Jack “Bulldog” Parrish
Crazy: Mentally deranged, especially as manifested in a wild or aggressive way. I was thirteen when I discovered the definition of the word I’d forever be labeled. Some used it as a figure of speech but for me it was a scar I’d carry through life. Or so I believed until I was diagnosed a manic depressive. I’m the president of the Satan’s Knights Motorcycle Club, a man of power and control. A man with enemies near and far. But the truth, my truth, is my biggest enemy— my mind and I live most of my life with no control whatsoever. I’m just a man who battles his demons, a man destined to live a life full of darkness. Until her. She’s the light beckoning me, calling me home, away from the torment. In a world as dark as the one I live in, sometimes I can’t help but crave Sunshine.
I was lost, broken and a prisoner of my scars. A shell of the woman I used to be, who didn’t know the difference between living and merely existing. Until a stranger found me, fixed and freed me. He breathed life into my soul, reminding me I was a survivor and still had life to live. My savior is a biker. A man tortured by his own scars. A man broken like me, maybe even a little lost too. I want to be his remedy. I want to heal him. I want to return the favor and be his savior. This is our story, a story neither of us knew how to write until we found each other.
Our eyes lifted simultaneously, glued to one another’s, uncertainty and anticipation pouring from the irises. “You made me cherry pie,” I spoke huskily. “Really wanted a taste.” She swallowed hard, visibly pushing down the lump lodged in her throat. “Gonna have that taste now,” I warned, lifting my thumb and smearing the cherry filling across her mouth. Her lips were soft as they parted just barely, a soft gasp escaping past them as my thumb worked back and forth. She lifted her hand to my wrist and pulled it away from her mouth. I sensed the change in tides, saw the storm roll over in her eyes and knew she was about to push me away but before she did, I took that fucking taste I came here for. My mouth crashed over hers, my tongue slipped out of my mouth and lapped at her lips, licking all the filling off her. Reina remained perfectly still, holding my wrist as my lips slowly worked hers. I was drunk and not on cherry pie but on Sunshine. My Sunshine. “Fucking delicious,” I grunted, before I took her lower lip between my teeth. Just a nibble. Just a taste. She moaned. And that was it.
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About the Author
Janine Infante Bosco lives in New York City, she has always loved reading and writing. When she was thirteen, she began to write her own stories and her passion for writing took off as the years went on. At eighteen, she even wrote a full screenplay with dreams of one day becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild. Janine writes emotionally charged novels with an emphasis on family bonds, strong willed female characters, and alpha male men who will do anything for the women they love. She loves to interact with fans and fellow avid romance readers like herself. She is proud of her success as an author and the friendships she's made in the book community but her greatest accomplishment to date would be her two sons Joseph and Paul.