Dirty
A poem by Blaire Leon
If sex is dirty, why would I do it with someone
I love?
If sex is dirty, then didn’t we all come from
the dirt?
What if I like the dirt?
What if I want to get dirty?
What if I want to roll in the mud until I’m so
fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?
When twenty-five-year-old graduate assistant Caiden Brenner asked Blaire Leon how old she was, she said she was a senior. He chose to believe she meant in college. They connect over Lord Byron’s Don Juan and, as their conversations become increasingly thicker with sexual innuendo, Caiden finds himself obsessing over a totally off-limits undergrad who’s bold, beautiful, brilliant, and one of the most passionate poets he’s ever met.
But it turns out Blaire hasn't been totally honest. She's the
seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class, taking courses at
Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.
Will Caiden get too deeply into Blaire to back away before he
finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to seduce him into
risking his entire future on Jail Bait?
"A thousand and one feels....Getting Dirty is a thrilling, tantalizing forbidden romance you do not want to miss! I not only devoured this book, it devoured me right back!"
--Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling author of REAL
--Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling author of REAL
Dear Potential Readers,
I've had several bloggers and readers contact me asking about the content of GETTING DIRTY and how the underage relationship was handled, so I thought I'd give you some background.
As you can easily see from the book description, this is a story about a under age girl hooking up with a older man. I know there may be some of you who area a bit squeamish about this topic. It is illegal, I am aware of that. But there is a reason I wanted to write this book that has nothing to do with sensationalism or shock value.
This book is a fictionalized autobiography.
Just a month before I turned seventeen, I met a man who was twenty-four. Our connection was instant. For months we kept it platonic, even though neither of us could deny the attraction. We never had the actual discussion, but we both knew our relationship would be viewed by others (including my parents and the law) as inappropriate. But, despite our best efforts, we fell in love and started dating when I was seventeen. I've always wanted to write a love story that reflected everything I was feeling at that age, in that situation. So here it is.
For you hesitant readers, I can tell you that this illegal affair is not glamorized or sensationalize. There are severe consequences to the actions my characters choose to take. I wanted the topic handled honestly and realistically. I know this story isn't for everyone, but if you choose to read, I hope you enjoy.
All my best,
Mia
Without realizing I’m doing it, I find I’m leaning toward her. I catch myself and stop. But before I can pull back, she closes the rest of the distance and presses her lips hard against mine.
Any thought that I shouldn’t be doing this evaporates like fog in a stiff breeze at the taste of her mouth, moving hungrily on mine. She’s scotch and fire on my tongue as she devours me. Right or wrong, I’m powerless to stop her.
Her fingers run down my face to my chest as she opens her mouth wider, inviting me deeper inside. I take the invitation, tasting as much of her as she’ll give me. Her hands tug at the hem of my shirt and my breath catches when cold fingers meet my warm abs.
I press harder against her, drawing her closer, and fire rips through my veins as our tongues and hands explore the new landscapes of each other’s mouths and bodies.
But a shard of coherent thought finally manages to pierce the bubble I’ve constructed to justify what I’m doing. “You’re a student,” I say against her mouth.
Her lips skim to my ear. “I like you, Caiden,” she whispers, and her saying my name with that hot breath, that wet mouth, is nearly enough to break my resolve. “I like you a lot.”
I take her by the shoulders and gently peel her away, my heart hammering out African drumbeats against my ribcage. “You’re so damn incredible, but I can’t do this. It’s totally against university rules. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not my professor,” she says, her expression wounded. “If we like each other, I don’t see why it should matter.”
“I’m Dr. Duncan’s graduate assistant. My boss is your professor. It’s a conflict of interest, since I do most of his grading.”
“So you are conflicted.” It’s clear from the predatory shift her expression takes that she hears that I’m trying to convince myself as much as her.
I drop my head against the headrest. “I am.”
She leans closer again, her breast pressing against my arm through the thin cotton of her top. “I’ll never say anything. No one needs to know,” she whispers, her breath feathering over my neck.
Any thought that I shouldn’t be doing this evaporates like fog in a stiff breeze at the taste of her mouth, moving hungrily on mine. She’s scotch and fire on my tongue as she devours me. Right or wrong, I’m powerless to stop her.
Her fingers run down my face to my chest as she opens her mouth wider, inviting me deeper inside. I take the invitation, tasting as much of her as she’ll give me. Her hands tug at the hem of my shirt and my breath catches when cold fingers meet my warm abs.
I press harder against her, drawing her closer, and fire rips through my veins as our tongues and hands explore the new landscapes of each other’s mouths and bodies.
But a shard of coherent thought finally manages to pierce the bubble I’ve constructed to justify what I’m doing. “You’re a student,” I say against her mouth.
Her lips skim to my ear. “I like you, Caiden,” she whispers, and her saying my name with that hot breath, that wet mouth, is nearly enough to break my resolve. “I like you a lot.”
I take her by the shoulders and gently peel her away, my heart hammering out African drumbeats against my ribcage. “You’re so damn incredible, but I can’t do this. It’s totally against university rules. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not my professor,” she says, her expression wounded. “If we like each other, I don’t see why it should matter.”
“I’m Dr. Duncan’s graduate assistant. My boss is your professor. It’s a conflict of interest, since I do most of his grading.”
“So you are conflicted.” It’s clear from the predatory shift her expression takes that she hears that I’m trying to convince myself as much as her.
I drop my head against the headrest. “I am.”
She leans closer again, her breast pressing against my arm through the thin cotton of her top. “I’ll never say anything. No one needs to know,” she whispers, her breath feathering over my neck.
Mia Storm is a hopeless romantic who is always searching for her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens, she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect with her online at MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.
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