#SampleSunday: Know About Me
Welcome back to Sample Sunday where I attempt to entice you to read my book with a juicy snippet. Today's snip is from Petty Season, a Spicy, Age-Gap Holiday Novella.
Happy Sunday!
I thought it was well-past time for another Sample Sunday and an opportunity to bring the characters a little closer.
I’m actually SO eager for more people to read this book because I’m dying to talk about Theo Crawford. The man you meet in chapter 2 of Petty Season is not the man you get by the epilogue.
Theo runs a water taxi business in the British Virgin Islands. He is twenty-nine, gorgeous, well-built (and knows it) and operates on a very simple system: women come through the island for a week, he shows them a good time, and he leaves them with nothing but a good memory (and sore inner thighs). He lives a life with no walls on purpose.
He doesn’t know it yet, but meeting Camille will change his life.
But first, let’s get a peek at his life before it changes.
“God! Yeah! That’s the spot!”
With her knee flung over my shoulder, I drove deeper, every stroke pulling another curse from her. I cut off whatever she was trying to say with a snap of my hips, my palm cracking against her thigh.
Her hands flailed for the sheets, the headboard, anything to brace herself, but I had her pinned and there was nowhere to go. The bed slammed the wall so hard I heard something in the frame crack, but neither of us gave a fuck.
She was loud enough to wake the floor. I didn’t give a fuck about that either. Know about me.
“Shit! You gettin’ it good! I’m about to come!”
“Yeah you are. Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”
She lost words somewhere around the third time I hit it. I got nothing but a high pitched string of syllables that didn’t mean anything except yes and more and do not fucking stop.
She wrung me dry, whimpering and trembling through the aftershocks. I collapsed on top of her, both of us soaked. The ceiling fan spun slow and useless above us.
“I think we…broke the bed,” she said, panting, followed by a dry cackle.
Denise? No…Darla had arrived the day before. She was forty-one, two years out of a divorce, in the BVI from Houston for the week. Bronze skin, thick in the hips and thighs, a full chest and a full ass she wasn’t trying to hide in a little sundress. I caught her sizing me up while she waited on the porter with her luggage.
She’d slipped me her room number when no one was looking. I knocked on her door at nine with a bottle of the resort’s best rum, and we hadn’t slept much since.
I glanced at the frame, sitting crooked now, and shrugged. “The resort has more beds.”
“That was a hell of a welcome to the BVI.”
“That’s the Second Wind difference.”
I headed to the bathroom to deal with the condom. When I came back, she was stretched out across the bed. Her wig hung crooked on the nightstand where she’d flung it at some point in the night, the nylon cap around her hair still holding. Her face was bare, not because she’d taken her makeup off but because she’d sweated it off.
Frankly, she looked a mess and I took all credit for that.
I picked my shorts up off the floor. “I’m out. Gotta be on the dock by six.”
“Mmhmm.”
Darla hadn’t shifted an inch. One leg was hanging off the mattress, arm thrown wide, chest rising and falling.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put my shoes on. She didn’t crack an eyelid. Didn’t reach for me, didn’t ask if I would be back or tempt me to stay. She didn’t extract any promises about the rest of her week on property.
A woman who didn’t try to keep you was a woman who knew you’d come back if you could swing it. I was already figuring on when I could swing it. I dropped my cap on my head and stood.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Darla.”
One eye cracked open, just barely. She waved me off like I was a slow waiter. “Go on, now. I got a long nap calling my name.”
Theo thinks he’s got it all figured out. Women who pass through, women who don’t ask for more, a life with no walls so nothing can trap him.
Then a woman who connects with him on a spiritual level climbs onto his boat and and every rule he wrote for himself is no longer in effect.
Petty Season is out now! Grab your copy in eBook (print coming soon!) at Booksbydlwhite.com/pettyseason.