Blame It on the Pain by Ashley Jade

Pain. It hurts us. It pushes us. It punishes us.

Or, for the few poor souls out there like me…it defines us.

I’m not a good person.

There are no redeeming qualities about me…not anymore.

Any that I had, I’d given to the devil on the night that changed everything.

The night my baby sister died.

The night I murdered her killer.

Yes, I’ve taken a life…and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

And I would never, ever, have an ounce of regret for being who I am.

Until her.

My name is Jackson Reid. There are two things you need to know about me. The first—is that I’m in love with Alyssa Tanner. The second—is that I’m a murderer.

My name is Alyssa Tanner, but you probably know me as the whore who caused her step-father to lose the election for New York City Mayor.

And you would be right- because the day the world branded me a slut I decided to become one.

You think you know all there is to know about me because you’ve seen what I look like naked.

Believe me, you haven’t even cracked the surface.

What you don’t know—is my past, because I’ve been forced to keep it a secret to ensure my safety.

What you don’t know is my pain.

Because if you did—you’d be dead.

I bet you think you know how this story will unfold…but trust me, you really have no idea.

Warning: Due to strong language, some violence, explicit sexual content, and some dark elements, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

This is a full-length, novel. (100,000+ words.)

SKU: B01G3ZOLRI Categories: Romance, Romantic Comedy Tags: contemporary, new adult, sports

Description
Reviews (0)

Description

Find more from this author on:

About the author:

Thanks for believing in me and giving me a shot. It has meant more to me than you’ll ever know.

Here is a short sample from the book:

Sunlight peeks in from the corner of the curtain covering the window in his bedroom.
I look down. One heavy and muscular leg is tangled between two of mine.
We must have dislodged ourselves from one another in the middle of the night.
Well, somewhat.
His back is partially turned away from me and my eyes practically pop from their sockets when I notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.
His broad back is a sight to behold and my breathing hitches in my throat.
When my eyes travel further down, lust crashes into me like a damn tsunami.
A portion of the comforter is draped and bunched up just under that mouthwatering, sculpted V of his, which unfortunately for me…happens to be hiding something that I’m very interested in seeing at the moment.
I fight back and forth with my conscience before deciding that if the roles were reversed, I might not like it if he tore back the covers in order to get a better look at my goods.
But then again, I don’t look like him.
His body is a work of art. When I look at him, I see the hours of training and discipline, I see the strength he possesses, the well-oiled machine he’s molded himself into.
Jesus. Who am I kidding? I definitely wouldn’t mind Jackson getting a better look at me. I wouldn’t mind Jackson showing any kind of sexual interest in me at all.
The thought surprises me, because although I use sex as a way of coping and punishing myself…the one thing I don’t use sex for is my desire.
It hits me and I realize how much I’ve been missing out on.
The question is…does Jackson want me even half as much as I want him?
Like the saying goes, there’s only one way to find out.
Since his front isn’t facing my back, I’m unable to grind myself against him and feign innocence when he catches on, leaving the ball in his court.
That means I have no choice but to take the initiative and put myself out there.
It’s something I’ve done more times than I care to think about, but for some reason, I’ve never been so nervous about it before.
And that includes that night in the car with Ford, because I knew deep down that he wanted me.
But with Jackson, I really have no idea. He’s so controlled and good at keeping his emotions in check.
I bite my lip and prop myself up on one elbow, my front now pressed up flush against his back.
I lift one hand and slowly trail my fingers down his chest. Seeing all those muscles is nothing compared to feeling them.
I expect him to wake then, but when I look up his eyes are still closed, his mouth parted slightly.
My fingers find the waistband of his boxers and hover there for a moment. I plant a gentle open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder while I continue tracing the outline of his waistband.
His brows furrow and I think I’m doing something wrong…but then he releases a low and husky groan that goes straight to my core.
Just when I’m about to move the comforter and slip my hand inside the opening of his boxers…I find myself facing the ceiling, with a ginormous weight on top of me.
My wrists are pinned and I’m gasping for air when he settles between my thighs.
The only thought going through my mind is-
Holy. Shit.
When I feel his hardness pressed against my thigh.
“What are you doing, Alyssa?” he asks, his voice raspy with sleep and what I’m hoping is arousal.
I don’t answer him because my brain just isn’t capable of forming complete sentences right now. Instead, I shift myself so he’s exactly where I want him to be and I swear, I die a thousand deaths.
He releases my wrists, grabs a handful of my hair and inhales deeply. “Coconut,” he rasps. I don’t understand why he’s talking about coconuts when all I want to do is lick him from head to toe, but then he groans and flattens his palms against mine. “I fucking love the way you smell.” He closes his eyes, appearing to be fighting a war within himself. “I bet you taste as good as you smell.”
“Jackson,” I whisper. My shorts are bunched up so they resemble underwear and I’m certain that he can feel the wetness between my legs seeping through the material.
And then he thrusts and I feel every single inch of him.