One shot and she was gone forever.
One moment.
One decision.
I was no longer living.
Fading.
Dying.
My past and my present were stolen.
Lost.
Misled.
My heart was broken that day.
Damaged.
Shattered.
But Secondhand Hearts can be mended.
Treasured.
Loved.
Forgiven.
~Kessler
It’s just a kiss.
I recite her words silently, hoping to convince myself that they’re true because I jumped on the back of the point of no return.
Her sweet tongue runs along the seam of my lips seeking entrance. Any resolve I held slips away as I draw in a needed breath. Her tongue seizes the opportunity and quickly finds mine, the tip exploring with deliberate strokes that increase in tempo. Excitement spreads from each of my taste buds like embers from a wildfire jumping onto dry brushwood. It sparks a burn to the deepest layer of my body. My brain tells me to shut this down before it goes too far. Her lips are on mine.
It’s just a kiss.
My hands of their own volition move from the edge of my seat and find her shoulders, unsure whether to draw her in or push her away. She shivers under the grip of my fingers. Our mouths find a rhythm that isn’t desperate but intense, potent. I take my hands from her body and weave them through the silk threads of her hair. A moan escapes from her lips and I inhale as if I can breathe in the sound she makes—a keepsake for my memories. The smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her intoxicates me and numbs any coherence I may have.
It’s just a kiss.
With controlled, purposeful movement she wedges herself further into the space between my legs. A perfect fit. Her palms splay against my bare chest as she raises herself up on her knees to bring us closer together and align our bodies. She trails her fingers along my skin, leaving a wake of goose bumps in their path. One of her gentle but fevered hands travels up to my jaw and the other down the side of my ribs to my waist just inside the band of my shorts. A tug on my lip before she dips her tongue further into my mouth lets me know she’s eager for more.
It’s just a kiss.
Trapping me in her arms, the lace of her bra teases me through her top. She pushes into me more so that her breasts rub against my sensitive nipples. The heat between her thighs causes my hips to rock into hers. There isn’t a splinter of space between us, yet I want her closer. Lips, tongues and teeth collide, sucking and nipping to taste more. I want to sear her flavor onto my tongue and taste her every conscious moment. I accept her oral assault as my punishment.
It’s just a kiss.
A sample of something this incredible can only be my sentence for failing Jaina. I can never fall for Tavyn.
Already fallen…
This is not just a kiss.
Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Yvonne Wilson, author of Secondhand Hearts.
-Hello, Yvonne. Welcome on Mikky’s World Of Books.
Thanks for having me. This is my very first author interview. I’m nervous as heck. *giggles*
-Tell us a little bit about yourself.
Well, I’m married and a mom of three (2 boys and a girl) and I’m an elementary teacher (I teach Kindergarten and learning services for Gr K-5).
I’ve always been a book geek and there isn’t a single day I don’t read. When I take time out from reading, I love to watch crime dramas or action movies. There’s something about hot men saving the day. LOL
I like to think I’m pretty laid back and generally I’m playing mom’s taxi. I live in the Pacific Northwest of Canada (Vancouver) so we kinda just go with the flow and whatever grabs us we’ll go and do.
Oh! I will never, ever turn down dessert. Especially ice cream.
-How did you come up with the idea for Secondhand Hearts?
So, you know there is the line in SH when Jaina is screaming, “You did this!” I was on a family road trip and the boys were in the backseat arguing. One of them screams at the other, “You did this!” My mind started wandering and I wrote the first chapter on a napkin in the car. They rest I suppose is history.
-This is your debut novel. What, in your opinion, is the most difficult part of writing?
The most difficult? Everything LOL. Actually, the most difficult was my own perfectionism and criticism. Nothing I put to paper is ever good enough. It took me two years to put this book out where I was somewhat comfortable letting the book world criticize it. Let’s hope my next WIP doesn’t take so long.
-Who are your favorite authors?
Oh my. I don’t know if I truly have a favorite. I love to read so I find merit in any book. Even the ones that we don’t necessarily think are that great. If I have to choose, I would say A.Meredith Walters and L.B. Simmons—they write with such emotion and I always feel like I’m “in” their story, I can feel so much from their words. Recently though, I read Progress by Amalie Silver and I was absolutely blown away by the beauty of the story.
-Was writing something you always wanted to do?
Yes. I have always done a lot of poetry but in high school and college I was a Science and Math geek. I actually have a first year English prof tell me I should never ever write cuz I was horrible at it and didn’t know what a paragraph was—well that comment made me want to do it all the more, LOL
-What can you tell us about your next project?
I have two on the go. One is quite dark—along the lines that even those who are evil find love. And my other is just a genuine love story—where beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
-What’s your advice for all the aspiring authors out there?
Honestly, as cliché as it sounds, just write. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. We all have a story to tell.
Yvonne Wilson is a teacher by day, working at the elementary level in the resource and learning assistance areas. Her writing is fit into any time possible between taking her three kids to their various sports and activities. She lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest of British Columbia, and will often be found curled up with a good book or watching a crime drama. Yvonne has a love for running shoes even though she doesn’t run, but they sure make an outfit look super cute. She loves guacamole and will eat that by itself or on almost anything. Ice cream ranks pretty high too.
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