"It was wrong for them to be together, but it was even harder to be apart."
Reviewed by Sherri Morris
Posted April 21, 2016
Erotica | Romance Erotica Sensual
The Stark International novel series from best
author Julie Kenner starts a new spin-off series with
Jane Martin and Dallas Sykes are brother and sister by
and adoption, but not in blood. Their bond started the
night Dallas was dropped off at his Uncle Eli Sykes house
his birth mother, who was unable to care for him. When
Dallas as his own, it made Jane his step-sister.
After a troubling few years, 15 year old Dallas is sent
to London for school. When Jane goes to visit him, he
sneaks out of his dorm room to see her. The pair are
kidnapped and held for ransom. While going through this
traumatic experience of their abduction, the two get even
closer, perhaps a bit too close. Once rescued, Jane and
Dallas struggle to come to terms with what happened to
and why. Ultimately they go their separate ways and over
the years keep
distance between them.
Now 17 years later, Jane is an author of an abduction
with happy endings. Jane's therapy for what happened to
and Dallas is on the pages of her books. She wants to
the illegal organizations who endanger children with
rescue attempts for profits. She feels responsible for
botched rescue attempt made on the location where she was
and the loss of lives by the vigilante rescue team her
step-father Eli had hired to find Dallas. She has always
carried the burden that it was her fault she was
released and Dallas was held for an additional three
Dallas has handled his abduction in a entirely different
way. Also known as the "King of Fuck," a reputation he
been building for years, he has a list of women that have
been touched by him miles long. He is also head of the
secret organization, Deliverance. With a few men he
his organization is untraceable. Its purpose was
to locate the people who kidnapped him and Jane.
now it has evolved to help bring other kidnapped children
home safely. The exact organization Jane wants to
fight against and bring down.
DIRTIEST SECRET was a chance to gamble with a taboo
forbidden love that I feel only Julie Kenner could pull
Her characters are impeccably written and her story line
has enough sexual tension, and steamy sex scenes to keep
readers glued to its pages. Each character has been
to live their lives after their ordeal, but without each
other, they have just been surviving. Their love and
passion for each other is what these two need into order
move on. DIRTIEST SECRET is everything I have come to
from Julie Kenner. There is suspense, sexual
tension, and a cliffhanger at the end that leaves me
From the New York Times bestselling author of such
“sizzling Stark novels” (RT Book Reviews) as
Release Me and Say My Name comes a Stark
International Novel featuring provocative bad boy Dallas
Sykes—the first in a new trilogy in the S.I.N. series.
It was wrong for us to be together, but it was even
harder to be apart.
The memory of Dallas Sykes burns inside of me.
Everyone knows him as a notorious playboy, a man for whom
women and money are no object. But to me, he’s still the one
man I desperately crave—yet the one I can never have.
Dallas knows me better than anyone else. We bear the same
scars, the same darkness in our past. I thought I could move
on by staying away, but now that we’re drawn together once
more, I can’t fight the force of our attraction or the
temptation to make him mine.
We’ve tried to maintain control, not letting ourselves give
in to desire. And for so long we’ve told ourselves no—but
now it’s finally time to say yes.
The King of Fuck
Even by Southampton standards, the party at the
nine-thousand-square-foot mansion on Meadow Lane reeked
Grammy Award–winning artists performed on an outdoor stage
that had been set up on the lush lawn that flowed from the
main house to the tennis courts. Celebrities hobnobbed with
models who flirted with Wall Street tycoons who discussed
stock prices with tech gurus and old-money academics, all
while sampling fine scotch and the season’s chicest gin.
Colored lights illuminated the grotto-style pool, upon which
nude models floated lazily on air mattresses, their bodies
used by artisan sushi chefs as presentation platters for
Each female guest received a Hermès Birkin bag and each male
received a limited edition Hublot watch, and the
exclamations of delight—from both the men and the
women—rivaled the boom of the fireworks that exploded over
Shinnecock Bay at precisely ten P.M., perfectly timed to
distract the guests from the bustle of the staff switching
out the dinner buffet for the spread of desserts, coffee,
No expense had been spared, no desire or craving or
indulgence overlooked. Nothing had been left to chance, and
every person in attendance agreed that the party was the
Must Attend event of the season, if not of the year. Hell,
if not of the decade.
Everyone who was anyone was there, under the stars on the
four acre lot on Billionaires’ Row.
Everyone, that is, except the billionaire who was actually
hosting the party. And speculation as to where he was, what
he was doing, and who he was doing it with ripped through
the well-liquored and gossip-hungry crowd like wildfire in
“No idea where he could have disappeared off to, but I’d bet
good money he’s not pining away in solitude,” said a
reed-thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expression
that suggested disapproval but was most likely envy.
“I swear I came five times,” a perky blonde announced to her
best friend in the kind of stage whisper designed to attract
attention. “The man’s a master in bed.”
“He’s got a shrewd head for business, that one,” said a Wall
Street trader, “but no sense of propriety where his cock is
“Oh, honey, no. He’s not relationship material.” A brunette
celebrating a recently inked modeling contract shivered as
if reliving a moment of ecstasy. “He’s like fine chocolate.
Meant to be savored in very limited quantities. But so damn
good when you have it.”
“More power to him if he can grab that much pussy.” A
hipster with beard stubble and a man-bun wiped his
wire-rimmed glasses clean with his shirttail. “But why the
fuck does he have to be so blatant about it?”
“All of my friends have had him.” The petite redhead who
pulled in a six figure wife bonus smiled slowly, and the
flash of her green eyes suggested that she was the cat and
he was the delicious cream. “But I’m the only one of us to
enjoy a second helping.”
“All your friends?”
“How much pussy?”
“At least half the women here tonight. Maybe more.”
“Man, don’t even ask that. Just trust me. Dallas Sykes is
the King of Fuck. You and me? Mere mortals like us can’t
Three floors above the partygoers, in a room with a window
overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, Dallas Sykes sucked hard on
the clit of the lithe blonde who sat on his face and writhed
with pre-orgasmic pleasure. The blonde’s cries of “yes,
yes!” mingled with the throaty moans of delight coming from
the curvaceous redhead who straddled his waist while he
finger-fucked her hard and deep.
They’d surrendered to him, these women, and the knowledge
that they were his tonight—for tenderness, for torment—cut
through him. A wicked aphrodisiac with an edge as sharp as
steel, and at least as savage.
He was drunk—on sex, on scotch, on submission. And right
then, all he wanted was to get lost in pleasure. To let all
the rest of the shit just melt away.
“Please.” The redhead’s muscles clenched tight around his
fingers, and a tremor ran through his body, his need for
release now so potent that it crossed the line into pain.
“I’m so close, Dallas. I want you inside me. Now. Oh, god,
He could barely understand her words, lost as they were in
the wet sounds of his mouth on the blonde’s sweet pussy. But
he heard enough, and in one wild, rough movement, he rolled
the girl above him to the side, so that she stretched and
trembled on the bed, her nipples hard and her pussy slick
and open and inviting.
Dallas felt his body tighten with need. With desire. But
only for release. He didn’t want either of these women. Not
really. Their company, yes. The escape they offered, sure.
Neither was the woman he craved. Neither was the girl who
had both saved and destroyed him. The woman he wanted.
The woman he could never have.
And so instead he sought pleasure and passion in the violent
rapture of hard, hot sex.
“Sit back,” he said to the blonde as he pushed away his dark
thoughts and regrets. He reached for the crystal highball
glass and downed the last of the Glenmorangie, relishing the
way it burned his throat and buzzed his head. “Back against
the headboard. Legs spread wide.”
She nodded, moving eagerly to obey as he urged the redhead
off his waist. “Fuck me,” the redhead begged. Her green eyes
flashed, her expression pleading. Her lips were swollen, her
skin flushed. She smelled of sex, and the scent—so
familiar, so dangerous, so goddamned compelling—made him
even harder. “I want you to fuck me.” Her words were a
pout—a plea—and Dallas almost smiled in response.
Almost, but not quite.
Instead he lifted a brow. “Want? Baby, this isn’t about what
you want. This is about what you need.”
“Then I need you to fuck me.”
His lips twitched. He liked a woman who knew her own mind,
that was for damn sure. And the redhead truly amused him.
He’d plucked her from the crowd downstairs because he’d
liked the way she’d filled out the flirty black dress that
was now crumpled in a heap on his bedroom floor. That, and
the fact he happened to know that she had a cousin who
worked for a government official in Bogotá, and that
connection might prove handy one day.
As for the blonde, Dallas had no particular agenda with her.
But he appreciated her limber little body and quiet
obedience. Right now, she was sitting exactly as he’d told
her, her legs wide apart and wonderfully vulnerable. She
wasn’t moving a muscle, but the beat of her pulse in her
throat telegraphed her excitement at least as much as her
tight nipples and hot, wet pussy.
He met the redhead’s flashing green eyes, then nodded toward
the blonde. “You want to get fucked. I want to watch. And I
promise you, she wants to do whatever I say. Sounds like a
perfect recipe, don’t you think?”
The redhead dragged her polished white teeth over her lower
lip. “I’ve never—”
“But you will. Tonight.” He met her eyes. “For me.”
She licked her lips as he slid off the bed and stood. She
was still sitting, her knees pressed into the mattress as
she sat back on her heels. He leaned forward, then took her
in a long, slow kiss. She tasted of strawberries and
innocence. He wanted to devour the first; he wanted to erase
the second. “Hook your legs around her waist and kiss her
deep. Suck her tits. Touch her however you want to. But
she’s going to fuck you with her fingers while you and I
both imagine it’s my cock. And, baby? You’re going to come
harder for me than you’ve ever come for anyone.”
He could hear the tremor of excitement in her voice and knew
that he had her. “I’ll be right here,” he said as he took
her hand and urged her toward the blonde, who was flushed
pink with anticipation. He moved behind the redhead, cupping
her breasts as she put her legs around the blonde’s waist,
then he squeezed her nipples hard as the blonde’s fingers
slid into her core.
Pressed against her back, he could feel every tremor of
pleasure, every quickening in her pulse. And as she started
to shake with a series of little convulsions, he slid his
hand between her legs from behind, dipping his fingers into
her wet pussy. As he did, his hand brushed up against the
blonde’s, whose sensual moan shot straight to his cock.
Next, he slid his now-slick finger up to tease the
redhead’s ass as she bucked against him, her body clearly on
fire from this dual assault. “Dallas,” she moaned as her
body shook with release. “Oh, god, Dallas, this is so fucked
“That’s the way I like it, baby,” he said. “That’s the only
way I play.”
It was true. He liked his sex dirty. Wild. He wanted to be
reminded of who he was. What he’d become.
The King of Fuck. He’d heard what they all called him, and
he had to appreciate how apt—and ironic—the moniker was.
Because god knew he was fucked up. His whole goddamn life
was an act. A facade.
He was damaged goods. As broken as a man could be. But he’d
turned that shit around. Claimed it. Made it his own.
Maybe he would never again have the woman he craved in his
arms, but if that was his reality, he was going to damn sure
make the most of it.
With his free hand he reached down to stroke his cock. The
sensation of his sex-slicked palm moving rhythmically over
the steel of his erection mingled with the wild, almost
feral sounds of the two women. He closed his eyes, imagining
another place. Another woman.
He thought of her. He thought of Jane.
But not like this. Not fucked up. Not like a goddamn
evening’s entertainment, as fungible as a night at the
movies and at least as unimportant.
Except everything was fucked up. Him, most of all.
Goddammit. He needed to shut it down. These thoughts. These
All these damn regrets.
The sharp trill of his cellphone startled him from his
thoughts, and he slid back away from the redhead who cried
out in protest.
“Sorry, baby.” His voice was tense, his chest tight. “That’s
the one ringtone I always answer.” He grabbed his phone off
the bedside table, lightly brushing both women’s skin before
turning his back to them and taking the call.
“Tell me,” he demanded, expecting the worst. His best
friend, Liam Foster, wasn’t due to report in until the next
morning. If he was calling now, it meant something had happened.
“It’s all good, man,” Liam said, his voice as close to
excited as his military training would allow.
“The child?” Dallas had sent his team to Shanghai to recover
the eight-year-old son of a Chinese diplomat who’d been
kidnapped ten days prior.
“Fine,” Liam assured him. “Dehydrated. Malnourished. Scared.
But he’s back with his family, and physically, he should
make a full recovery.”
Physically, Dallas thought, the word sounding vile in his
head. Because that wasn’t all of it, was it? Not even close.
He shoved the thoughts aside, forcing himself to focus.
“Then why are you—”
“Because the German asshole who grabbed him tried to trade
freedom for intel. He knows, Dallas. This dickwad Mueller
knows who the sixth kidnapper was.”
The words were simple. The impact on Dallas wasn’t. His
blood turned to fire. The room turned hot and red. He wanted
to beat the shit out of the sixth man. He wanted to curl up
into a ball and cry.
He wanted to finally know the truth.
There had been two in charge of the six fucks who had
snatched them—and surely this sixth man could identify his
employers. First, there’d been the main guy who sat back,
keeping his hands clean, but who was dirtier than all of
them. That man lived in Dallas’s memory only as hints and
impressions. He’d been smart. He’d kept his distance. But
he’d been the puppeteer, the one who’d hired the six and
pulled all the strings.
Dallas and Jane had come to think of him as the Jailer, and
he’d spoken directly to Dallas only twice. He’d told Dallas
that he deserved it all—every moment of agony, every pang
of fear, every prick of humiliation.
And then there was the Woman. She was supposed to feed and
tend to Dallas and Jane, but instead she brought pain and
fear along with a twisted darkness and a bone-deep shame
that hadn’t faded even after Dallas was free of the
confinement of those mildewed walls.
But he wasn’t fifteen anymore. He wasn’t locked in the dark,
tortured and hungry and helpless.
He might be damaged goods, but he had money and power and he
knew how to wield both like a goddamn medieval mace.
“We’re getting close to ending this thing,” Liam said. “We
use this douchebag’s intel to grab the sixth. We interrogate
him. Get him to tell us who hired him. It’s the last puzzle
piece, Dallas. We get that, and you can finally say that
Dallas closed his eyes and drew in a breath, soaking in the
words. Liam was wrong, of course. It would never really be
over. But he couldn’t deny the anticipation that was
building in him. The fantasy that he really could end this.
For his sanity.
But most of all, for Jane.
Excerpted from DIRTIEST SECRET by Julie Kenner Copyright
© 2016 by Julie Kenner. Excerpted by permission of Bantam
Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin
Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this
excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in
writing from the publisher.
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