Whispered Thoughts: Blog Tour: Chad's Chase By: S. Ann Cole

He wants to claim her, possess her, rename her. But she has a different agenda. JHAY BYRD Chadrick needs to die. I’m ruined. My life is ruined. Because of him. Soulless, heartless, unremorseful, he took everything from me. Everything. Now, I’m after his soul. And no, I will not allow his good looks, suave style, or panty-incinerating body to distract or dissuade me. Nor will I allow his deadly dark eyes to scare me. Unlike everyone else, I’m not afraid of him. The. Chase. Is. On. CHADRICK NIIVEUX Jhay needs saving. I’ve ruined her life. She’s lost, roaming the darkness all on her own, because of me. Bitter, impulsive, seething with revenge, she thinks she hates me. Thinks she wants me dead. I know I should kill her. Kill or be killed, right? Except, I can’t. I’m shot down. Infatuated. I’ve always been. And while she’s after my life, I’m after her heart. The. Chase. Is. On.

S. Ann Cole is a passionate writer and reader, and a lover of anything that distracts her from the real world. Reader first and second a writer, S. Ann Cole is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to gold fishes in a tank. Because if they do jump out and try to attack her, the suckers will die… She hates chocolate, schmaltz and arrogance. She loves carbs, Chris Brown and humility. She lives nowhere and everywhere. Jokey people are her favorite people, as laughter is the way to her heart. Ann hopes that one day, the right day, when it’s her time (because nothing happens before its time), her hard work will be noticed and appreciated, and she’ll become a “bestselling author”… …But she’s guessing that might not be likely if she continues to write such sucky author bios. When Ann’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel, watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into hiccups, studying the Bible, or guzzling
booze.

“Get out, Jhay,” he said, his warning deadlier now.
“Fuck you,” I venomously spewed.
He lunged for me, but I was quick in shifting and rolling off the bed, landing soundly on my back. I ignored the pain, and when he leaped off the bed and came at me, I pressed my palms flat on the ground to keep firm, brought my feet together in anticipation of his descent, so when he reached for me I drove my feet upward and slammed them to his chest, the force knocking him backward.
That gave me enough time to frog jump back to my feet and assume a defensive stance. Chad was standing upright by then.

Making the first move, I swung a punch at him, but he ducked so easily and slightly, my hand swinging through thin air, hitting nothing.
Chad’s eyes lit up with a mixture of rancor and humor. “You’ve got to do better than that if you want to take me down, Tweety Byrd.”
Gloriously, fantastically, gratifyingly naked, he was standing so calm and tall, imperturbable, like I was no match for him, and my nude jumping around was some form of entertainment. This pissed me off, and with an unwomanly growl I charged forward in thoughtless rage.
Chad moved in a blur, and before I knew what was going down, he was pressed up against me, his chest to my back, both my wrists held tightly behind me by one of his strong hands, and his other hand hooked around my neck.
Hot, peppermint breath down my ear made my stomach flip and the butterflies inside whistle. “You really think you can fight me, Tweety Byrd?”
I felt weak. Stupid. Vulnerable. Powerless. “Go fuck yourself.”
“You want to know why I’m always so calm, Jhay?” The question was rhetorical. “Because it’s easier not to get pissed off than it is to control myself after I get pissed off. Rage kills, it consumes you and makes you do impulsive shit. Calmness allows you to think clearly, which prevents you from making stupid decisions.” His lips were touching my ears now, his voice but a breath as he said, “Like engaging a fight you know you can’t win.”

“I. Hate. You.”
Keeping my hands in a firm hold behind me, he unhooked his other arm from around my neck, and slow and deliberate, he dragged it down the front of my body, before dipping said hand between my thighs.
I closed my eyes and cursed, because I knew my vagina was doing anything but hating him right then.
“These lips down here are singing a different song,” he breathed down my neck.
“You sicken me,” I hissed.
“If you get this amazingly wet for someone who sickens you…”—he slipped a finger inside—“I’d pay any amount to see what happens for someone who…turns you on.”
As his finger slid in and out of me, in and out, in and out, I lost all sensible thoughts, my body giving up the fight and sagging into him, soft moans floating from my lips.
I felt his mouth on my neck as he moved backwards with me, in the opposite direction of the bed. Maybe I should have been paying attention, but with his tongue on my neck and his finger inside me, I chose the overpowering sensations instead of cognition.
Then that thrusting finger was gone, my hands were released, and Chad was in front of me instead of behind. Too late, I semi-consciously realized we were at his bedroom door, and before I could think to react, he pushed me across the threshold and slammed the door in my face.
The sharp snap of the lock came next, and I cursed myself. I was such a clown. Letting my fucking vagina control me.