Saturday, February 28, 2015

review || TAINT { blog tour }

Taint by S.L. Jennings

Publisher: Avon/William Morrow Books (2/24/2015)
Series: Sexual Education, book 1
Genre: Erotic romance
Source: Tasty Book Tours/Edelweiss
Purchase links || Amazon | B & N | iTunes Kobo || add to goodreads
Rating: ★★★★★

Right now, you’re probably asking yourself two things:
Who am I?
And, what the hell are you doing here? 

Let’s start with the most obvious question, shall we? 

You’re here, ladies, because you can’t f*ck.

Oh, stop it. Don’t cringe. No one under the age of 80 clutches their pearls. 
You might as well get used to it, because for the next six weeks, you’re going to hear that word a lot. And you’re going to say it a lot. 
Go ahead, try it out on your tongue. 
F*ck. F***ck.

Ok, good. Now where were we?

If you enrolled yourself in this program then you are wholly aware that you’re a lousy lay. Good for you. Admitting it is half the battle.

For those of you that have been sent here by your husband or significant other, dry your tears and get over it. You’ve been given a gift, ladies. The gift of mind-blowing, wall-climbing, multiple-orgasm-inducing sex. You have the opportunity to f*ck like a porn star. And I guarantee, you will when I’m done with you.

And who am I?

Well, for the next six weeks, I will be your lover, your teacher, your best friend, and your worst enemy. Your every-f*cking-thing. I’m the one who is going to save your relationship and your sex life.

I am Justice Drake. 
And I turn housewives into whores. 

Now…who’s first?

about S.L. Jennings || S.L. Jennings is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance, reality TV junkie, obsessive coffee drinker and collector of crazy.

{ excerpt } .

“Unless he’s completely desperate or under the influence, a man can’t—and won’t—fuck what doesn’t get him hard.”
Fewer gasps this time, but every perfectly powdered face is beet red with embarrassment, causing my mouth to slide into a sardonic smirk.
Truth be told, I love this shit. I love ruffling their meticulously groomed feathers. Their obvious discomfort entertains me. Seeing the rosy hue of coyness bleed through their blush is like a balm to my little, sadistic soul.
“And in that case,” I continue, “you don’t want him anyway. What you do want is for him to be salivating at the soles of your Jimmy Choos. And let’s face it, ladies … that’s not happening. Why do you think that is?”
Crickets. Fucking crickets.
“Anyone? Come on, ladies. I can’t help you unless you want to be helped. So unless you all have picture-perfect marriages, and husbands that blow your backs out on a regular, I should see some hands.”
This time I’m rewarded with an almost simultaneous intake of eleven breaths. They’re all still here. All willing to bare their souls and dirty laundry, in an attempt to rekindle the doused flame between their thighs.
You see, women are liars.
Yeah, I said it. L-I-A-R-S.
They want intimacy just as badly as men do. But to them, intimacy is more than just the physical act of sex. They want to be cherished, yet want a man who will get down and dirty. They want tenderness, but crave to be banged like a two-dollar hooker. They want a man that’ll go all night but still have the energy to kiss and cuddle and talk about his feelings afterward.
Listen up, ladies. We’re fucking tired! You try going jackrabbit-style, throw in some Cirque du Soleil moves, and see if you can keep your eyelids peeled. Us passing out after sex is a compliment—a testament to how good it was. And quite frankly, if your dude can hop out of the sack and go to work or run a marathon, then he still has energy left for sex. He’s just done having sex with you.
Much to my surprise, a hand goes up, pulling my attention. Of course, fate would have a sick sense of humor.
“You’re saying our husbands aren’t attracted to us anymore,” Allison states flatly.
As much as I want to dispute her answer and curse that pathetic excuse for a man known as Evan Carr, my game face is fastened tightly in place. Still, I look down at my notes, not trusting my restraint wholeheartedly. Business, Drake, I tell myself. Business before bullshit.
“Correct, Mrs. Carr.”
“Ally,” she retorts, causing me nearly to choke on my words.
“Excuse me?”
“Call me Ally. Just call me Ally. No one’s called me Allison since St. Mary’s Prep. And if you call me Mrs. Carr again, I may have to sue for slander. Mrs. Carr is my lovely, gracious mother-in-law,” she replies with a hint of snark.
Finally, someone who speaks my language.
It’s no secret that Mrs. Elaine Carr is a raging bitch in designer heels. Since her stint on The Real Housewives of NYC a few years back, she’s been known as the Wicked Witch of the Upper East Side. When the show caught backlash after one of her Pinot-fueled tirades involving a gay server and derogatory slurs, she wasn’t invited for the following season. She was furious, of course, and threatened to sue the network. Not that she needed the money. It was the humiliation of being thrown out on her little, augmented ass.
Lucky for her sake, Allison refused to be taped, yet Evan turned out to be as much of a camera whore as his mother. As much as he enjoys screwing housewives, being a housewife seemed even more enticing to him.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Where were we? Attraction, ladies. It’s a powerful thing. It’s what nabs them, captivates them, and keeps them coming back for more. And it goes far beyond physical attributes. Plain and simple, you have to be what they want. You have to offer what they desire. You see, men are simple creatures. We want what we want. And if you aren’t what we want, we find something—or someone—we do.”
“That’s disgusting,” murmurs a voice toward the back of the room. I look up, immediately recognizing the platinum-blond hair and disgruntled face of Lacey Rose, wife of legendary rocker Skylar Rose, who is also forty years her senior. They met and married when Lacey was only sixteen, which quickly sparked a media storm surrounding the child bride’s intentions and the musician’s penchant for adolescent poon. That was ten years ago, and now that Lacey has blossomed into a woman and birthed two children, Skylar’s been trolling Forever 21 and mall food courts for another young flower to pollinate.
Does this shit sound wrong to anybody else?
“Disgusting, but true, Mrs. Rose,” I reply with a nod.

{ review } .

I REALLY enjoyed this book. Sure, it was sexy and hot, but the romance and feels were spot on.
First off, you have a man who uses sex to distinguish himself. He teaches sex to the privileged when their husbands eyes (and other parts) are wandering. However, he never once thought he'd fall for one of his clients.
Right from the beginning, seemingly shy Ally has a spark. She's witty, smart, clumsy... She's unlike the other housewives in many senses. Her freckles and wild red mane pull Justice in.
I'm not really sure what brought her to his house the first time... Just a complaint about the soy ice cream, but from that moment they start a friendship of sorts. Nightly, she meets him at his pool and they talk. The hardassed, crass, mean-spirited man becomes an entirely different person with her.
However, he knows it's wrong. How can he feel such things for a client? He's putting her in the same position her husband does to her. But he can't say no. That's not to say her doesn't -- he certainly manages to knock one off a time or two while trying to avoid her but...
Hes always sure to enunciate her status as Mrs. Carr -- for far deeper reasons than we know until  quite a bit into the story. It's a separation, a way to try and distance himself.
While I'm not a fan of cheating, the Carr marriage was one of convenience -- and Ally gets zilche out of it.
I enjoyed Ally's spunk; I even enjoyed her quiet moments: for every smartassed reply she had for him, she also had a shy, reserved moment.
I loved watched Justice show his true colors to Ally -- that man is worth everything he's afraid to take.
I absolutely loved this book, and  curious where the next book, Tryst, will take us. Seems to me that there's an awful lot of curiosity going around in these marriages...

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