His to Have
by Devon Birchley
Publication date: June 27th 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Fifty Shades of Grey for the Girls generation.
There’s a whole bunch of things I need right now—to feel at home in this big, lonely city. To stop working my ass off. To find myself a nice, normal guy. One thing I sure as hell don’t need is Adler Montgomery crashing into my world and telling me what I need.
Cock-sure, tattooed, moneyed, too sexy for his own good. Not my type, at all. And yet…
When his hand tightens in my hair, suddenly, all I need is him.
He opens my eyes to a whole new world, possesses me in every possible way, sets me on fire with his sweet, filthy words. And then he pushes me away. I know I should run, keep my heart safe, but that turns out to be the hardest thing of all.
She thought I was giving her a line. And that’s probably for the best, because the truth is dangerous. No-one’s eyes have ever looked so vulnerable, made me want to break all my rules. They make me chase her when I know I shouldn’t. They make me cruel; they make me soft. But more than that, they make me feel. And I don’t like that.
I tell myself she’s only a sub, that I’m helping her to discover her dark side. But the more I listen to her smart, feisty voice and the more I see she doesn’t take any crap from anyone, the deeper I fall. I’ve never met anyone like Reagan Lockhart before, but letting her in could mean ruin for both of us.
His to Have is a very steamy new adult romance with a perfect HEA.
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Excerpts: His To Have by Devon Birchley
“Exquisitely made,” he says. I spin around and receive my second jolt of the evening. I’m face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered man...He has golden-brown hair, cut short at the sides, with a long-top pushed back in a messy quiff, dark, straight brows, and dark scruff covering a firm jaw. His lips are full, and his eyes are soulful, golden-brown, and almost puppyish. In short, he looks like he just walked out of a fashion shoot in Brooklyn, or some equally edgy neighborhood. I’m holding the crop in both hands, but he’s not looking at it—he’s running his eyes all over my body without a hint of shame.
“Is it?” I say, as neutrally as I can.
He nods. “Very. But the real beauty is in its execution. I’d be happy to show you how it works.” There’s a flicker of heat between my thighs.
“I—I’m not into this stuff.” One of those straight, thick eyebrows lifts a smidgen in tandem with a corner of his mouth.
“Sex? You’re not into sex?”
“I mean…” I gesture at the row of whips hanging on hooks along the stall front. “This. Bondage.”
The quirk in his lips becomes a full-on smirk. “Bondage is something a little different. But it could certainly be a precursor to me using a whip on you.”
“Whatever. It’s not my thing. None of it.”
He leans in, using his height advantage. “I think it is.” His voice has become a gravelly purr, like the sound a predatory animal makes when it has its prey in its sights. And he’s so close that I can smell him—a rich, spicy scent tempered with expensive cologne. “I can see it in your eyes.”
It’s bone-chillingly cold, but for once I’m grateful for it. It takes the heat out of my mood. No one in my entire life has made me feel as angry and irritated and turned on at the same time as this man.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” I mutter to myself like a crazy person. I can’t stand the type of people who make a judgment about you, based on nothing at all, then can’t wait to share it with you. It’s one of my pet hates. I reach the entrance to the subway and cling to the handrail, accustomed to the slippery mush at the top of the stairs.
“Reagan!” comes a deep, sexy voice from behind me. Adler’s striding toward me in an expensive-looking navy wool coat. He looks commanding, purposeful, and against my will, my body responds again. The world slows down as he comes up to me, puts his hands on my waist, and crushes his lips against mine. They’re so warm, his tongue so velvety and agile as it slides into my mouth. It’s a passionate, passionate kiss that leaves me dizzy.
“I shouldn’t have left without kissing you,” he says, keeping his face close to mine. And then he turns and carries right on, striding along the sidewalk. People are staring at me, girls in their twenties with naked envy plastered across their faces.
Why the hell did I write that? I push my way out of the venue and into the quiet street. The logic behind the thought is already blurring in my mind as I turn the corner onto the main street. And then I narrowly avoid walking smack bang into a tall, dark man who’s looking down at his phone, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Adler!” I say helplessly. He looks up and meets my gaze with sparkling eyes, and my knees go weak. This is the man I was just fantasizing about. And he’s even hotter than I remember. That jaw. Those cheekbones. Those smoldering, molten-caramel eyes.
“You know what I mean by opposites, huh?” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
“I’m not sure I meant to send that.”
His smile gets wider. “You drunk texted me!”
“No,” I insist, but my face goes beet red.
He looks around. “Come here.” He takes my hand and leads me to an alleyway several feet away. He props me against the wall and leans over me, one hand on either side of my head. “What were you trying to tell me, Reagan?”
His nearness is doing crazy things to my body. I want him to press me against the wall, crush me with his weight, lift me up and wrap my legs around his waist.
“I don’t know. It was just a fleeting thing.”
“No, it wasn’t. Tell me now.” His eyes are hard, and something deep in my core surrenders to him.
The lobby is stunning, just like the photos, but even more opulent. I swallow down a burst of nerves as the hostess takes my coat and shows me through. I scan the room for him. He’s at the bar in a light-gray suit and white shirt, open at the neck, a drink in his right hand, speaking to the bartender. My heart thuds against my rib cage. I’ve taken five steps when that perfect profile angles toward me, and the world seems to stop turning. There’s so much desire and hunger in his eyes that it makes me dizzy. For the first time in my life, I feel like a princess. He watches me approach, a hint of a smile curving his lips, and I feel self-conscious, like I’m on a catwalk. Don’t trip, Lockhart.
“You look beautiful, Reagan,” he says, his voice a little husky. He lays his hands on my waist, draws me close, and kisses me on both cheeks. I can practically feel my pupils dilating as I drink him in. His beard is trimmed more neatly tonight, better displaying the smooth planes of his face, and his messy quiff is neatly brushed back. The open neck of his shirt reveals a hint of his pecs and the beginning of his tattoo. I imagine myself unfastening the rest of those buttons.
Devon Birchley writes wild romances with a dirty twist. Her stories are full of forbidden excitements, sexy and intimidating men, guilty pleasures and spine-tingling happily ever afters!