Title: F*ck Club: Riley (Book One)
Author: Shiloh Walker |
Release Date: January 27th 2017
"The first rule of F*ck Club...we donât talk about it. We just do the job and get paid."
And Riley Steele did his job very well. Heâll be the first to admit that his current life isnât the one heâd foreseen. Itâs not even one he really wants, but after his parents died and he was left to care for two siblings and a mountain of debt, he was willing to do almost anything.
Now, after almost ten years of being paid to pleasure, heâs almost numb to itâ¦and to women.
That all changes with one phone call. Brianna Sharpe, the girl heâd loved as a boy, is leaving an abusive lover and needs someplace to hide.
Opening his home to Bree is easy. Protecting his heart is a different story. Sheâd completely shattered it once already. But Bree has changed and Riley wants to think there might be a chance. Only...what will she do when she discovers his secrets?
F*ck Club:Riley (Book One)
Text Copyright Â© 2016 Shiloh Walker
All Rights Reserved
âIs everything okay, Ry?â
The moonlight filtering in through the narrow slit in the curtains painted her skin with a soft, silvery light. Her eyes were darker than heâd ever seen them and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.
âEverythingâs fine, Bree,â he lied.
Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.
âThen why arenât you talking to me? Why donât you seem to want to look at me anymore?â
She was trying to torture him.
Slowly, he reached out and skimmed the back of his fingers down her cheek, careful to keep the touch light.
âWeâre talking now. Iâm looking at you now.â
âAnd youâre ready to haul ass out of here,â she said, looking wounded.
âBecause if I donâtââ He snapped his jaw shut before the rest of the words could slip out, but heâd said too much already.
Her eyes widened. âIf you donât, what?â
âBree.â Her name came out a low rasp. âGo to bed, okay? Go in there with your son and go to sleep.â
âIâll go to bed when I damn well want.â She poked him in the chest with her finger. âHow about you answer me now?â
He caught her wrist.
She tugged, and reflexively, he tugged back harder.
She crashed against his chest and the warm, soft weight of her had him biting back a groan.
She splayed the fingers of her left hand against his chest. He could feel her pulse bounding madly against his thumb. Slowly, he stroked that rapid beat, staring into her eyes.
âEverythingâs wrong,â he said without thinking. âI canât even go into detail about most of it, but the worst thing is that youâre here and I canât touch you. I need you like I need my next breath. I always have. But youâre just as out of reach now as youâve been for the past ten years.â
He started to let her go, telling himself heâd lock himself in the bathroom for the next hour, maybe longer. Or maybe heâd just go back downstairs and sleep in the torture device of a chair.
But, although he let go of Breeâs hand, she didnât let go of him. The hand on his chest curled, fisting in his shirt and she moved closer.
âWho says you canât touch me? Who says Iâm out of reach?â
Her eyes lingered on his mouth and a groan rumbled out of him.
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