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CLAY
Marymount girls are good girls. Weāre chaste, weāre untouched, and even if we werenāt, no one would know, because we keep our mouths shut.
Not that I have anything to share anyway. I never let guys go too far. Iām behaved.
Beautiful, smart, talented, popular, my skirtās always pressed, and I never have a hair out of place. I own the hallways, walking tall on Monday and dropping to my knees like the good Catholic girl I am on Sunday.
Thatās me. Always in control.
Or so they think. The truth is that itās easy for me to resist them, because what I truly want, they can never be. Something soft and smooth. Someone dangerous and wild.
Unfortunately, what I want I have to hide. In the locker room after hours. The bathroom stall between classes. The showers after practice.
My head swimming. My hand up her skirt.
For me, life is a web of secrets. No one can find out mine.
OLIVIA
I cross the tracks every day for one reasonāto graduate from this school and get into the Ivy League. Iām not ashamed of where I come from, my family, or how everyone at Marymount thinks my skirts are too short and my lipstick is too red.
Clay Collins and her friends have always turned up their noses at me. The witch with her beautiful skin, clean shoes, and rich parents who torments me daily and thinks I wonāt fight back.
At least not until I get her alone and find out sheās hiding so much more than just whatās underneath those pretty clothes.
The princess thinks Iāll scratch her itch. She thinks sheās still pure as long as itās not a guy touching her.
I told her to stay on her side of town. I told her not to cross the tracks.
But one night, she did. And when Iām done with her, sheāll never be pure again.
*Tryst Six Venom is a standalone, new adult romance between the wealthy princess with a temper for whatās hers and the hard girl from the wrong crowd. One battles convention. The other, her pride. But nothing will stop it.
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4.5 Stars
Penelope has officially popped my F/F Romance cherry and had me enjoying every word of it.
What can I say about this book without giving anything away?!? Clay and Olivia (Liv) are two very smart, level-headed girls who definitely felt something more when they first met. However, while one knows what she wants and has no qualms hiding who she is, the other is stuck behind the faƧade she portrays to everyone.
This is one hell of a bully romance and both sides hold nothing back. This is a bully romance unlike any I have read. And yes, girls are a lot of meaner and uglier than boys because they hit low. But it just adds to the chemistry and sexual tension that is littered throughout this book.
Pen really knows how to take a story and pull readers in and keep them glued to the pages. I love her writing style. And then there are her characters. She gives her characters depth and the ability for readers to connect to them. Not only did I love Clay and Liv, but her secondary characters added another layer to this book. I have no doubt other readers are going to want to know about Liv’s brother and his story.
All I can say is that Tryst Six Venom is definitely must-read!
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I stalk down the nearly empty row, drop my bag, and look at her. She turns her head, sees me and rises, grabbing her backpack, but I slide into the seat, grab her wrist, and yank her ass back down.
āSit,ā I growl through my teeth, feeling heat rise up my neck as she crashes back into the wooden pew, her jaw flexing.
Thereās no point in denying myself any of this. Iām a bitch, but only to her, and only because it feels so good. Fuck it.
āDo something for me?ā I ask her, keeping my voice low as students fill the rows around us, and the altar servers light the candles. āMove your ass a little faster down the field than my grandmother this Saturday, or is that too much trouble?ā
Liv doesnāt look at me, just stares ahead as she lets out a quiet little laugh. āI haul ass down that field.ā Relaxing back into her seat, she hangs her elbows over the back of the pew, and her shirt creeps up a little. I spot the switchblade she keeps hooked over the waist of her skirt, but hidden on the inside, that only I seem to know about. So far anyway. She goes on, āIāll never understand how a princess who canāt pass a ball for shit and brags to anyone who will listen about being a Swiftie,ā and she does air quotes, āāeven before she went popā is our team captain. Oh, wait. Yes, I do understand. Daddy is useful. When heās there.ā
My father didnāt get me that position. She can think what she likes.
But I grin and turn toward the front of the church, my arm brushing hers.
āSwiftie?ā I say. āAw, you stalk my Twitter.ā
That was like four years ago when I said that.
But she just mumbles, āI couldnāt care less about your Twitter and your twenty-eight followers.ā
āAt least I donāt lose a dozen every day,ā I retort.
Yeah, maybe I stalk her Twitter, too. And I donāt have twenty-eight followers. I donāt have as many as her, but itās more than twenty-eight.
āThe world just doesnāt like tattooed feminazis with hairy armpits,ā I tell her, my gaze catching the dimple on her cheek as she smirks, āwho pass judgments like all the other constipated Captain Americas on social media who act like they really know anything when theyāre just angry their life sucks donkey nuts.ā
The dimple grows deeper, her matte red lips pursing to keep her amusement at bay. My heart thumps, and for a moment, I canāt look away. Sometimes I get lost, looking at her. The shape of her nose that Iām kind of jealous of. How soft the lobe of her ear looks. The way she chews the corner of her mouth sometimes.
āIs everything okay?ā someone says, snapping me out of it.
I turn my head, seeing Megan Martelle standing over us, holding a stack of collection baskets. Her blue eyes flit between Liv and me, knowing very well that this isnāt a friendly conversation, but lucky for her, this isnāt any of her damn business.
āFine, thanks,ā I reply, my tone a big enough hint sheād have to be blind to miss.
But she looks to Liv instead. āLiv?ā
Excuse me? Itās not the name. Itās how she says it. Like they know each other.
Liv must give her some gesture or something, because Martelle gives me one last look and then slowly leaves, continuing down the aisle toward the back of the church without another word.
What the hell is she thinking? Does she want to become my next hobby or something?
I reach down and pull my backpack closer before turning my eyes back to Liv to see if sheās watching her leave.
But sheās staring at me instead, amusement in her eyes.
āWhat the hell are you smiling at?ā I demand.
She never loses her cool, and it pisses me off.
But she just replies, āYou have a tattoo.ā
Her gaze drifts to my hand, and I squeeze my fingers together, covering it. All over again, I feel the needle carve into the inside of my middle finger on my left hand.
Fair enough. Iād mocked tattooed feminazis, an umbrella term I tossed her under, when, in fact, she doesnāt actually have any tattoos. Not even the one of her familyās little Sanoa Bay gangāthe snake and hourglass that she wears on a bracelet around her wrist. Her brothers all seem to have it inked on them somewhere.
Her eyes hold mine, maybe waiting for a response or daring me for one, but the light coming in from the stained-glass windows catches the coppery glint of the strands in her dark hair, a lock hanging over her eye as the rest spills around her shoulders. A dozen or so little braids decorate her hair, none of the ends secured with rubber bands. She looks like a warrior girl in one of those futuristic dystopian movies.
And all of a sudden, nothing is hot anymore. Itās just incredibly warm.
I squeeze my fingers tighter, the lines inked on the inside of my finger making the four quarters of an inch on a ruler, very few ever notice the lines, and those who do probably just assume Iāve leaked pen on myself.
Within that inch we are free. One inch.
āClay?ā she says, her tone different.
I donāt realize Iām staring off until I bring my eyes back into focus and see the black of her Polo shirt. I lift my gaze, seeing a worried expression on hers.
Her eyes shift to my hand on the pew in front of us, and I notice that itās shaking.
āYou okay?ā she asks.
I inhale hard, angry at myself. Why would I not be okay?
She grabs my backpack. āYou need one of your little blue pills?ā
But I snatch the pack out of her hands and glare at her. āIf you let her touch you,ā I bite out, changing the subject. āShe will live to regret it. I donāt even have to leave this seat to ruin her life.ā
Liv looks back at me, and I want to get closerāget in her face, because I want a reaction.
āShe wonāt be able to take it,ā I growl in a low voice. āI will keep going until she canāt take it.ā
I can ruin anyoneās life from my phone. It would be fun. And easy.
āYouāre not embarrassing our team,ā I finally tell her.
Megan was flirting yesterday. Thereās no way in hell thatās happening.
She holds my gaze and then draws in a breath, another fucking air of delight written all over her stupid, fucking face. āI donāt like women who chase me anyway,ā she says. āWhen I want them, they know.ā
A tingle spreads up my spine, and when I expect to feel anger at her boldness, something else comes over me instead.
When I want them, they know. How do they know? What does she do?
But she rises from her seat without elaborating. āExcuse me,ā she says, and takes her bag, trying to leave.
But I stomp down the kneeler, grab her wrist, and yank her to her knees. She sucks in a breath as she catches herself on the pew in front of her, and I pick up my backpack and rise.
āSit your ass down,ā I grit out.
I donāt stay to see her reaction. I spin around, ignoring the spying eyes from those around us, and leave the chapel just as Mass begins.
When I want themā¦
I blink long and hard. Jesus.
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Read the First Chapter HERE!
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Penelope Douglas is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her books have been translated into fifteen languages and include The Fall Away Series, The Devil’s Night Series, and the stand-alones, Misconduct, Punk 57, Birthday Girl, and Credence. Please look for Tryst Six Venom and Motel, as well as the Hellbent series, coming next!
She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and their daughter.
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