Title: Minus
Series: Burning Saints MC #1
Author: Jack Davenport
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 6, 2018
Burning Saints MC outcast, “Minus” Vincent, has been summoned out of exile by the Club’s President for reasons unknown. Upon his return, he finds himself tempted by forbidden fruit of the past that has only gotten sweeter with time.
Christina "Cricket" Wallace knows exactly what kind of life she wants, and it's far from the chaos and mayhem of an outlaw motorcycle club. She’s worked hard to get where she is, and she won’t let anyone keep her from getting there…especially her over-protective biker brother, or the sexy as hell Club rival she thought she’d never see again.
As Minus and Cricket pursue their own roads, they find their paths intersecting in a violent and passionate collision that will forever change their futures.
I will admit, I was a little apprehensive about reading a book about a MC which was written by a guy, but since I received it as an ARC I figured WTH. Go ahead. Call me sexist; whatever. It's just how I felt. Boy was I wrong! The characters were well written, there were some great one liners, and everything flowed really well. The only problem I could pick out was by the end of the book the editor didn't pick up on the misspelling of Sergeant. At the beginning of the book it was spelled correctly, but by the end it was not. That's it! That's all I got to complain about! Which ain't much, so I give it 5 stars.
Jack Davenport is a true romantic at heart, but he has a rebel’s soul. His writing is passionate, energetic, and often fueled by his true life, fiery romance with author wife, Piper Davenport. A musician by day, his unique perspective into the world of rock stars provides an exciting backdrop for his new romance series.
He currently lives with his wife and two kids in the top left corner of the United States.
She perks up. “Wait, you’ve never had a back massage?”
“No?”
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“Well, what the hell? How can I, in good conscience, lie here letting you rub my back when you’ve never had anyone rub yours?” She scoots over, pointing to the mattress. “Lie on your stomach, I’ll do you first.”
I wave my hands in front of me in protest. The last thing I need is her warm hands roaming my body. “No, no, you don’t have to. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you crazy? Back massages are the best—like, better than an orgasm. You’re first, so lie down.”
“And you call me the bossy one?”
“Quit stalling and get on the bed.”
Obediently, I climb to the middle of my bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, legs hanging off the side. Next to me, the mattress dips, Anabelle on her knees, approaching my side.
A finger glides down my spine. “It will be easier for me to do this if I’m sitting on you. Hope that’s okay.”
“Is that the approved method?”
“No, but my arms will get tired if I have to lean over you the whole time.”
“Do whatever then, I don’t care.”
I stiffen when Anabelle swings one leg over my body, straddling my ass. Warm palms at my lower back.
“You’re so tense. Try to relax,” she coos, making it worse. “Tilt your head to the side, that’s it.”
I hear the lotion bottle snap open. Click closed. My roommate’s palms rubbing together, warming it up. “Sorry, I don’t have any actual massage oil. This will have to do.”
When her hands make contact with my back, I almost groan it feels so fucking good. Warm. Smooth. Pressure in all the right places, pushing gently into my muscles.
Slowly.
Slower still, caressing along my shoulders, thumbs and fingers working together to soothe the burning on my right side.
“Doesn’t this feel great?” Her soft voice cuts into the silence. “You’re loosening up. That’s good.”
I feel her leaning as her hands move up and down my spine until they stop, hovering at the base of my neck. Thumbs stroking the skin below my hairline, back and forth.
Kneading.
Her torso dips, hands maneuvering my arms, placing them at my sides. Palms slide up and down my biceps.
For several minutes, she rubs my arms and shoulders. Then she skims down my ribcage unhurriedly, in no rush, making little humming sounds inside her throat.
I know I’m not imagining the feather-light way her hands drift down my spine. I remain still, letting her touch me, basking in it.
Remain still when her lips kiss the tender spot of my shoulder where it meets my neck, nose nuzzling behind my ear, her breasts rubbing against my back and what the fuck was that all about? What does she think she’s doing, trying to drive me insane?
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte's, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
She lives with her husband, children, and her ridiculously large dog.
