Forbidden Fling, Book 1 in the Wildwood
Series by Skye Jordan
Delaney Hart has come a long way from her wild youth, dating tattooed bikers at her father’s bar, The Bad Seed. But when his death pulls her back to Wildwood, California, she must stay to renovate the dive he left her. And also face the lies and secrets that sent her running ten years before.
When Wildwood’s chief building inspector, Ethan Hayes, shows up on the property, Delaney doesn’t recognize him. The last thing he wants to do is save the bar where his cousin died in a brawl. But the good boy from her past is all too willing to remind her of the bad girl she used to be. And one night of passion leaves them both in a compromising position.
The last place Ethan should be is in Delaney’s bed. Guilt, family pressure, and plans for a brewpub of his own make shutting down The Bad Seed his top priority…until his feelings for Delaney interfere. Because her future depends on the success of the bar’s renovation and his dreams are rooted in its failure, their forbidden romance may be destined for heartbreak
Skye Jordan never disappoints! Forbidden Fling is steamy and sexy as you would expect from Skye. but it is also complex and paints a picture of a small town dynamic that, if you have ever lived in a small town, is on point.
Delaney may be my favorite heroines ever. She is strong and independant, and determined to do what is right by her family. She has worked hard to get where she is and has never had anything handed to her.
Ethan is swoony and sexy and being completely taken advantage of by his family.
Ethan and Delaney are perfect for each other and help one another to heal from the past and get over the guilt of a past neither could have controlled.
I am so excited to see what Skye brings us in the next in this series! Maybe a little Avery and Trace?
Delaney let one hand slide beneath his shirt, over his belly, his chest, and found a wall of muscle. “Good God. You’re ripped.” She pushed up and looked down at him again. “Handsome, you are hanging out with the wrong women. With your looks, this body, and that mouth, you could have women doing anything you damn well please as often as you damn well please.”
A growl started low in his throat. He grabbed her wrists, sat up, and flipped her to her back. Delaney squeaked in surprise. Then she hit the floor, and her breath whooshed out.
Ethan hovered over her, his eyes hot and intent. “And if the guys you’re with take their pleasure first and make you wait for yours, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong men. Because with this face”—he stroked her cheek gently—“this body”—his hand moved down, covered her breast, and squeezed, making Delaney’s breath catch—“and this mouth”—he lowered his head and traced his tongue over her bottom lip—“you could have men crawling over broken glass to please you.”
Delaney didn’t even have time to think of a response before his mouth covered hers, hot and demanding. He pinned her wrists to the floor above her head and licked into her mouth, tasting and teasing and taking. Then his lips were on her neck, her throat. He transferred both of her hands to one of his and used the other to pull at the hem of her blouse, freeing it from her skirt. He pushed it up her body, sliding his hands over the skin of her belly and the silk of her bra, his fingers lingering along the lace edge with a low, “So pretty. I should have let you undress for me. Should have let you give me a show.”
His heavy-lidded eyes came back to hers, and his fingers dipped beneath the edge to tease her nipple. She lifted into his touch. “Would you do that? Strip for me?”
His gaze was so open, so honest, as if he really wanted to know. She hadn’t done that in a long time. The thought spiraled a few nerves low in her belly, but his eyes were still holding hers, waiting for an answer, so she said, “Given the right incentive.”
His mouth kicked up on one side. He lay half on top of her, with most of his weight on the floor, his thigh between hers.
His fingers left her breast for her mouth and traced her lips. “Like what?”
“Stroke yourself as you watched me.” She held his gaze and licked his fingers as they passed. He made a pleasant sound in his throat as she went on. “Tell me what to do and how to do it. Have me pleasure you exactly to your liking while I was naked and you were fully dressed.” Her voice grew softer, his eyes sharper, and the intimacy of the moment seemed sharply intense. “Make me kneel between your legs. Make me say please.”
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and searched her eyes for long, tense moments. “You’re so . . .” He shook his head as if he either couldn’t or didn’t want to put all his thoughts into words in the moment. “God. Am I caught in a dream? Am I going to wake up and find you gone? A remnant of a fantasy?”
She smiled. “I would make sure to fulfill your fantasies if you’d let go of my hands. Because I want to touch you really bad.”
He sighed and let his gaze and his touch drift down her body. “My turn to go slow.”
His fingers traced the outline of her bra again, then pop, it snapped open between her breasts. The backs of his fingers skimmed her flesh, brushing the bra cups away, teasing her nipples into tight, hypersensitive peaks and turning her skin to fire.
She squeezed her eyes closed to gather her control. She was panting, her pussy throbbing, and he hadn’t even—
His mouth closed over one nipple. Warm, tight suction shot a current through her chest and up her spine, and she arched beneath him. “Jesus.”
Delaney worked one hand free and gripped a handful of the shirt on his back, pulling toward his head. But he was focused on eating at her breast like a peach, grazing her with his teeth, licking and sucking. Then he moved to another area and started all over.
“I can’t take this foreplay.” She’d grown light-headed, dizzy. Supremely frustrated. “I need you in a seriously hard-core way.”
He closed his teeth firmly on her nipple. Delaney gasped, but the pain shot pleasure straight between her legs. Releasing the pressure, he licked at the burn, leaving Delaney’s entire body on fire.
“You’re talking my language, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “And the better I know your body, the better I can fuck you. Hard-core.”
About the Author
Skye Jordan is a pseudonym for New York Times bestselling romantic suspense author Joan Swan. Skye’s novels are about enjoying that little wild streak we don’t let out often enough. About those fantasies we rarely get the opportunity to indulge. About stretching limits, checking out the dark side, and maybe even acting a little naughty. They’re about escape and fun and pleasure and romance. And, yes, even love, because while wicked-great sex is good, happily ever after with wicked-great sex is even better.
When she’s not writing, Skye loves to read, knit, craft, row, ride, and dabble in photography.