Complete Corruption
by CD Reiss is
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Title: The Corruption Series Books 1-3
Author: CD Reiss
Release Date: January 12, 2016
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Theresa Drazen can have plenty of guys, but the one she can't keep away from....the one she's just about addicted to, is more than forbidden. With felony-black eyes and a mouth built for lies, loving him is one step away from illegal.
But her body keeps overriding her brain. Maybe it's time to stop playing by the rules.
-------
Antonio is obsessed. Theresa's the last woman he should touch. She's going to get him killed. She's dangerous. Poison. The wrong woman.
Except...she's perfect.
And they both figure...one more time. Just one more time.
One more time and they won't get caught.
One more time and they won't get killed.
One.
More.
Time.......
**MATURE AUDIENCES--Rough sex. Dirty talk. Criminal activity. Cursing. Fisticuffs. Closed course. Professional driver. Do not try this at home.**
But her body keeps overriding her brain. Maybe it's time to stop playing by the rules.
-------
Antonio is obsessed. Theresa's the last woman he should touch. She's going to get him killed. She's dangerous. Poison. The wrong woman.
Except...she's perfect.
And they both figure...one more time. Just one more time.
One more time and they won't get caught.
One more time and they won't get killed.
One.
More.
Time.......
**MATURE AUDIENCES--Rough sex. Dirty talk. Criminal activity. Cursing. Fisticuffs. Closed course. Professional driver. Do not try this at home.**
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EXCERPT
Copyright © 2014
This book is protected under the
copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other
unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This book is a work of fiction. Any
similarities to real places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental
Cover
Art designed by the author
“Listen!” I yanked back at his hand
at the bottom of the stairs, but he yanked me and swung me through a doorway.
The choir dressing room was ancient
with wooden lockers built in the Depression. So, when he pushed me against
them, there wasn’t a clatter of sheet metal, but a thunk as they rattled.
Antonio grabbed me by the wrists,
locking them together in two fingers and holding them over my head.
“You think I’m worried about him?”
He put his finger to my face. “I spend not one minute of my life thinking about
that man with you. He’s not even a man. He’s not worthy of you. He’s one of a
thousand rats on the bottom of a sinking ship.”
“Then what’s the problem?” My
question came out in a gasp because my body gravitated toward him, arching to
press against him, just as he arched in the opposite curve to keep his face
close to mine.
“Why did you see him?” I could have
kissed him, but I moved my head against the locker door, turning my face toward
the arched lead-glass window. I wanted him, not in spite of his anger but
because of it.
“He went to Katrina. His team
grilled her, and I don’t like it.”
“What did they grill her about?”
He knew damn well, but he wasn’t
going to assume. I noticed that about him. He never assumed anything or jumped
to a conclusion.
“You,” I whispered.
“Me.”
“You.”
“And you told him what?” he said.
“To stop. To leave you alone. That
if he didn’t, I had enough on him to make his life a living hell.”
“Do you think you maybe should talk
to me first, before you do crazy shit?”
“No.” I twisted and pulled my hands
down. He let them go but increased his weight on me, pushing me against the
lockers. “You barely let me out of an apartment that’s not even mine. I highly
doubt you’d let me see Daniel.”
“Because it’s stupid and dangerous.”
“It’s what I have to give. And it’s
useful to you. And go to hell if you don’t like it. I will never, ever sit
still while he’s after you.”
“I’m already going to hell. Grazie.”
I pushed him away, and he grabbed my
jaw, holding me still while he put his nose next to mine and spoke into my
mouth. “You’re a loaded gun. Do you see that? You’re from a different world,
but you smell like home to me. I haven’t been to Napoli in ten years, but
whenever you’re near me, I smell olive flowers. My heart gets sick with thirst,
but the water is poison.”
“Antonio—”
“I’m drowning, Contessa.”
“What are you talking about?”
His face got tight, holding back a
flood of emotion. His fingers pressed harder on my face until I took hold of
his wrist, pulling it down. He let go.
“Talk to me,” I said. “Just tell
me.”
He looked confused for a second.
Overwhelmed. Then, as if the dam had burst, he wrapped his arms around me and
put his mouth to mine. It happened so quickly that I didn’t kiss him back at
first. I couldn’t breathe; he held me so tight, but I got my arms around him
and my mouth open, pulling him close, pushing as much of myself as I could into
whatever part of him was within my reach. Thighs, hips, hands, shoulders, lips
bashing lips, tongues forceful on tongues. It wasn’t even a kiss, or at least,
not like one I’d ever had before. It was a slap, a punch, the use of force, a
coercion of two worlds into uncomfortable cohesion.
The kiss never got soft and only
ended when he jerked himself away.
“Talk to me,” I said in a breath.
“The thing I want most is the only
thing between me and getting it. You are everything that will destroy me. I
should go back to who I was. But you made me dream I could be free, when I’d
forgotten I was in prison.”
“Is this about you being honest? Is
it about me seeing Daniel? Antonio. If I hurt you, just tell me how. Let me
make it right. Let me help you get out.”
He caressed my face with both palms
with a tenderness that shouldn’t have been able to contain such intensity.
“Sweet olive blossoms,” he said.
“That was God’s message to me.” He stepped away, and the space between us
became a sigh. He held his hand. “The only way out is through.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CD Reiss is a USA
Today and Amazon bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which
was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the
meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up, she’s at the well, hauling buckets.
Born in New York
City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in
screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere, but it did
embed TV story structure in her head well enough for her to take a big risk on
a TV series structured erotic series called Songs of Submission. It’s about a
kinky billionaire hung up on his ex-wife, an ingenue singer with a wisecracking
mouth; art, music and sin in the city of Los Angeles.
Critics have dubbed
the books “poetic,” “literary,” and “hauntingly atmospheric,” which is
flattering enough for her to put it in a bio, but embarrassing enough for her
not to tell her husband, or he might think she’s some sort of braggart who’s
too good to give the toilets a once-over every couple of weeks or chop a cord
of wood.
If you meet her in
person, you should call her Christine.
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