Excerpt of The Virgin: Revenge by J. Dallas

I dreamed of the beach. And Drake. I was seventeen again, and stupid. The sand was smooth against my back and his hands were rough against my skin as he pulled the bikini top away, palmed one breast. His thumb circled my nipple and excitement, fear, tangled inside me. His teeth nipped at my neck and I shivered, nervous and needy. As he arched his hips against me, I gasped. His mouth came back to mine. “This is fucking crazy,” he whispered, his tongue rasping over my lower lip. His finger and thumb pinched my nipple. “This is insane. I have to…” I slid a hand down his chest. I knew what he wanted to say and I didn’t want him to say it. When I felt him through the thin material of his board shorts, I closed my hand around him, stroked. I knew enough to know that guys liked that. Now, he’d stop talking, right? He rolled to his back, his arms clutching me to him, one hand tangling in my hair while his mouth all but savaged mine. His hips drove up against me and I gasped, felt him between my thighs. The material of his shorts, the denim cut-offs I’d dragged on, they might as well not even exist. Pleasure slammed into me and I cried out, twisting against him just to feel it once more. I could feel myself, slick and needy, the material of my bikini bottom slipping against my flesh as I moved. “Shan…” he muttered. It was that sound that woke me. The sound of his voice.