“I’m—I’m…” Another orgasm ruptured through me. My muscles were severed. My eyes were shutting. Bishop’s hands came to my hips and Nate’s gripped my ass. They both hammered into me like a ragdoll until I felt them both empty inside of me. Filling me to the brink. I dropped onto Bishop’s chest, my breathing heavy. Nate withdrew from me, and I sucked in heavy breaths.
“Holy shit.”
I have so many people to thank, but I don’t want to drag this on.
My children who inspire me daily.
My partner who puts up with my crazy, and my mummy who always has my back.
My brothers who are my everything, and my sisters who, even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye, I will always be here for.
To my favorite sister-in-law, Chacha! I miss you, girl.
To my best bitch, best friend, Isis. For the everything. For tolerating me, for never judging me, and for accepting me warts and all…even though you have beautiful skin. Bitch.
My readers who continue to support me and have my back!
My bloggers for taking the time out of their busy days to read, review and share me, and my three best friends, who read my words raw and give me the best feedback.
My agent, Flavia! Thank you for exceeding all my expectations and loving my books like they’re your own.
Ellie! For editing my words. Girl, draaaannks on me in Vegas. I just said dranks. Bet you hate me now, if you didn’t already. Tough, I have screenshots of you telling me you love me. Screenshots don’t lie.
My PA Caro! She needs a pay raise. Like a massive one.
My PR unicorn and the girls from Social Butterfly! (lifts wine glass).
The authors who inspire, support, and encourage one another—my tribe!
Chantal! You’re stuck with me.
Ofa & Priscilla my OG bitches!
To Jaci—for keeping me sane most of the time.
My Wolf Pack—(howls).
Jay Aheer—I love you. Thank you for my beautiful covers. For learning my vision and nailing them every single time.
And lastly, to all the readers who may be about to read me for the first time ever: thank you for giving a girl a shot.
Nuncupatura
To the girls who don’t just walk through fire. They dance in it.
This is the first time that I have ever put a trigger warning at the beginning of my book. I usually say that my name itself is your trigger warning. You know how I write, the stories that come pouring out of my imagination and bleed over my keyboard, but this time, I need to give a warning. There is a scene in this book that is not just dark, it’s disturbing, but it’s real. It happens, and it has impacted me in my lifetime. It was very hard for me to write this scene, and throughout the writing process of this book, I tried to avoid it. I bitched and whined to Chantal about how much I didn’t want to do it. I tried to take this story down different routes, but it didn’t matter, because we always ended back at this point. I promise I softened the scene as much as possible, and usually that’s not my style, but in this case, I felt it was imperative to do so. At the end of this book, there will be help links for anyone that may be dealing with similar circumstances. I have also put warning signs leading up to the scene, so you will probably know where I’m about to go with it and have the choice to skip forward.
I have always stayed true to my characters and how they unravel their stories in my head. I didn’t want to deny them that, and for that, I am sorry.
How many times in one lifetime do they say you find a soulmate? Is it once? Twice? Three times? Ice cream slipped down my throat as I thought of this. The quote scribbled on a rusty piece of paper read: You find three types of love in your lifetime. The first will show you all that you did wrong. The second will show you how you should be loved, but the third will show you what it feels like to die while still being alive. I didn’t know why my small, six-year-old brain had taken those words and twisted them inside of her head, but that didn’t sound right to me. Why would I want to love three times? That sounded too exhausting.
I’d rather lick this ice cream.
“Tillie!” my sister, Peyton, called out to me, robbing my attention away from the storefront window.
“What!”
My sister was the opposite of me. I was blonde, she had red hair. Fire hydrant red, too, and the freckles to match. She was the popular girl at school, mainly because she cared entirely too much what people thought of her, and I was the nerd.
“Hurry up, dipshit. If we’re late, Dad will get mad and you know what happens when he’s mad.”
My ice cream cone smashed to the filthy ground as realization sunk in from the onslaught of her verbal throw down.
I wiped my hands on my shorts and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Metallic slapped my mouth as I fell to the ground. Everything in the room spinning in
