Meet Dirty Dom in this fantastic stand-alone!
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I’d like to tell you that I’m ok.
That the meaningless sex with countless women has somehow numbed
the pain. That it’s deciphered the constant confusion in my head. Eased the
self-hatred that sinks into my gut every time I look in the mirror.
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.
I approached her
slowly, letting my eyes take in her soft, feminine curves. That’s what I loved
the most about women—their softness, their delicateness. It made them appear
breakable, just like me. And it made me appreciate that vulnerability, in hopes
that someone could—and would—one day, appreciate mine.
That’s why even
though I never offered more than a few hours of toe-curling pleasure, I assured
each second was spent tending to their sexual desires and making them feel
treasured. Just because I was a whore, it didn’t make me callous or uncaring.
If anything, it made me more aware of my humanity.
I pushed it all
away, trading my own hang-ups and idiosyncrasies for the mental numbness that
sex could provide and did what I do best: Fuck. I was good at this
part—touching, kissing, licking. And when we were both ready—too ravenous with
desire to consider my aversions—I drove into her slowly, all the way to the
hilt. Until her body completely covered mine and soothed the ache of loneliness
with wet warmth. This was the feeling I had been chasing since I was just a
child, barely a man. That sweet oblivion that only mindless sex could provide.
I was made whole by emptying myself into another, and for the barest of
moments, I became separate from my pain and anger. I became the type of man
that could look himself in the mirror and not see the horror of his past
standing behind him, its razor sharp claws cutting into the skin of his
shoulders while it smiled in that sinister way that still made my skin crawl.
I had seen that
malevolence in my dreams every day since as long as I could remember. Sometimes
it was in the form of a smile, a laugh. Sometimes it wore the face of ecstasy
and passion. But it was always terrifying.
I lay in bed,
staring up at the ceiling long after Alyssa had passed out in blissful
exhaustion. She came twice, once by my tongue, the other with her ankles on my
shoulders. She was a screamer, and I kept wondering if Angel would bust in
here, wondering if I was fucking or killing the girl. Then, if Alyssa was up
for it, she’d join, like she had just this past weekend with Cherri. It wasn’t
that we wanted each other in that way—oh hell no. We were just better…together.
It made it even easier to get out of our heads and lost in the movement of our
bodies.
It was
co-dependent like a motherfucker. And unhealthy. And unconventional. But it was
all we knew.
Fear of Falling (A Fearless Novel)
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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.
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