by Meghan March
Greer Karas has been mine since the first day I saw her.
I walked away because she deserved better than I could offer, but I always planned to come back and stake my claim when the time was right.
But true to form, Greer wasn’t willing to wait. She threw down a challenge, and I’m meeting her head-on.
I’m not walking away this time because sometimes you have to fight dirty for love.
Dirty Love is even more dirty than Dirty Girl. No complaints here. Dirty Girl left off on a major cliffhanger, which I’m not going to go into. Dirty Love picks up right where the last book left off and the emotion just keeps on rolling.
There were a few things about the story I didn’t enjoy, so let’s get that out of the way first. I seriously hated the way Creighton and Cannon treated Greer. Maybe it’s because I’m not an heiress and don’t buy into the idea that someone’s social media posts have such a huge effect on a company’s stock options (doesn’t seem to hurt the Kardashians any). Creighton redeemed himself in the end, but it was touch and go for a while. It’s not integral to the romance, but it affected my empathy for Greer. I wanted her to stand up for herself more. Cav is still never going to be my book boyfriend. There’s a fine line between alpha-male and alpha-hole – he rides it a lot. A lot, a lot. Too much, for my tastes. He’s supposed to be a Dominate, but it really didn’t come across like that for me – it was more creepy/controlling than sexual domination. He has moments where he’s sweet and protective of Greer, which keeps him from being a total alpha-hole.
The reason I finished the book, despite those issues, is Meghan is an engaging storyteller and kept my attention. There is a lot going on between Cav and Greer and, as much as I’m not a fan of Cav’s, I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, waiting to find out how they worked it out. Meghan’s ability to weave emotion and feeling into a story is what saves this duo for me.
*I hate myself a little for referencing the Kardashians in any way, shape, or form.*
Right now, I just want Cav. I might still want to kill him later, but not right this moment.
I suck his finger into my mouth, laving it with my tongue and lips and dragging lightly down it with my teeth.
As we hurtle down the runway, I make promises to him with my eyes. Take the restraints off or don’t; I’m still going to want you.
Cav reaches out with his other hand and cups my breast, covered only by the soft material of my thin T-shirt. Chill bumps prickle along my skin when his fingers close around my nipple and twist.
A moan escapes my lips, and I press into his touch. We say nothing until the captain announces that we’ve reached our cruising altitude.
Cav removes his seat belt and mine before hauling me back onto his lap.
“Jesus Christ, woman. Feel what you did to me.”
He presses his hips up and against me, and I wiggle my ass against his cock’s solid length.
“I want it.”
“Good, because I’m going to lower you onto your knees, unzip my pants, and help you take it down your throat. And then I’m going to lift you up on my lap and slide your pussy down my cock until you’re full of me.”
His dirty talk kills me every time.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask, my tone taking on a seductive depth.
“Need to taste you again first.”
His lips crush to mine, and his tongue dives inside without waiting for invitation. Cav kisses like he does everything else—throwing his whole self into it. His hand is buried in my hair, tilting my head the way he likes. I moan into his mouth, loving the urgency radiating from him.
Finally, he pulls my head back, his eyes greener than before. “On your knees, baby girl.”
I nod as he helps me to the floor, the plush carpeting cushioning my position. Cav unzips his jeans and fists his cock as he pulls it out. As I lean forward, my hair falls around my face, but with my bound hands, I’m helpless to pull it back.
Cav wraps one hand around the tangled strands and clenches it behind my head. I’m at his mercy, and yet I’ve never felt more powerful. The need in his eyes burns into me, and I want to give as much as I want to take.
Desperately seeking rich, famous, single guy with a giant cock to make my lying, cheating, should’ve-been-born-dickless ex-boyfriend realize what he’s just lost.
Oh, and I give great head. Just sayin’.
No man in his right mind would answer that ad.
Except thousands did.
My name is Greer Karas, and I should never be allowed near another bottle of booze again. Because when I drink, my friend and I do stupid things. Like take a page out of my older brother Creighton’s playbook and post something completely asinine on the Internet. Waking up with a giant hangover to find my humiliating personal ad has gone viral is not my finest moment.
Cue my look of shock when one of Hollywood’s hottest new bad boys, Cavanaugh Westman, comes knocking at my door and drops his pants to prove that he does indeed have a giant cock.
What he doesn’t have is an explanation for why he disappeared from my life without a word three years ago, only to show up on the big screen two years later, killing bad guys in action flicks.
And now he wants me again.
What the hell do I do now?
Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at firstname.lastname@example.org.