Reaper (Dirty Sinners) Read Online Penelope Wylde

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
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One look at Liam ‘Reaper’ Black and I know all the hushed whispers about the Dirty Sinners’ new MC president are bona fide truth.
Ripped. Wild. Savage. With deep ties to the Bratva mafia and the legions of souls no doubt haunting his past, he is a hell-storm of unharnessed trouble. A villain. A killer. A hero. It all depends on who you ask.
As for me, I can’t afford to care.
I’ve lived in Haven, Tennessee for all of a minute with a plan to keep my nose in a book and my name off people’s tongues. It was a good plan, too. The fresh start I needed. Until the Dirty Sinners’ new president rumbles in and plays shining knight.
That night I knew better than to look the Reaper in the eyes, but the second it happens all his untamed powers collide with mine and the heat is instant. Chaotic.
Burning kisses and possessive caresses fuel a plethora of bad ideas I have no ability to control.
But deep down I know he’s everything I can never have. The addiction I can never fully sate. Because I know he carries deadly secrets. My past has taught me other people’s darkness can get a woman killed. And I have no plans on walking through Hell’s fire for a sinner.
Yet, here I stand in the eye of his storm asking how to tame a dirty sinner without getting burned?

FULL BOOK START HERE:

One

Arabelle

One night of sin.

Our little secret.

What are you waiting for?

Let Club Sin New Orleans sate your every sinful desire.

Ay Dios mio. I almost feel the need to say a Hail Mary and cross myself. That’s the good Catholic girl I was raised to be doing the talking. The bad girl sinner side of me passes the tip of her tongue over the blunt edge of her teeth and lets a wild fantasy race through her mind. Without the funds, in my bank account, this is as close as I can get to a place like Club Sin.

Besides, could I really let loose at a place like that? Probably not. The broke waitress in me would want to refill drinks and make sure everyone had what they needed. Can’t fix muscle reflex after four years of training. But still, my mind played with the idea. It’s like allowing yourself a sliver of the chocolate cake you’re craving instead of wolfing down the whole damn thing.

A strong kindling of curiosity peaks inside me as I continue watching the moving billboard fifty feet overhead. Three heavily inked and pierced men full of arrogant swagger and carnal knowledge surround a woman dripping in gold body paint. What would it be like to be the object of three men’s desires all night long? Hell, I would settle for one. With five hundred and thirty-two days of a dry spell, my body heats at the prospect of being a queen for a night to just about anyone willing.

An aura of intoxicating arousal bleeds through the screen as they each take the willing woman’s mouth in a sultry kiss before turning back to the viewer.

Wow.

My gasp is primal and then it all whooshes out on a long sigh. My heart fills with a desire for freedom and to be the owner of my own life.

Mesmerized, I’m unable to look away. I mean it’s a billboard, but it strikes a nerve. Together they paint a fantasy a girl like me could never pull off. But I will say, all the romance books stuffing my kindle and limited apartment shelves have nailed one thing. The forbidden is always the most tempting.

“What are you looking at, babe?”

I come crashing back into reality as Laila, my best friend, and partner in crime, slings a bare, slender arm over my shoulder and tucks me into her side. A move she’s done since we both had a crush on the growly Beast before he became a common prince back in second grade.

My swaying skirt and tight halter top clash with her daisy dukes and motorcycle boots. Frilly and quiet meets tomboy rowdy. Our parents never saw our friendship lasting. As teens, we would joke about my love of kohl eyeliner over her obsession with falsies. But that is where our differences end. She knows my sorted past and I know hers. We love the same mascara and have similar tastes in boys– the bad boy ones that never seem to last. Only she’s good at catching and releasing them back into the wild while I prefer to keep them at arm’s length like the beasts they are.

I’ve seen what they can do to a woman’s life. No gracias.

I point to the billboard glittering high above us. If desire were ever featured in the flesh my God that is what it would look like. “Them.”

Head back, eyes wide, she purses her lips into a tight pucker telling me the gears in her head are spinning with horrible ideas. Which normally lands us into trouble hip deep and me playing the sane thinker of our duo. Her next words prove me right.


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