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Tuesday, June 4, 2019

L. Woods PR Presents: Pop The Clutch by Kristin Harte; #ExcerptReveal, #ComingSoon, #TBR, #Excerpt


HERE COMES THE HEAT!

Keep reading for an excerpt from Pop The Clutch by Kristin Harte!

IT RELEASES JUNE 11TH!


ADD IT TO YOUR TBR → http://bit.ly/2LkM0C4

FOLLOW KRISTIN FOR RELEASE ALERTS → http://bit.ly/2UHsVNS


BLURB:

To Violet Foster, the past ten years have been a continual replay of an ill-fated night in high school. Without warning, she went from Downriver's sweetheart to unintentional adult film star, her most intimate moments shared with the world in ten-second loops. She's lost friends, been forced to change career plans, and had to stop dating because of that one indiscretion. The last thing she wants is to return to the scene of the crime, but with her grandma's health failing, she doesn't have a choice.

Easton Cole is a walking, talking bad-boy cliche in a blue mechanic coveralls. He's always known his trailer-park-kid shadow would follow him into adulthood, but building his auto repair shop into a successful business means he has a chance to change that image. People in Downriver have long memories and getting them to forget his past is an uphill battle. The last thing he needs is the trouble Violet could bring. She's a lightning rod for gossip, with a reputation that precedes her. So what if he's been crushing on her practically since puberty?

Violet's only planning on staying a month, even if the good memories of Downriver have started to overpower the bad, and Easton is dead set on making new ones...together. But the internet is forever, so there's no chance of Violet having a future unblemished by her past. And when the stain of her damaged reputation resurfaces, Violet knows it could destroy everything around her...including Easton.


VIOLET

“What are you doing?” I asked, nearly breathless.
He smiled and held up the remote. “You mentioned zombies the other night at the grocery store. I looked it up, and there’re four movies streaming this month. Thought you might like to watch one.”
Zombies. He remembered me talking about zombies after I’d hit him with non-organic produce. The man was lethal to my control.
My lips were on his before I could think, before I could tell myself to hold back. This man—this ridiculously handsome and generous man—had just surprised me in the best way. It wasn’t often people remembered such inconsequential details, and even less likely that they’d take the time to make sure there were zombie movies available to watch before going on a date with me. We hadn’t made plans to come back to his place. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe Easton had hoped the night would end this way. Maybe he’d planned it.
Thank God he’d planned it.
Easton slid his hands right to my hips and pulled me close, manhandling me in a way that was both forceful and easy. A way that made my heart beat a little harder, a little faster. I moaned and deepened the kiss, needing more of him. Wanting so much. When the contact simply wasn’t enough, I threw caution to the wind and my leg over his lap. Straddling him. Pressing myself against where he was already hard. Shivering at how needy I felt already.
His kiss became rougher, more urgent, even as his hands skated along my sides and up to my breasts in the gentlest way. The juxtaposition, the sweetness under the desire, had me desperate for more. Every roll of my hips brought another sigh, every time he nipped my bottom lip or sucked it between his teeth another groan. Soaking wet and practically panting, I arched into his touch, wishing for more, hoping he’d take the hint and—
“Yes, more,” I said as he grabbed my breasts over my clothes. Heat and need exploded within me, my nipples tingling as he teased them with his thumb. I hadn’t had a dry-hump session in years, hadn’t remembered how good they could be. Easton hadn’t even gotten his hands in my pants, and I was already so close. So wet for him. So ready to let go and just come.
I dropped my head onto his shoulder and rocked my hips, craving so much more. Desperate to just give in and get what I needed. Ready to give him things I probably shouldn’t. Chasing that high I knew we both needed. Both craved.
With a sudden groan, Easton thrust up harder, lifting me with the strength behind the move. There was no denying how good that felt, how the move made goose bumps appear on my arms. Our bodies were completely connected, nothing but fabric in our way. He was hard and hot, pressing into where I was already so wet, so wanting. A shiver made its way up my spine as he rubbed against me in one long, slow press. So good, so much, so fucking wet. I dropped my head back and pressed my breasts into his hands, wanting more. Needing the feel of his hands on me, the sensation of his skin on mine, the pinch of his thumbs teasing my nipples again. He didn’t disappoint. Easton took my position as an invitation and nuzzled into my neck, biting softly, still rocking his hips and making me want to scream. Want to cry. Want to tell him not to stop.
But when Dolly brushed against my leg and let out a loud meow, my brain and my body stopped working in tandem.
“Shit,” Easton said, growling slightly, breaking his rhythm and looking over the edge of the couch toward the orange fluff ball. “Sorry—she can be a pest.”
That pest sauntered to the couch across from us and hopped up, making herself comfortable. Watching me. Bringing the reality of the moment back into crystal-clear focus.
“Easton.” I dropped my head to his shoulder, something dark and heavy forming in my gut. Something almost fear-like, but not quite. He didn’t push me, though, didn’t try to keep going. Instead, he edged back against the couch and slid his hands to my ribs.
“We can stop. I didn’t bring you here for this.”


About Kristin:

Kristin Harte started off as a chemistry major in college but somehow ended up writing romances featuring ex-military heroes and the women who knock them to their knees…literally and figuratively. She likes drinking in the shade, snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold evening, and researching how to blow things up. Her children know nothing of what she writes, and her husband just hopes he’s not at their Chicago-ish home the day the government shows up to confront Kristin about her Google search history.

When not writing good men doing bad things, Kristin can be found writing paranormal romance as Ellis Leigh or co-writing naughty novellas as London Hale.
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