Taryn grew up in a different world. Her boyfriend was a criminal. His
older brother was part of a gang. They weren't great people, but they were her
family. Then everything changes when she's sent to a new family in the
neighboring town. New family. New friends. A new world. She's elated. This is
her chance for a new beginning, but secrets start being revealed and Taryn
learns her new life has some ties to her old one, ties that she's not happy
about. Her new family might not have been the lucky break she thought she had.
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I hit the punching
bag. They lied to me. It barely moved so I hit it again. They didn’t care that
they lied. I gritted my teeth. My fist tightened and I rolled my shoulder back,
lifted my wrist again, and bent forward into the stance. One foot was in front,
the other behind, and I was on my toes. I was ready to switch them, jab back
and forth, and bounce back as the bag should’ve been swinging to me.
Nothing.
With a deep growl, I hit it as hard as I could. It moved an inch.
“You’re using your arm.”
“Duh.” I didn’t look as Tray came into the room. He left the lights off, and the only light on was the small lamp positioned over the punching bag. Sweat rolled down my back and I’d lost my shirt long ago. Standing in my black sports bra and a pair of boy shorts, I felt fine. I was heated, but not overheated with the air conditioner in the room.
He circled around. I glanced down, saw he had kicked his shoes off as well. After another moment of studying me, he took his shirt off too. He tossed it to the corner, then tilted his head to the side, and his hazel eyes narrowed at me. A slight smirk lifted the corners of his lips. As he stood there, his muscles clenched. His chest lifted and he breathed in, his stomach muscles clenched in and then out. There was hardly an ounce of fat on him.
We’d been sharing a bed for two months now, but as I drank him in, it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. Hunger and lust slammed into me. My mouth opened and I swallowed. Where the hell had this come from?
His smirk widened and he gestured to my arm. “Use your shoulder. Hit with your body, not your arm. Your strength comes from your core. The hand is the weapon.”
“I want to bone you right now.” I frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re working out. Because your adrenalin is pumping.” His hand gestured from his chest to his stomach. “Because I’m a prime specimen.”
I snorted. “You don’t need to work on that confidence. Your arrogance just sucked all the oxygen out of the room to inflate your ego.”
Nothing.
With a deep growl, I hit it as hard as I could. It moved an inch.
“You’re using your arm.”
“Duh.” I didn’t look as Tray came into the room. He left the lights off, and the only light on was the small lamp positioned over the punching bag. Sweat rolled down my back and I’d lost my shirt long ago. Standing in my black sports bra and a pair of boy shorts, I felt fine. I was heated, but not overheated with the air conditioner in the room.
He circled around. I glanced down, saw he had kicked his shoes off as well. After another moment of studying me, he took his shirt off too. He tossed it to the corner, then tilted his head to the side, and his hazel eyes narrowed at me. A slight smirk lifted the corners of his lips. As he stood there, his muscles clenched. His chest lifted and he breathed in, his stomach muscles clenched in and then out. There was hardly an ounce of fat on him.
We’d been sharing a bed for two months now, but as I drank him in, it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. Hunger and lust slammed into me. My mouth opened and I swallowed. Where the hell had this come from?
His smirk widened and he gestured to my arm. “Use your shoulder. Hit with your body, not your arm. Your strength comes from your core. The hand is the weapon.”
“I want to bone you right now.” I frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’re working out. Because your adrenalin is pumping.” His hand gestured from his chest to his stomach. “Because I’m a prime specimen.”
I snorted. “You don’t need to work on that confidence. Your arrogance just sucked all the oxygen out of the room to inflate your ego.”
Tijan started writing later in life, after she had already graduated college with a different direction in mind and a different degree under her belt. Hitting the brakes on that path, she taught herself how to write a good book and began posting at sites such as Fictionpress, along with Wattpad. After receiving such encouraging messages from readers, she self-published Fallen Crest High and has continued throughout the year. She continues to keep writing NA books!
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