Author: Madhuri Blaylock
ISBN: 9780991203437more from this user
Arrogant, handsome, and detached, deadly assassin Dutch Mathew has an insatiable appetite for bourbon, cigarettes, and women. A Keeper for The Gate, the shadowy organization designed to control Death and her Poochas, those reclaimers helping the dead cross back to life, he has three simple rules for anyone sharing his bed: no talking, no kissing, no touching.
Juma Landry is all about talking and kissing and touching. The more talking and kissing and touching, the better.
And as one of Death's Poochas, the best in fact, she is Dutch's next assignment. He is tasked with ending each and every one of her nine lives but with her sharp banter, beautiful smile, and hips made for all kinds of wickedness, she isn't going to make that easy.
Set in New York City and Trivandrum, DUTCH, book one in The Keeper Series, is a unique and sexy urban fairytale - a must read for anyone who likes their raunch with a twist of romance and a hint of magic.
I rolled her name around my head over my tongue listened to its cadence and decided in the name game, her people hit a home run. There wasn’t a more fitting sound to describe her perfection and sexiness to capture the beauty of her warm brown skin or the miracle of her freckles. As I watched her from the corner of my eye, I found myself burning to uncover every brown mark on her body and press my lips to all of them.
I blinked and spit.
“Hey asshole,” she was at my feet, wiping up the mess I just made, “cut that out.”
I mumbled some sort of half-assed apology, wanting her to move away from me. Far away before I grabbed her and slammed her into the bar and did something we would both regret.
“Don’t apologize,” she stood and returned to the bar, “just don’t do that shit, it’s disgusting
“Plus, I’m sure there are much better things you could be doing with your mouth.”
Without looking at her, I knew she was smiling and I made a decision right then and there about the remainder of my night. I pushed out of the booth, finished off the bottle of Scout, grabbed my envelope, and headed for the door. I didn’t look at her as I tossed the bottle into the trash and reached for the door knob.
“I know you’re not leaving without telling me what’s in that envelope.”
I paused and closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my lids and releasing a long, slow hiss.
“You should just let me go,” I turned back to her and leaned against the door.
“But that’s no fun,” she came from behind the bar, drying her hands on her jeans.
“Nothing about me is fun.”
“Oh, I doubt that, drunk boy,” she stated without a smile, a certainty in her tone as if she knew me.
“Don’t,” I warned as she neared.
“Don’t what,” she stopped about a foot away, leaving enough space between us for me to almost breathe easy.
She laughed, low and sexy and deep.
“Who said anything about engaging you? I just want to fuck you.”
She waited for my shock to register and when it didn’t, she grinned as if she’d stumbled upon the perfect prey for one of her perverse games. Any other night, I would have happily played along, fucking her senselessly, leaving her a useless puddle of come and sweat, but tonight after killing Arjun and meeting with Avery and receiving the envelope, I was too tightly wound for any of her antics. Or any of my own.
I turned to leave and she touched my back.
I flinched as if she’d burned me.
“Don’t touch me. Ever.”
“And don’t apologize, just don’t fucking do it.” I threw her words back at her.
“Fair enough,” she whispered, “no touching.”
I faced her, my eyes running up and down her body as I had done with countless other women, seeing them but not really because they didn’t matter. They were merely an orifice within which to stick my dick, plain and simple. I was either going to shove it down their throats or jam it in their pussy, any other details were irrelevant.
But her, Juma, I saw her. And it mattered. Only that it couldn’t because I was black and sick and twisted and she was not.
I ran my thumb across her lower lip, my eyes never leaving hers, and her lips parted and she leaned into my touch and I immediately withdrew my hand.
“You’re a goddamned liar,” I hissed.
She closed her mouth and appeared non-plussed by my outburst. “You touched me.”
“I tested you.”
She shook her head. “You touched me because despite whatever rules you function under, you couldn’t help but touch me.”
“I touched you, Juma,” I used her name as if she’d given me permission to do so, “because just like every other woman out there that I’ve fucked, you need to be touched, you crave it, and will lie to get what you want. So this is me, telling you I’m not that guy - seriously. No joke. My hands will not caress your face and tenderly touch the outside of your breast, our lips will never meet, and I sure as hell will never want to hear any words coming out of your mouth. I just want to fuck you, that’s it.”
“And I can tell that’s not how you do things, that you’re not one of those girls,” I continued, “I can tell men take their time removing your clothes, revealing you inch by inch, probably trailing their tongue down your throat and over your nipples until they’re like rocks and your back is arched and your lips are parted and you’re begging them not to stop and they don’t because your pussy is wet and they can smell your desire and so they kneel before you and slowly peel off your jeans and then press their noses between your legs to inhale the sweetness that is you.”
“I can smell that sweetness right now. Just listening to me speak about all the ways you like to be touched has your panties soaked and useless. Because you know after those men press their noses between your legs, what follows are their lips, because they’ve gotta taste you and suck your clit and fuck your pussy with their tongues and all of this extra-curricular touching is before they finally pull out their dicks and fuck you, long and slow and hard, while they’re kissing you and you’re running your hands over their backs and their asses and up around their necks and through their hair and calling out their names and telling them it feels so good.”
“That’s you, Juma, in a nutshell. And it’s not me in any way, shape or form, so go find one of those guys and leave me the fuck alone.”
For a second she didn’t move, as if my words did more than just stun her into silence but also paralyzed her simple motor functions. Then without a word, she stripped off her shirt, pulled off her jeans, removed her bra and panties, and stood in front of me totally nude. Her nipples were hard and her pussy was glistening and she was ready.
“No touching,” she breathed, “just fuck me. Like you like it.”
My lovely reviewers, how's it going? I want to take a second and say thanks for picking up Dutch - I hope you love all of its dark sexy. Also want you to know that Dutch is an advanced review copy and since I'm currently working with an editor, the final published version of Dutch could be slightly different. But trust that my story is my story and the content won't be changing - what you see here of Dutch and Juma is the real deal and nothing about them and their lives will be different come publication day. Can't wait to hear your thoughts.