We are so please to introduce brand new author Mia Storm with her debut release, Getting Dirty.
Releasing on March 19th
Dirty
A poem by Blaire Leon
If sex is dirty, why would I do it with someone
I love?
I love?
If sex is dirty, then didn’t we all come from
the dirt?
the dirt?
What if I like the dirt?
What if I want to get dirty?
What if I want to roll in the mud until I’m so
fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?
fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?
When twenty-five-year-old graduate assistant Caiden Brennerasked Blaire Leon how old she was, she said she was a senior. He chose to
believe she meant in college. They connect over Lord Byron’s Don
Juan and, as their conversations become increasingly thicker with
sexual innuendo, Caiden finds himself obsessing over a totally off-limits
undergrad who’s bold, beautiful, brilliant, and one of the most passionate
poets he’s ever met.
But it turns out Blaire hasn't been totally honest. She's the
seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class, taking courses at
Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.
seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class, taking courses at
Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.
Will Caiden get too deeply into Blaire to back away before he
finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to seduce him into
risking his entire future on Jail Bait?
finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to seduce him into
risking his entire future on Jail Bait?
"A thousand and one feels....Getting Dirty is a thrilling, tantalizing forbidden romance you do not want to miss! I not only devoured this book, it devoured me right back!"--Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling author of REAL
EXCERPT
“What year
are you?” I don’t even realize I’ve said it until it’s out of my mouth.
are you?” I don’t even realize I’ve said it until it’s out of my mouth.
Her eyes
flick from the book to mine. “A senior.”
flick from the book to mine. “A senior.”
I feel my
eyebrows arch before I can stop them. “You look younger.”
eyebrows arch before I can stop them. “You look younger.”
She bites
her lips between her teeth for a moment. “Is that good or bad?”
her lips between her teeth for a moment. “Is that good or bad?”
“Neither, I
suppose.” But my insides burn, knowing that she’s not as off-limits as I
originally thought. It’s nearing the end of January. Commencement will be here
soon enough. She graduates and all bets are off.
suppose.” But my insides burn, knowing that she’s not as off-limits as I
originally thought. It’s nearing the end of January. Commencement will be here
soon enough. She graduates and all bets are off.
“So…” she
says, twisting a finger into the ends of her hair. “I know you like old, dead
poets. How do you feel about hearing something fresher?”
says, twisting a finger into the ends of her hair. “I know you like old, dead
poets. How do you feel about hearing something fresher?”
I lean
toward her. “Such as?”
toward her. “Such as?”
“I’m readingin a poetry slam tonight. It’s just something over at Tino’s in Jonestown on
the fourth Friday of every month. There’s no prize money or anything, but I
perform something new pretty much every month.”
“A poetry
slam…” I want to say yes in the worst way, but it feels dangerously like a
date.
slam…” I want to say yes in the worst way, but it feels dangerously like a
date.
She must
read the hesitation in my eyes. “If it’s too weird, no worries. I just thought,
since you like poetry…”
read the hesitation in my eyes. “If it’s too weird, no worries. I just thought,
since you like poetry…”
She leaves
the thought dangling. Like a noose. And I jump right into it. “Yeah. Why not?”
the thought dangling. Like a noose. And I jump right into it. “Yeah. Why not?”
The answer
to that rhetorical question is that it’s not May yet and she hasn’t graduated.
I’m risking everything I’ve worked the last three years toward. My entire
future. But the voice of reason is being drowned out by the raging waves of
something rolling up from the deepest layers of my being like an undertow.
Something base and essential. And unrelenting.
to that rhetorical question is that it’s not May yet and she hasn’t graduated.
I’m risking everything I’ve worked the last three years toward. My entire
future. But the voice of reason is being drowned out by the raging waves of
something rolling up from the deepest layers of my being like an undertow.
Something base and essential. And unrelenting.
“Do you want
to meet me there?” she asks, standing from her seat and giving me a better view
of the entire exquisite length of her.
to meet me there?” she asks, standing from her seat and giving me a better view
of the entire exquisite length of her.
“Yeah…that’s
probably best.” Plausible deniability. No, Dr. Duncan, I didn’t have any clue
she’d be there. Just went to hear the poetry.
probably best.” Plausible deniability. No, Dr. Duncan, I didn’t have any clue
she’d be there. Just went to hear the poetry.
“Great,” she
says as she gathers her book and shoves it in her bag. “It starts at nine.
There are usually five or six poets and it’s a random draw, so I don’t know
what time I’ll be reading.”
says as she gathers her book and shoves it in her bag. “It starts at nine.
There are usually five or six poets and it’s a random draw, so I don’t know
what time I’ll be reading.”
I nod
without standing, no longer able to tame my erection. “I’ll be there at nine.”
without standing, no longer able to tame my erection. “I’ll be there at nine.”
“You know
where Tino’s is?”
where Tino’s is?”
Electricity
crackles under my skin. I’m really doing this. “Yeah. I’ll find it.”
crackles under my skin. I’m really doing this. “Yeah. I’ll find it.”
About the
Author:
Author:
Mia Storm is a hopeless romantic who is always searching for
her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens,
she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in
California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a
mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect
with her online at MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor,
and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.
her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens,
she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in
California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a
mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect
with her online at MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor,
and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.
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