Ripped is the fifth book in Katy Evans‘ new adult Real series. When an angry, heartbroken girl is forced to be near her rocker ex-boyfriend, only time will tell if the fire between them will consume them both. Read two sexy excerpts below from Ripped. You can also read her newest books: Manwhore and Manwhore +1.
“First we will get a small apartment. A loft!”
“That’s right,” a low voice answers over the top of my head.
“And all we’d need is a bed in it,” I add.
“And you,” the husky voice murmurs, and I turn into the arms holding me. Silver eyes meet mine—silver like a wolf ‘s, heavy-lidded, both tender and eerily sharp. His lips are curled into this adorable smile, and I know right then and there that my boyfriend loves that I suggested a bed, of course.
“We can even get a dog,” I add cheekily.
“And a fish.”
He lifts one arm to point at the desiccated swordfish on the wall of the yacht we’ve stolen into. It’s not ours, but this is one of our hiding places. One of the many places where we meet and spend as much time together as we can.
It’s almost dawn now, and though we haven’t slept and could easily stay here forever, he grudgingly gets up and shoves his long, muscular legs into his jeans.
“Gorgeous,” he calls as he shoves a hand into his jeans pocket.
I turn from where I’m slipping into my sweatshirt.
“There’s been something I’ve been wanting you to have . . . ” He steps over and holds something small and shiny to the thin streaks of light that steal through the round yacht windows. A sliver of excitement runs through my body when I realize what it is.
“Is this a promise ring?”
When my lashes raise, I find him watching me with somber intensity.
With the intensity of a boy who loves you.
Just like you love him.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, reverently reaching out for it.
“It was my mother’s.” His voice is textured with emotion, his beautiful face harsh with it as he watches me slip it onto my finger.
“What are you promising me?” I taunt, lifting my face to his.
I will never forget the cocky lift to the corner of his lips when he said, “Me.”
Oh, god, I love him. I love him like a storm loves a sky and a smile needs a face. Mackenna is the best of me, the rock that holds me, the only one who understands me. He’s all that is left of my life that is tender and happy. I throw myself at him and he catches me, squeezes me, hugs me tighter than anyone else hugs me. “I’ll say yes and take all of you, so don’t joke about this,” I warn.
“No joke,” he promises, lifting my hand so he can see. “Looks pretty on you.”
I squeeze his fingers with mine as my heart squeezes at the very same time. “But my mother and your father . . . they both need us right now.”
Our lives are so imperfect. Cluttered with obstacles between him and me.
After my father died, my mother turned even more strict and bitter.
After Mackenna’s mother died, his father turned to drugs. Dealing drugs.
And now, my mother is the DA in charge of convicting Mackenna’s father, and the case is destroying our every chance at happiness.
I can’t wait to get away.
We need to get away.
He strokes my face with his long, guitar-playing fingers. “I know they need us, but they won’t need us forever. The hearing isn’t until a couple of months. Whatever happens with my father, whatever the judge decides . . . we’ll meet at the park that night, and we’ll run away. Get married. I can get a couple of gigs at a few local bars, I can support you through college.”
“Will you really help me pay my college tuition, Kenna? Are you sure you can do it?” I ask hopefully.
“Hell, I’d do anything for you.” He’s deadly serious as he speaks the words, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “I’m tired of hiding, you know.”
“I’m tired too.”
“I want to be with you. Out in the open. I’m sick of being your secret. I want to be your guy. I want people to know you’re mine.”
“But I am.” I lift my hand to his line of vision again, wiggling my beautifully adorned finger. “I am yours. And our plan’s still on, whatever happens. I’ll meet you at the park after the trial.”
He smiles a sad smile at the mention of the trial, then he kisses the ring on my hand, and then, well . . . then he pulls me by the small of my back against his hard, broad chest and kisses me stupid. “I love you. Always,” he husks out.
There are ways people love you.
There are all kinds and types of love, I’ve found.
The way you love pets. Your friends. The way your parents love you. Your cousins. And there was this whole other way Mackenna and I loved each other.
Our love was like a raging storm and a harbor: unruly and unstoppable, wild and endless, but steady and safe . . .
Or so . . . my fool seventeen-year-old heart thought.
“You haven’t been kissed in a while, have you?”
Oh god, it can’t be that obvious. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business. And I’m making it priority business.”
Need slams into me at the possessiveness in his tone. His grip tightens on me, quieting my denial. “You haven’t been f*cked in a while either, have you?”
“No, but I don’t want you,” I grit out.
God, he’s like a sexually charged nuclear weapon about to detonate me.
“Don’t be petulant,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand down my hair. “Do you want me to f*ck you?” he asks. I can taste him on my tongue, and my panties are drenched with arousal.
“This won’t be for the cameras.” His voice is deathly sexy in an I’m-so-ready-to-f*ck-you way, his breath a warm gust of air against my throat as he nuzzles me like he’s mad about me. Like he’s Dracula and I’m Mina, and this little foray into the closet? This will be our undoing. “This is for me—for you and me. I need to f*ck you out of my system. We’ll play whatever game they want, but we’ll have our own game. I don’t want this on film. Our lives are on film, but this can’t be in it. Do you understand me, Pandora?”
Please excuse me, but my brain is in a fog of lust and I can’t think straight. “Wha . . . but how are we going to . . . ?”
“Shh. I’ll find a way.” My muscles start quivering as he reaches between our bodies and I hear the rasp of my zipper.
He eases his hand into my jeans, his eyes glowing. “Have you been thinking about this?”
F*ck, considering that at one point yesterday I wanted to lick the tomatoes off him, YES! But I refuse to say it, refuse for him to know. I swallow back a moan when he slips a finger inside my sopping wet pussy and rasps, “Yes,” as if answering himself.
He rubs my insides, and it feels so good, I arch for him.
He’s smiling against my temple, because of course he knows— we both know—I’m drenched. And swollen from arousal. And god, it feels so good, but my pride is smarting because I’m so wet. I fight the desire he makes me feel, and I put my hands on his shoulders, battling within myself and gathering the strength I need to push him away. But then I realize . . . he owes me this. He f*cking should pleasure me until I can’t get enough. So I grab the back of his head and start kissing him again, groaning softly when he does the same, his mouth taking control of mine. His skull is round, perfect. His tongue works its magic on me as I feel the knowing strokes of his finger rubbing me inside.
“Part your legs. Lift your shirt so I can suck on those tits.”
“If you want it, lift it yourself,” I huskily reply, still clinging to my pride.
He laughs darkly. His hips move against my body in a punishing roll that makes me gasp, and he groans at the stimulation as though he could get off just dry humping me.
“Do as I say, damn you.”