Read Online Books/Novels:
Sofa King Wrong
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Hard. Huge. Completely untamed.
Life on the street taught me to fight to survive. Prison taught me to endure. I spent years locked up like an animal for protecting the ones I loved. Six damn years without the soft feel of a woman under my rough hands.
Now I work for my buddy’s moving company, Sofa King Movers. A job up in the Hollywood Hills seem like a piece of cake, until it turns out I’m not there to move boxes. I’m there for her.
Alyssa Campo. Hollywood starlet, movie sensation, tabloid drama queen. A barely legal wild-child with a reputation for being a class-A brat. And they want me to be her fucking bodyguard.
She’s off-limits in every possible way – too tempting, too famous, too way-too-fucking-young for me. But when the sassy-mouthed little tease under my watch decides to flaunt my rules, she’s going to learn how firm I can be with bad girls like her.
I know I should keep my distance, but once I’ve had a taste of those forbidden lips and those tempting curves, there’ll be no keeping me from her.
Alyssa’s mine to protect. And mine to claim.
She’s the forbidden fruit. But years behind bars has me hungry.
…And I’m gonna devour her until the juice runs down my chin.
|Books by Author:|
I blink quickly, my eyes going wide behind my big dark sunglasses as I stare at him. “Big” doesn’t even really cover it. The man is a beast — easily pushing seven feet, and a body build out of iron and pure muscle. The hot, California sun beats down on him, glistening over his sweat-slicked body, his tanned skin and the dark tattoo ink swirled over it rippling.
I feel my pulse quicken to a full-on run, and my teeth rake over my bottom lip as I let my eyes drip all over him. He’s got thick dark brown hair, and these piercing blue eyes I can see even from the other side of the pool. Oh, I can see them alright, because they’re looking right at me.
His slightly scruff-covered, chiseled jaw clenches, and there’s this fire in his gaze as he sets it right on me. He moves with purpose, moving towards me down the path around the edge of the landscaped pool like a jungle cat stalking through the underbrush, ready to pounce. And he’s shirtless, like this man needs any extra help being stupidly good looking and insanely hot.
Rock-hard muscles coil under his bronzed skin. Tattoo ink swirls over his chest and shoulders, and down two arms — the kind of arms that make girls’ stomachs do flip-flops. The kind of arms that make cores tighten. Movie superhero arms is what they are, like he should be holding Thor’s hammer or something.
My eyes dip to his abs, and I feel my thighs squeeze together on the lawn chair. How does someone even get abs like that? He’s got this perfect six pack, with those grooves on his hips that just scream sex. Those lines dip down, tracing down into his low-slung jeans, like a promise of what you’d find if you’d just keep going.
I blush wildly, and quickly bring the magazine in my hands back up — like that’s what I’m studying, not the panty-meltingly hot piece of female fantasy stalking right over to me.
He’s been here for the past two hours, unloading boxes from the mid-sized moving truck in my driveway into the house. And truth be told, I’ve been ogling him ever since he arrived, hidden away behind my Dolce shades and my gossip magazine out by the pool.
… He never even glanced at me.
That’s new. And that’s not me being pretentious or vain, it’s just the nature of my reality. It’s the cost of fame. When your face is all over movie posters and billboards, when you’re appearing on national morning talk shows to smile and gush about your latest album and the fashion line you’re now a spokeswoman for? Well, people know you.
Men know you, that’s for sure. Especially when you’re my age, in this town. I’m used to men looking at me. Hell, I was used to it long before it was remotely okay for most of them to be looking at me like that. But, I learned to tune it out. No, I don’t glory in it, like I’m sure the tabloids say. But, it is what it is.
Except, he hasn’t looked at me once. I mean, Alyssa Campo, out by the pool, in a bikini? A paparazzi shot of me right now would go for sixty grand. Easily. Again, that’s not vanity, it’s just the reality of me being young, famous, and desired. Even when I don’t want to be. So him not looking? Not even once? He’s either a Zen monk, or gay.
But then, he’s looking at me now alright. Right at me, right into me, and like he wants to devour me. I shiver as he storms right over, coming to a stop right in from of my lawn chair, looking down at me.
I raise a brow behind my shades, my lips twisting. It’s my “sassy bitch” look. The one the tabloids always think is so “fresh” and so “fierce.” In reality, it’s my “I don’t know what the fuck to say right now” face, but the celebrity gossip types have dubbed it my sassy bitch face. Whatever. I’ve learned to roll with whatever comes my way, and if a “sassy bitch” look sells tickets to my next concert or the next movie I’m in, fine.
That’s the other part of the sassy bitch look — I’ve learned to use it. Throw a little attitude behind it, and it usually cuts through any BS right to the point of things.
The man’s jaw tightens, and those piercing blue eyes send a heated shiver through me as they burn into me.
I frown. “Excuse me?”
“You’re exposed out here. There’s clear lines of sight to four other rooftops, plus that bend in the road across the hill.”
I stare at him from behind my shades. “Huh?”
“You’re out here in that,” he nods his chin at my bikini as he folds his huge arms over that bare chest. “And there’s clear lines of sight all around. You should have a landscaper come out and put some more trees or coverage up where it’s missing.”