FEELING LUCKY? Keep reading for a steamy excerpt from Loki’s Luck by Monique Moreau. It releases October 13th!
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To punish himself for his baby brother’s death, Loki is determined to live a life of abstinence – no partying, no women, no fun of any kind. He stays focused by throwing his energy into managing his MC’s gym. But when he’s roped into teaching a self-defense class, the supervisor threatens his self-control. She’s an annoying little pixie that loves butting into his business, but Loki still finds his gaze lingering on her curves.
As a social worker, Abby’s calling is to help troubled souls, and she’s never met anyone more broken than Loki. Determined to heal him, no matter what it takes, she offers him a deal: he can have her – any way he wants – if only he’ll share stories of his past with her. Whatever it takes for her to uncover the truth, she’s game.
But when Loki’s enemies hurt Abby in order to get to him, the biker revs up for a long-overdue fight. And he’ll have to convince Abby she’s safer by his side or risk losing all of the progress they made.
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Her brows notched together, and her bow-shaped lips pursed in an adorable pout of frustration. “What does this mean?”
“Doesn’t have to mean anything.”
She visibly winced and he clamped his lips together. Her spine snapped straight and rigid and stuttered out, “I-I see.”
Rising, he adjusted his cock to give it a modicum of relief. He reached for her jaw, but she flinched away from his touch. “I wasn’t using you.” He had to make sure she understood that much, at least.
Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I think that’s exactly what you were doing. Your ego got the best of you when you saw one of your friends flirting with me.”
His buzz popped like a balloon. Gripping her chin, he said, “Not true.”
Abby jerked away from him. Avoiding his direct gaze, she demanded, “Then, explain.”
“Babe, I don’t fuck women.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “Men? Why would you go down on me if you’re into men?”
“Not into men, either. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I haven’t touched a woman in three years. Not a one. I haven’t touched myself in that amount of time either. That should tell you the power you have over me with that sexy, tight body of yours and that even tastier pussy. You’re one hell of a temptation, I’ll give you that much.”
“Three years,” she repeated. Her hand drifted down and settled on the outline of his cock.
“Want me to—”
Clasping her hand, he dragged it off him. “No.”
Her brows drew close together, her lashes batting quickly. “But, why?”
He shook his head once. “Not your business. It happened, but it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?” she huffed, squeezing hard one more time before slipping her hand off him.
“Because it can’t.”
“Fine, then I’ll find someone else to take care of my needs.”
She was goading, but his stomach roiled at the thought of Whistle, or any man, on his knees with his nose in the pussy that he’d just made come. His hand captured her jaw, not painful but enough to make his point, while his eyes locked on hers. “Not a brother. Or any man I know. I’m warning you, Abby. I can’t be with you, but I will hurt any man who touches you. Don’t play me. I can be a jealous, vindictive son of a bitch when I want. I’m a Pandora’s box you don’t want pried open. Leave it be.”
Growing up in New York City, I used to walk the hot pavements in the melting heat of the long summers, and dream. Uptown to downtown, eastside to the westside, and underground to catch a subway racing out into the boroughs.
During my wanderings, my magic pencil spun out fantasies full of romance, with first meetings, heartbreaks, and reunions. Sometimes my boy crush (unrequited, of course) starred as the hero.
I grew up, and after a stint in art school, became a lawyer ‘cuz a woman’s got to make a living. I came from parents who fled to France as refugees, and as an attorney, I dedicated my work to helping survivors of trauma and persecution.
I believe in them. In their grit, in their determination to hold on, to pull through and, somehow, someway, to keep themselves intact, body and soul. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to writing stories of men and women who live through heart-rending pain, desperate yearnings and, ultimately, reach a place of redemption.
For a long time, I fought the urge to veer off the expected, safe path until I couldn’t go on unless I took a chance and made a change. I began to write, stopped, and began again. Finally, I gave in and here I am. Come join me on my journey…
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