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Very Twisted Things

A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3

Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

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A beautiful violinist who lives next door…

The obsessed rock star who watches her…

And the one night she bares it all.

Description:

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, Sebastian’s only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who’s lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

Check out our 5 smooches review HERE.

Prologue

Violet

“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

Boom!

I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.

At the very least, comet residue.

I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.

Which was now.

Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.

I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.

Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.

Then the first explosion had gone off.

Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.

Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.

Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?

The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.

My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.

Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.

I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.

Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.

Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.

The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.

Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.

My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.

Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.

Exhausted.

Done.

My body twitched. I grew disoriented.

I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.

Oblivion.

Darkness.

No bright lights, no tunnel.

No heaven, no mother, no father.

No comets.

No fairy dust.

Chapter 1

Sebastian

Two years later

“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.

What was taking her so long?

From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.

This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?

She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.

Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.

What was she doing?

Could she see me?

As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.

Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.

Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—

Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.

I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.

She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.

The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.

I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.

Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.

And then …

Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.

My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.

She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.

Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.

It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.

She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.

And then she did something completely crazy.

The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things

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Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

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“Mitch.” I spit his name like the poison he is. “Seems he has a message for me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Macey mutters, walking into the kitchen.

She reaches for the tequila bottle, but I dart forward and spin her so her back is against the counter. No way is she drowning her shit in a tequila bottle this time. No fucking running.

“Leah says otherwise, so, M, why don’t you tell me about his message for me?”

“I said it doesn’t matter!” Macey’s eyes flash with an anger and vulnerability stronger than I’ve ever noticed before.

“It does to me!” I yell, leaning into her. My eyes search her face. “It fucking matters to me, babe, so spit it the hell out.”

“I said. It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“I say you’re full of shit.” My mouth moves to her ear. “You gonna tell me or do I hafta fuck it out of you, huh? I’m not averse to either, but his name could really kill the mood when my cock is inside you.”

Macey shoves at me and I release her. She storms away from me, toward her room, then stops. “You wanna know? You really want to know what that asshole has to say to you?”

“Believe me, babe. I’d love him to say this bullshit to me. Seems he’s a pussy who has to use his ex-girl to tell me though. So let’s paraphrase. I’d love to know what that asshole has to get you to say to me, okay? Enlighten me, baby. Go ahead.”

“‘Tell your fuck buddy he’s playing to win a whole lot more than the Super Bowl this season,’” she whispers. “Or something along those lines. Close enough, I guess.”

Every nerve in my body goes on high alert. Electric jolt after jolt booms through me, my adrenaline peaking with his threat. The threat he can’t even fucking say to my face. More than that, every protective instinct in my body roars to life louder than an MC club starting their bikes. I feel those words crawling over my fucking skin, almost paralyzing in their determination but laughable in their weakness.

“Baby.” I move toward Macey, determined, certain, strong.

She breathes heavily, her eyes screwed shut, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Look at me.”

She shakes her head.

I grab her jaw and force her head up. “Look. At. Me.”

Her eyes open, and in them, I see a roaring sea of fear and uncertainty tinted with resignation to the words she expects. The words she won’t hear.

“What?” Her whispered word is barely audible.

“If you don’t know the rules, you don’t play the game,” I rasp. “Now, Mitch? He thinks he knows the rules. He thinks he can come back into your life and dictate shit his way. I think he’s sorely fucking mistaken, because he has no idea who he’s messing with.” My fingers creep around to the back of her neck, and her back flattens against the wall. “I play a game every day of my life, baby. I know more rules than you can ever believe exist. He thinks he can meet you for a half-assed drink and threaten me? He’s a joke. I laugh. Really, I do.”

“What?” she breathes again.

“If your fucking ex thinks he can walk back into your life, into my life, and threaten me with taking something that is inconceivably, irrevocably, indisputably fucking mine, he has the shock of his life coming to him.” My words are growled into her ear. “Let him play, baby. He has no idea what he’s just done.”

Two people. Two agendas. Two games.

Cover by CT Cover Creations

Expected to release late 2015.

My name is Cale Kinley and I’m a fucking Virgin…

Well, with the exception of my tongue. The countless things I can do with my tongue are bound to leave you breathless and begging for more, but more… is something that I can’t give. It’s a choice. My choice.

There’s a reason for that. A very good reason, and that reason is her.

Riley.

She’s the only woman that I want to bury myself deep in. The one woman I have wanted since I was old enough to fuck.

I never got my chance though, because she left. She had no choice and it stung like hell. But I couldn’t let her leave without telling her how I felt. I wanted her to be my first and I didn’t give a shit how long I’d have to wait.

It’s been six years and now she’s back and sexier than all hell. Just the sight of her stops my damn heart from beating. I want her and for more than just having her as my first.

I’m determined to have her in every way possible. She thinks this is still a game; that I’ve already given myself to countless women. What she doesn’t know is that I have a lot of willpower.

When I want something as badly as I want her, I don’t let shit stand in my way. I’m going to prove that to her. There’s just one little problem I need to take care of…

Him.

Victoria Ashley grew up in Rockford, IL and has had a passion for reading for as long as she can remember. After finding a reading app where it allowed readers to upload their own stories, she gave it a shot and writing became her passion.

She lives for a good romance book with tattooed bad boys that are just highly misunderstood and is not afraid to be caught crying during a good read. When she’s not reading or writing about bad boys, you can find her watching her favorites shows such as Sons Of Anarchy, Dexter and True Blood.

She is the author of Wake Up Call, This Regret, Slade, Hemy, and Get Off on the Pain. Victoria is currently working on more releases for 2015.

Victoria’s Facebook Page

Dante Santoro knew he was destined for great things. Growing up with two dead beat parents, Dante was forced to become an adult before his time. Deciding to change the world, Dante distanced himself from the only life he knew, the life of drugs and crime.

After going through school and training, Dante became a detective in the local police force. Keeping focused on getting drugs off the streets, he limited friends and outside connections.

Finding himself the perfect candidate to go undercover, he never anticipated the one person he thought was safe could jeopardize it all.

Will Dante be able to succeed at making the streets a safer place or will his destiny alter the course of the life he lives forever?

Jaime Nicole Whitley is a wife and a stay at home mom to her two children. She grew up in New Jersey where she continued her education and became a medical assistant. She now lives in North Carolina where her husband is stationed with the Army. Jaime also co-writes novels under the name Lena Nicole.

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Title: The Design

Author: R.S. Grey

Release Date: March 1, 2015

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Five minutes until the interview begins.

Fresh on the heels of her college graduation, Cameron Heart has landed an interview at a prestigious architecture firm.

Four minutes until the interview. 

She knows she’s only there because the owner, Grayson Cole, is her older sister’s friend.

Three minutes. 

For the last seven years, Grayson has been the most intimidating man Cammie has ever had the pleasure, or displeasure, of being around.

Two Minutes. 

But the job opportunity is too good to pass up. So, Cammie will have to ignore the fact that Grayson is handsome enough to have his own national holiday. 

One. 

After all, she shouldn’t feel that way about her new boss. And, he will be her new boss.

…

“I’m not scared of you,” I said with a confident smile.

“Perhaps we should fix that, Ms. Heart. Close the door.”

Check out our 5 smooches review HERE.

Amazon

I paused just outside of the front doors and took a deep breath, trying to get my bearings. I was twenty minutes early for my interview. My outfit was still wrinkle-free. My pad-folio was filled with extra copies of my resume and reference letters, and I’d rehearsed every possible question that Grayson Cole would ask:

Greatest weakness? My inability to settle for anything less than what I deserve. I’m stubborn and persistent.

The honest answer? My inability to overcome my schoolgirl crush on you even though you’re a self-righteous ass.

I would NOT be giving him the honest answer.

I am a lover of books, chocolate, reality TV, black labs, and cold weather. Seriously, if I had it my way, I would be curled up on the couch with all of those things… everyday.

I live in Texas where I spend my free time writing and reading. My favorite authors include Mindy Kaling & Jonathan Safran Foer. I’m a comedy geek and love all things “funny”. Women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Mindy Kaling are definitely the biggest inspirations for my writing, though I think my work tends to skew a bit smuttier than theirs.

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Title:            The Perception

Author:        Adriana Locke

Genre:        Contemporary Romance

Release Date:    March 1st

Synopsis:

There is no greater burden than a secret, and Kari Stanley has been carrying one alone for a long time. But fate intervenes in the form of a broken down car and the kind offer of assistance from a handsome stranger with a sweet, southern drawl. In exchange, all she has to do is go to dinner with him. Temptation was never so sweet.

Max Quinn has secrets of his own. His good deeds aren’t just a product of his southern upbringing; they’re his atonement. As one dinner turns into two, he realizes that Kari just might be his salvation.

As they struggle to find their path together, their secrets weigh heavier on them. Will they be able to trust one another with the truth, or will their secrets keep them apart forever?

Author Bio:

Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, she has created her own.

The Exception was Adriana’s debut novel and released late last year. The Perception is a stand-alone that follows two secondary characters from The Exception. Her third novel, Sacrifice, will be released Summer 2015.

Adriana lives in the Midwest with her family. She spends copious amounts of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. Her favorite things include sunshine, candy, and random quotes.

She loves to hear from readers. You can find her:

Website:    www.adrianalocke.com

Facebook:    www.facebook.com/authoradrianalocke

Instagram:    www.instagram.com/authoradrianalocke

TSU:        www.tsu.com/adrianalocke

Twitter:    @AuthorALocke

Pinterest:    www.pinterest.com/authoralo

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Prologue:

Prologue

Max

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

I spotted a woman standing in front of her car a few spots from mine in the parking lot. Her head in her hands, she stared at the front of her vehicle. I just finished my meeting and really wanted to go back home, but I couldn’t leave a woman stranded in the heat.

Not with a clear conscience.

And not with an ass like that.

“Somethin’ wrong?” I asked, shutting my truck door behind me and walking slowly towards the brunette.

She turned her head and a smile slowly spread across her pretty face. She stood, wiping her hands down the sides of her green workout shorts. Her body was lean and tight and I wanted to run my hands all over it.

She was little as hell, probably a good foot shorter than my 6’2” frame. Her tight white tank top showcased her breasts in the best way possible. Her hair was piled on top of her head, strands sticking to the back of her neck.

Her smile grew wider as I made my way across the parking lot. Sweat dotted her smooth, tanned skin and she wiped her brow with the back of one hand.

The beauty raised her eyebrows, her green eyes lighting up.  “My car won’t start.” She ran her gaze down my body, making little effort to conceal the fact that she liked what she saw.

That makes two of us.

I flashed her a smile and cleared my throat. I needed to focus, but that was easier said than done. The last thing I wanted to do was come across like Cane, my friend with no couth.

“What seems to be the problem?” I unlatched the hood and raised it open.

“I turned the key and got nothing but a buzzing sound,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

I looked up, the movement catching my attention, and my gaze landed right on her chest.

“What are you looking at?” she asked cheekily.

“Nothin’ you shouldn’t be proud of.” I blew out a breath and laughed.

She giggled and I immediately wanted to hear it again. I wanted to make her giggle, to see that smile, over and over.

Trying to put some distance between us, I made my way to the side of the car. I felt her eyes on me, the smell of her coconut perfume messing with my mind. I needed to focus on the task at hand and not on the thing I wanted to be handling.

Damn, I’d love to handle that little body.

I checked the battery and saw the problem right away. I tightened the loose cable and checked the other before standing back up. I leaned against the car and folded my hands in front of me. I had to figure out how to play this to my advantage. My mind raced through possibilities and I shot her a serious look.

“This is just my luck,” she said, reading way too much into my expression. “And I thought this week couldn’t get any worse.”

“Wanna talk about it?” I grinned, watching her cute-as-hell act. I didn’t know what her week had been like, but I knew I was more than willing to take her mind off of it for a couple of hours.

“So you’re a mechanic and a counselor?”

“I can be whatever you want me to be.”

Her mouth twisted in amusement, her eyes lighting up. “Is that so? You’re a jack-of-all trades then, Mr.—”

“I’m Max Quinn, the man that can service any and all of your needs.”

She laughed, her cheeks blushing. “Okay, Max. The first need I have is getting this car running.”

“The first need, huh? Does that imply that there may be more needs that require my services?”

She pressed her lips together, obviously enjoying the innuendos. “It’s a possibility. You know how things go—you take care of one thing and then suddenly something else, you know, pops up.”

“Pops up? Interesting choice of words…”

She laughed again, tossing her head back. Drops of sweat rolled down her neck and it took everything I had to not leap across the car, throw her over my shoulder, and into the back of my truck. I could imagine that little body wrapped around mine, that giggle piercing the air as I had my way with her.

“If I can get this car running, and that’s a big ‘if’, what do you think is a fair price for my time and effort?”

I figured I’d give her a chance to either play along or opt out. As much as I’d like to get to know this little beauty, I wasn’t going to press myself. It wasn’t my style.

“I’m not sure,” she smiled. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, I don’t really have anything else to do today. But it could take hours.”

“Really?” She looked alarmed. “I don’t want you—”

“It might take minutes,” I cut her off, shrugging.

She tossed me a flirty smile, one hand on her narrow hip. “Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?”

“Ah, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

Biting her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling, she ran a hand down the side of her neck. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. “Fair enough. What’s it going to cost me?”

“It’s going to cost you two things.” I tapped my fingers against the hood of the car and waited for her response.

“Two things?” She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes for effect. “Well, my options seem pretty limited, so let’s hear it.”

“The first thing is your name. Only seems fair that I know whose car I’m fixin’.”

The gorgeous girl in front of me cocked her head to the side. She was smarter than I gave her credit for. I knew she was attracted to me and I knew she’d give me her name, but she was smart enough to consider it first.

“Kari Stanley,” she said finally.

“Alright, Kari Stanley. The second thing you need to do before I fix your car is say yes.”

“Say yes?”

“Say yes to having dinner with me tonight. I think that’s totally fair. If I get this fixed, the least you can do is share a meal with me.”

She pretended to consider my proposal, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” she asked playfully.

I grinned mischievously. “I never said I didn’t bite.”

Her jaw dropped. She started to speak but nothing came out but another laugh.

“But I promise you’d like it if I did.” I narrowed my eyes, fighting the grin on my face, too.

She looked shocked for a split second and then regained her composure, trying to play it cool. “Okay. If you can get this started, I’ll go to dinner with you. But I have to say—I’m a little disappointed in your creativity. For some reason, I expected you to want more than a meal.”

I tossed her the keys and a wink. “Don’t be. You don’t know what all dinner entails.”

She caught her key ring with a grin. “Fair enough.”

“It’ll be better than fair, I promise. Now quit wastin’ time and use those,” I said, nodding to the keys in the palm of her hand.

“What do you want me to do with them?”

“I want you to start the car.”

She stared at me blankly. “What part of ‘this car doesn’t start’ don’t you understand?”

“What part of ‘start the damn car’ don’t you understand?”

She eyed me curiously before climbing into the driver’s seat. A look of disbelief crossed her face as the engine roared to life. “What the…”

I shut the hood of her car.

“Meet me at Maisano’s on Scottsdale Road at six, sweetheart.”

“Wait. How did you…”

I laughed, starting towards my truck. “Maisano’s at six—be there.”

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Dove Glitch is embarrassed about everything above her knees and below her belly button. When she has to fill a delicate, embarrassing prescription the last thing she needs is a sexy-as-hell (and brand spanking new) pharmacist behind the counter.

Johnson Fitzwell’s first day of his dream career also happens to coincide with the exact moment Dove needs her feminine meds filled. His glorious voice is way too loud–as in, he should be counting down the hits with Ryan Seacrest kind of loud. Thanks to Johnson’s handsome face and gorgeous jaw line, Dove dives headlong into her waking nightmare and asks for a vagina-scented cream.

How could she not fall for him? Dove’s only active goal now is to get Johnson to kiss her right on the lips. Either set. However, his horrible girlfriend is one of many obstacles preventing her from making that fantasy a reality. When Dove defends Johnson in the most unhygienic, unconventionally gross way in the middle of a crowded restaurant, their tender, slightly tantric relationship is off to a galloping, farting start.

Each print copy of this book will be dipped in holy water by my mom, and glared at by my father as he purses his lips. Neither will help. So, drop your pants and turn to the left and cough. I hope you’re not allergic to latex, because it’s time to fill your prescription. Anally.

–>