our past…we are not our pain.
I want to tell you all those things. Hell, I want to believe all those things. But I’d be lying. I’m good at that. Living a lie is the only way I truly know how to survive.
But the day I saw her, I stopped surviving. I stopped existing. And for the first time in 24 years, I started living.
She brought me back to life. Set me free and sent my soul soaring. Made this useless shell of a man feel like…something. Something whole and real and good.
She saved me.
Although she believes I wasn’t even worth saving.
This story chronicles the journey of Dominic Trevino, a character from Fear of Falling. However, it can be read as a standalone.
Velvet sucked me until I was on the brink of release and for a quick moment, I thought about just getting it over with. But I needed more. I needed that physical connection. I yearned for her touch, her kiss, her smell. It reminded me that I was not like him. I was not what he had hoped I would be. It stated that just because I had been violated, that didn’t make me…it didn’t make different. It didn’t make me gay. I didn’t want that. I wanted this.
Spreading those shapely, toned thighs and filling her up until I pulsed in her womb validated me. Every stroke was a confirmation, and the deeper I went, the more whole I felt. But the moment it was over, the moment I pulled out of her, my latex-sheathed cock wet with her gratification, the doubt began to claw its way back in. Telling me that I was dirty—stained. Used. Useless.
She smiled lazily at me, the dark kohl outlining her eyes smudged along the apple of her cheek. I brushed it tenderly with the pad of my thumb and told her she was beautiful.
“Oh, Dom. You’re such a sweet gent. Too bloody sweet for this shit,” she giggled, looking soft and girlish. I liked her better that way, untarnished by the hardness of life.
“You think so?”
“I know so. Good guys like you shouldn’t be fucking strippers in the middle of the day. I mean, I’m not complaining—I can still feel you inside me, for crying out loud—but, I don’t know. You deserve better.”
I winced at her words, and how much I longed for them to be true. She was just feeding me more lies, and I was ingesting them like candy.
Except this one. This one I knew would never be true. Even if it was the one I wished for the most.
“Nah, I don’t. They don’t call me Dirty for nothing.”
S.L. Jennings is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance, reality TV junkie, obsessive coffee drinker and collector of crazy.