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Still struggling with amnesia, Ella questions everything she’s known about Kayden Wilkens—the alluring stranger who claims to have found her unconscious in an alleyway. But was he truly a stranger—or did Kayden know her before his supposed rescue?

Tormented by the potential betrayal he denies, with fleeting memories of a bombshell in her recent past, Ella must face a hard reality.

Every action has consequences . . . and trusting Kayden, the one thing she most desires, might result in the direst consequences of all.


Lisa Renee Jones

Book Series: 

The second book in the racy and suspenseful Careless Whispers series by Lisa Renee Jones is coming next week, and I have a never-seen-before excerpt for you from this sultry tale of possession and ecstasy, wild fantasies and dangerous secrets! If you’re a fan of the Inside Out series, then you know that Careless Whispers is a standalone spin-off series that follows Ella Ferguson, Sara McMillan’s best friend.

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“The truth is not as simple as a betrayal. And what guts me is the idea of losing you.”

“I don’t know what the future holds, Kayden. I barely know how I got here. I can’t promise how I’ll react to what you tell me. But I know that we’re here…and I can’t lose you tonight.”

His hand slides under my hair, folding around my neck. “I can’t lose you ever.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue stroking deep, and suddenly we are crazy, wildly kissing, touching each other like we will never touch again, two people who value control and have lost it, as if every emotion we’ve bottled up tonight has exploded right here and now, and become this moment that is all about need, passion, and hunger. My hand slides under his T-shirt, and only then do I realize his guns are gone. The hell is done and over, at least for now, and I press my palms to his warm, taut skin, reveling in this escape that I know will not last.

“Kayden,” I find myself whispering, his name a plea for some unknown something that only he can give me.

His answer is to kiss me again, and I feel the deep, seductive stroke of his tongue in every part of me. I moan and arch into him, and a frenzied rush of our hands on each other’s bodies ends in our shirts disappearing and my bra falling to the floor. It’s then that we slow down and his gaze rakes over my breasts, a hot inspection that tightens my nipples and my sex.

“You are beautiful,” he declares, flattening his hand between my shoulder blades, molding my naked chest to his, skin against skin. “If I can hold you like this every day for the rest of my life, I’ll die a happy man.”

If,” I repeat. “I hate that word. I hate all of the uncertainty between us.”

He stands and takes me with him, stroking the hair from my face and tilting my mouth to his. “If is a reminder to never take anything for granted. That every day, and every moment—”

“Could be our last,” I supply, the words reminding me of today’s loss we both still ache with.

“Which is exactly why we need to fuck like it is.” He kisses me then, a short, hot claiming that is all about demand, two parts fierce, one part a question I don’t understand, before he tears his mouth from mine and walks me backward. “You have too many clothes on,” he declares, going down on one knee again and wasting no time removing my Keds.

My hands settle on his shoulders, his mouth finding my belly, his tongue flicking here and there, and my nipples ache to feel the same. And when he moves lower, exploring the bare expanse of skin just above my waistband, my fingers slide into his hair, tangling in the soft stands. But they do not stay.

Almost instantly, Kayden catches my wrist and presses my arms and hands behind me. “Lace your fingers together.”


“I’m going to make sure you can think of nothing but us. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say, my certainty that I want whatever he offers absolute. “That’s what I want.”

“Then do as I say. Lace your fingers together and don’t release them until I tell you to.”

The idea of submitting to him, of willingly giving him control, is sexy in ways that defy what I know of my past. I am even wetter and hotter than moments before. But Kayden has declared my submission to be my choice, while the man of my past took it. I twine my fingers beneath his grip, and there’s no mistaking the satisfaction that lights his eyes, a satisfaction that I know isn’t about sex. It’s about trust—something that I don’t believe either of us have known much of in our lives.

His finger trails my waistband, his mouth following, his tongue flickering above the denim, a touch and a lick I feel in places he hasn’t yet explored, but I have no question he will. My lashes lower, my breasts feel heavy, my sex is tight, slick, ready for the moment Kayden is inside me.

“Ella,” he says, softly, the rough timbre of his voice compelling me to look at him. “Tell me that the birth control you started has kicked in, and I can be inside you with nothing between us.”

“It has,” I say, and for several beats we stare at each other, a new level of intimacy between us that has nothing to do with our naked bodies, but everything to do with our newly formed, fragile commitment to each other.

He suddenly averts his gaze, resting his cheek on my belly, his energy shifting, darkening, several heavy beats passing. I want to touch him, to drive away the torment coming from him. “Kayden,” I whisper softly, and when he looks at me, those shadows of minutes before are thicker, more intense.

“I’m going to make you forget everything but us. I’m going to make me forget. I’m going to fuck you every possible way I can before this night is over.” He cups my sex. “I’m going to lick you here, over and over, until you cry out because you want to come so badly it hurts. I’m going to make you say please. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Maybe I should just say please now.”

“No. When it hurts so good that it’s almost pain, you say please.”

He unsnaps my jeans and then unzips them, his hands slipping under the denim, and my panties, to my hips, sliding them down. They pool at my feet and I have a second at most to be self-conscious before he’s standing. He wraps his arms around me, covering my hands with his behind me, and then he arches backward, lifting me as he kicks away my pants. But he doesn’t put me down. He holds me there, cradling my body with his, and I can’t move, but I don’t want to. I just want him. This. Nothing else. The air around us crackles, stealing my breath. Stealing time and washing away everything else before this moment.

Slowly he lowers me, walking me backward, and then easing us down again so I’m sitting on the couch, and he is in front of me between my open legs. Leaning into me, he presses my hands into the cushion behind me, and then drags my hips forward, forcing me to support my weight on them. I’ve barely steadied myself when he twines rough, erotic fingers in my hair and kisses me, before ordering, “Shut your eyes.” I do it, no hesitation, wanting whatever unknown he intends, and when I do, he adds, “Don’t move.”

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