Read Online Books/Novels:

Dirty Rich Secrets Part Two (Dirty Rich #12)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lisa Renee Jones

Book Information:

Ashley and Aaron’s journey continues right where the prior book left off in this edgy and intense story.

More secrets and lies, and more passion and danger. Ashley and Aaron could never be prepared for what’s about to happen. Questions will be answered. Answers will lead to more mysteries. And the chemistry between these two will leave you breathless.

Books in Series:

Dirty Rich Series by Lisa Renee Jones

Books by Author:

Lisa Renee Jones Books



I stare at the naked man in the shower, rippling muscles licked by droplets of water, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. He’s perfect. He’s deadly. He’s Noah, not Aaron, and this man will never be Aaron to me, no matter how many times I use that name.

He’s alive.

We’re alive.

We’re together.

I launch myself toward him, and the minute I’m at the edge of the tub, he grabs me, lifts me, and pulls me into it. “I thought you were dead,” I whisper. “I thought—”

His mouth slants over mine, and oh God, he tastes like him, like Noah, like the man I love in every possible way: earthy, raw, and yes, lethal. I realize now that he was always lethal, that I always knew this, that it turned me on, that it called to me. “Noah,” I whisper against his lips.

He doesn’t even try to correct me. “Yeah, baby,” he whispers, “I’m right here.” He turns me and presses me against the wall. “Which I thought you knew two days ago. Obviously, your concussion was worse than I knew.”

“Two days?”

“Two days,” he says, the thick line of his cock pressed to my hip. “And if you don’t remember that, I haven’t fucked you as perfectly as I should have.” And just that fast, he’s kissing me again, has me refusing to ask another question. He’s going to fuck me perfectly. Yes. Please.

I reach down and wrap my hand around his shaft and say just that. “Yes. Please. Make me remember.”

A low growl escapes his throat, and he goes from devouring me with another kiss to dragging my shirt off of me and dropping it in the puddle of water at our feet. It’s barely gone, and he’s turning me to face the wall as his hands cover my breasts.

“Noah,” I plead.

“That’s right, baby,” he says, his fingers playing with my nipples and pinching them to the point of erotic pain. “Noah, and you’re the only one who knows that.” He teases my nipples again, pinching and repeating the deliciously painful action over and over until I can’t take it any longer.

“Why are you not inside me?” I demand.

“You’re going to remember this time,” he promises. “You don’t get to forget me ever.” He unsnaps my jeans and pulls them off. “Understand?”

“Why would I need to? Why would I want to?”

“Remember you said that,” he says, turning me around and backing me up against the shower wall with him caging me in, my sex clenching with the idea that he will soon be inside me.



I could say those words, think those words, a hundred times with this man with no regret. I have no regrets with him. I’m tired of pretending otherwise. He was almost gone again. He was almost dead this time, and now he’s standing in front of me again. I wrap my arms around him and hug him, pressing my breasts to his chest and offering him my mouth, my trust, my heart.

He cups my head, claims my mouth, and in that kiss, there is possession, heat, need. We need. He needs. God, I need. Take me. Fuck me. Own me. Love me. Those are the things I try to tell him with every lick of my tongue and then he’s inside me; I don’t even know how it happens, but he’s inside me, stretching me, filling me, in all those ways that I need to be filled.

“Damn it, woman, you undo me,” he whispers, and my back hits the wall again, his hands on my breasts, fingers plucking at my nipples, his kiss devouring me. Then, I’m no longer on the ground. I’m no longer against the wall. He’s lifted me while my legs have found his waist. And just that fast, he’s pumping into me, thrusting, and I’m not sure if he’s pulling me down on top of him, or if I’m pushing against him. I’m not even sure how I lean back, but I don’t fear falling. I know he has me. I think I’ve always known that he has me. As if promising that to be true, his arm wraps around my waist, his big, beautiful, powerful body holding all of my weight.

His eyes meet mine, lowering to rake hotly over my naked, bouncing breasts, and I am all about this moment. About showing him trust. About taking what he offers and that is him, that is pleasure and with that decision is freedom to just be here, live this, take him as he is. I push into him, groan with how hard and thick he is. For me. He is hard and thick for me, and I want him to want me. We are wild, and I watch his face, the hard lines, his perfect lips that I know can be deliciously punishing, and for reasons I can’t explain, just the idea of that mouth is what undoes me.