*** Cadence lives her life without holding back. She’s all in. Her life is raw, real, and unapologetic. If you aren’t afraid to experience all Cadence has to offer, read this series. ***
Hooking has four important rules.
1. Cash only.
2. Use protection.
3. Carry mace.
4. Don’t fall in love.
Twenty-year-old Cadence is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.
About the Author
Breena Wilde has been writing for more than ten years. She’s sold more than half a million books in the last year under another name. Breena’s had a lot of jobs. She’s flipped burgers, worked in a hotel, and spent time managing people in customer service. She’s lived everywhere, from Taiwan and New York, to California and Virginia, but Wyoming is home. Writing is the best job ever!!! BLURRED LINES is the first of many in her erotic new adult series.
Connect with the Author
Website / Goodreads / Twitter
My pimp told me to wear a party dress. The only one I have is tight, lacy red, and cuts about mid-thigh. I style and dry my hair until it’s shiny and curls gently at the ends. When I’m finished I walk out of the bathroom.
“What do you think?”
Jessica, who’s still sleeping, rolls over and groans. She pushes her hair off her face and smiles. “You look smokin’ hot. Dayum. I’d tap that.”
“Thanks. Which shoes though? The red ones?” I hold up seven-inch platform shoes. “Or these black ones.” They’re also seven-inch heels and patent leather.
“The black ones, for sure. They’ll look perfect with your outfit and hair.” She climbs out of bed. She’s wearing a black thong and a white tank.
I slide on the shoes and grab my black bag.
“You got enough condoms?” she asks, taking her shower bag into the bathroom. “I bought a new box yesterday. They’re under my bed, or maybe on my bed.” She shakes her fingers through her hair. “They’re somewhere over there.”
“Thanks, Jessica. I’m still good.” At the door, I pause. Jessica turns on the water. The automatic coffee pot—our one splurge—kicks on and I sigh contentedly. When I come home in the morning, I’ll no longer be someone’s bitch. I’ll be my own person, obligated to no one. That one thought pushes out any worry about what Fileze has in store with the man I’m seeing tonight.