Last Teaser for Striking!!!!!

Good morning!!! Yesterday I completely forgot it was Tuesday.

Somehow I am able to forget what day it is while still sending kids of to school and making it on time-ish for dance.

We were like five minutes late.

To me, that's early.

To the studio... not so much.

Anyway!! I forgot to do a teaser!! For shame.

And whilst there is a lot to tease in my writing world... I'm giving you one last peek into Striking!!!

It releases this Sunday and I'm just so absolutely excited for you to read it I can hardly stand it.

Do you know that it's been done FOREVER????? I can hardly breathe through my impatience anymore. Lila is SUCH a better author than me.

But it will be worth the wait. It will be worth the wait. It will be worth the wait.

Oh? Am I the only one that needs to chant that???

Ok. Last teaser for Striking before it releases THIS. COMING. SUNDAY.

                Stockton’s eyes grew darker as if some kind of emotion had come to a boil just behind his pupils. His fingered grasp turned into an open palm against my face that he slid down soothingly until it rested against my neck- hot, firm and electrified. My heart immediately picked up its pace and my breathing became erratic.
                “You can tell me, Cami,” he promised in a low, almost growl.
                I shook my head again, barely restraining the need to lean into his palm and then into his body. “Not yet.”
                “Don’t drag Will into any of that bullshit,” he said firmly, but his eyes were still soft with emotion for me.
                “I would never,” I swore.
                “I know,” he whispered. He leaned forward then and my breath caught in my throat. Gently, so carefully I had to believe he thought I was breakable, he pressed a kiss to my forehead for the second time since last night. His lips hovered on my skin, warm and soft and I closed my eyes against the incredible tenderness that was rolling off him in waves. Tears pricked my eyes again and I could have easily stayed there, just like we were, for the rest of the day- maybe the rest of my life.
                But eventually he pulled away. Slowly, so slowly that I was able to relish a few more moments of closeness with him before we were separated again. Once he was across the cab, and inches of seat parted us I felt cold and empty. I wanted his warmth back, his confident comfort. I wanted his hot skin on mine, never letting go.
I had never felt like that before when someone else touched me, never so cared for, never so complete.
                Shaking off those out of control thoughts I struggled through an emotionally hoarse voice and asked, “What was that for?”
                He looked at me from the corner of his eyes, sliding his hands up and down the steering wheel and gripping it tightly. “For every single thing you’ve been through.”
                I slumped back against the seat while he jumped out of the truck and shut his door. I had been called an attention whore my entire life; looked down on by my teachers, instructors and parents. I had been shoved into the corner, forgotten about, left behind and neglected for as long as I could remember. It was what I was used to. It was what I expected. Nobody had ever looked at me like a casualty, like someone that needed rescuing.
                Nobody, until Stockton.


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