"You want me to be a genius or do you want me to fuck you?" • • • The Alexandrettia is the finest school in the state, known for producing the smartest, and most talented kids in America. 21 year old keen painter Mia Hanson managed to get a spot. She worked her whole life to get inside, to see the hallowed halls her biggest idols once walked through. But those very same halls gets vandalized one wild night, and the person responsible gets sentenced to do community service, working as a janitor to clean up his mess. With his brooding eyes, filthy mouth and body covered up in ink, Eli the type of guy you run away from; The type who only lives for the trouble; The type you just know packs a brain the size of a peanut. But when one of Fermat's biggest unsolved mathematical problems gets solved by an unknown source, rumors start as to who and where this genius might be... Well: Three guesses who?

"Everyone has a story in Citadel. You don't mention yours, but its in your tattoos, in your words." He ran a finger down my arm, over the black and white jungle, over the faintest sketch of a mansion behind the beauty. I fought back a shiver. "I'm good at that, seeing stories." Antoine's eyes were sparking, alive in a way I hadn't seen them before. There was anger and pain, but there was something else. "I notice it now though, it obvious how you look at me. Like I'm something special, like you can see me living my life, even if I don't." His tongue darted out, drawing my eyes as it swept over his lips. All plump and rosy and red. "There it is, that's new too...the lust." Tobias Nguyen isn't reckless. He is, however, six feet and two inches of tattooed, moody, and unforgiving werewolf. Born into the cartel and now part of one of the most notorious werewolf packs in the US, Tobias knows to mind his own business and not get attached. Except, when he can't stop himself from doing something stupid because big blue eye beg him to. Amazing cover done by the wonderful: @bitter-bite

[SAMPLE] Reed frowned, his eyes filled with confusion when he saw that Lena seemed to be fine. "I heard a scream," he announced stiffly, standing awkwardly over Lena's bed. Beneath the sheets, Lena was torn between renewed arousal and slight mortification. Embarrassment won. "Everything's fine," she muttered, trying to discreetly disengage the battery-operated toy from between her thighs. It was a thick phallus, way too thick to silently exit her wet pússy, but finally, finally, it popped out. "But you screamed." "Because I came, Reed." His bewilderment only grew. "Came where?" And that was when Lena knew that even after what had happened between them last night, Reed was still like a newborn, an innocent. He might have been the most intelligent guy she knew but in many ways, he was still the boy he'd been before the accident that had marred his life. So she heaved out a sigh, clamping her thighs together when she felt his gaze scorch her damp skin. "I had an orgasm, Reed." She calmly spelled it out, wondering if she should mention that it was his cock she'd been imagining inside her. Now that she knew what he was packing, it was impossible to get the image out of her head - not that she was trying. Reed swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck. Lena was instantly turned on by that blush, by his obvious discomfort and arousal. So she did the most natural thing that came to her. She pulled her sheets away.

Injured, terrified, and on the run, Kisa never expected salvation to come wrapped in tattoos, scars, and steel. When she crashes-bloody and unconscious-into the garage of Slater Wylde, a brooding mechanic with a body built for sin, she wakes to more than just safety. She wakes to obsession... Slater is rough. Dangerous. Addictive. Precisely the kind of trouble she should run from, but his touch feels like protection and devotion. With Kisa's past still haunting her, she decides to lie low and enjoy a little bit of pleasure from the hands of a Wylde. There's only one problem: Slater has no intention of letting her go. Sometimes, the deadliest remedy comes with oil-stained hands and a possessive streak that burns through the soul.