Showing posts with label Mia Storm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mia Storm. Show all posts

Monday, 20 April 2015

Review: Getting Dirty by Mia Storm.




Dirty
A poem by Blaire Leon

If sex is dirty, why would I do it with someone I love?
If sex is dirty, then didn’t we all come from the dirt?
What if I like the dirt?
What if I want to get dirty?
What if I want to roll in the mud until I’m so fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?

When twenty-five-year-old graduate assistant Caiden Brenner asked Blaire Leon how old she was, she said she was a senior. He chose to believe she meant in college. They connect over Lord Byron’s Don Juan and, as their conversations become increasingly thicker with sexual innuendo, Caiden finds himself obsessing over a totally off-limits undergrad who’s bold, beautiful, brilliant, and one of the most passionate poets he’s ever met.

But it turns out Blaire hasn't been totally honest. She's the seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class, taking courses at Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.

Will Caiden get too deeply into Blaire to back away before he finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to seduce him into risking his entire future on Jail Bait?



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The idea of a sixteen year old being with a twenty five year old doesn't offend me because such a relationship doesn't break any laws where I come from. So I had to put that fact aside and read this story based on what is unlawful within the setting of the book, where the age of consent is eighteen.

Blaire Leon is the valedictorian of her high school class with ambitions to go to UC Berkeley after her graduation. She's enrolls at Sierra State to take additional classes and there she meets graduate assistant Caiden Brenner.

Caiden Brenner is an assistant to Professor Duncan whilst he finishes his dissertation to complete his PhD studies. He is drawn to a young student who seeks him out at the resource desk at the university library. She is mesmerizing and way too young considering he is twenty five and more importantly staff at the university.

The emotion I felt after reading Getting Dirty was one of sadness. Whilst we leave Blaire and Caiden in a happy place and together, I felt sorry for the pain, sacrifice and suffering both had to go through to get where they are now. I respect there are laws to protect minors from exploitation, but I never thought that Blaire was being groomed or manipulated by Caiden, that despite their relationship been consensual, the “one law fits all” caused far more damage than if they had been able to openly discuss their feelings for one another without prejudice and recrimination. Neither come out of their story blame free as Caiden shouldn't have acted on his impulses whilst still working to finish his PhD and Blaire showed her immaturity by actively pursuing someone knowing the consequences. One of the biggest surprises is the reaction Caiden and Blaine's relationship has on others. People you would expect to be at least sympathetic where the biggest critics, and support coming from the least expected ones.

I've not read a book in a while that kept my mind questioning the plot as I went along, which I absolutely loved. For me there is nothing better than reading a book where the author engages me to think beyond the boundaries of the storyline. The course of events along the time line surprised me too. I loved this thought provoking and sexy book – yes it is very steamy and intrigued to know more about the Jail Bait series.

5 stars

***arc generously received in exchange for an honest review***


Mia Storm is a hopeless romantic who is always searching for her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens, she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect with her online at MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.

Without realizing I’m doing it, I find I’m leaning toward her. I catch myself and stop. But before I can pull back, she closes the rest of the distance and presses her lips hard against mine.
Any thought that I shouldn’t be doing this evaporates like fog in a stiff breeze at the taste of her mouth, moving hungrily on mine. She’s scotch and fire on my tongue as she devours me. Right or wrong, I’m powerless to stop her.
Her fingers run down my face to my chest as she opens her mouth wider, inviting me deeper inside. I take the invitation, tasting as much of her as she’ll give me. Her hands tug at the hem of my shirt and my breath catches when cold fingers meet my warm abs.
I press harder against her, drawing her closer, and fire rips through my veins as our tongues and hands explore the new landscapes of each other’s mouths and bodies.
But a shard of coherent thought finally manages to pierce the bubble I’ve constructed to justify what I’m doing. “You’re a student,” I say against her mouth.
Her lips skim to my ear. “I like you, Caiden,” she whispers, and her saying my name with that hot breath, that wet mouth, is nearly enough to break my resolve. “I like you a lot.”
I take her by the shoulders and gently peel her away, my heart hammering out African drumbeats against my ribcage. “You’re so damn incredible, but I can’t do this. It’s totally against university rules. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not my professor,” she says, her expression wounded. “If we like each other, I don’t see why it should matter.”
“I’m Dr. Duncan’s graduate assistant. My boss is your professor. It’s a conflict of interest, since I do most of his grading.”
are conflicted.” It’s clear from the predatory shift her expression takes that she hears that I’m trying to convince myself as much as her.
“So you
I drop my head against the headrest. “I am.”
She leans closer again, her breast pressing against my arm through the thin cotton of her top. “I’ll never say anything. No one needs to know,” she whispers, her breath feathering over my neck.

Friday, 20 March 2015

Book Spotlight and Excerpt: Getting Dirty by Mia Storm





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Dirty
A poem by Blaire Leon

If sex is dirty, why would I do it with someone I love?
If sex is dirty, then didn’t we all come from the dirt?
What if I like the dirt?
What if I want to get dirty?
What if I want to roll in the mud until I’m so fucking filthy that I’ll never be clean again?

When twenty-five-year-old graduate assistant Caiden Brenner asked Blaire Leon how old she was, she said she was a senior. He chose to believe she meant in college. They connect over Lord Byron’s Don Juan and, as their conversations become increasingly thicker with sexual innuendo, Caiden finds himself obsessing over a totally off-limits undergrad who’s bold, beautiful, brilliant, and one of the most passionate poets he’s ever met.

But it turns out Blaire hasn't been totally honest. She's the seventeen-year-old valedictorian of her high school class, taking courses at Sierra State while awaiting her acceptance to Stanford.

Will Caiden get too deeply into Blaire to back away before he finds out the truth? Or will their connection be enough to seduce him into risking his entire future on Jail Bait?



Chapter 1
Blaire
My nipples are hard, and the heat radiating off his body, only inches behind me, makes them harder.
My palms are slick, and no matter how often I wipe them on my baggy jeans, they don’t dry.
My diaphragm is tight with anticipation, and I know he must be able to hear my shaky breath.
I am burning alive, even though I know they keep the library cool so exhausted students don’t fall asleep and drool on their books.
When Professor Duncan sent me to the resource desk at the university library and told me to ask for his graduate assistant, Caiden Brenner, I had no idea. I’ve dated a few boys at school, and I’ve even had sex once, but I can’t remember my body ever reacting this way to being near a guy—seizing up and refusing to participate in any semblance of normal behavior. Maybe that’s because, no matter how hot they are, teenage boys smell rank.
“Is this it?” Caiden asks.
His firm chest presses against my shoulder as he leans over me to reach for a book on the second shelf, well above my head, and he most certainly does not smell rank. His cologne (or maybe it’s just his deodorant) combined with some warm, earthy scent spins me in a cocoon of heady sensations I don’t even have names for.
He brings the book down and backs away a step as he opens it. “Don Juan by Byron, right? This the one you were looking for?”
His tongue slips out for a moment as he scans the page, drawing my attention to full, firm lips that aren’t quite symmetrical. Both upper and lower are just a little fuller on the left. But they’re wet now, and the fluorescents overhead shine off creases and curves the exact color of the coral sheets on the double bed I left unmade this morning.
The thought conjures the image of Caiden twisted into those sheets and not only do my nipples tighten more, but a hot ache starts low in my belly.
As his eyes scan the first few pages, I take the opportunity to burn his image into my retinas for later. There’s a faint star-shaped scar on the right side of a nose that’s on the small side and flares out at the bottom. My gaze trails along his thick, curved, golden eyebrows, across a broad, smooth forehead with a flat, dark mole near the hairline on the left, and down the curl of longish honey brown hair that hangs over his right eye—an eye that is blue, but just barely. Under the blue of his irises is something darker, like steel gray storm clouds gathering behind a twilight sky.
They lift to mine and I look away quickly. Then I realize it’s a little too obvious that I’m trying to not look at him, so I lift my gaze from his black Vans to the book in his hands.
His hands.
They’re long, with smooth, bronze skin and clean, trimmed fingernails. I don’t know why I’m noticing his fingernails, except every little thing about him fascinates me.
 I tear my eyes away from his hands, and when I can’t think of a single normal thing to do with them except look at his face again, I find him staring at me with an amused expression—just a slight uptick of the fuller side of his mouth and a glint in his gaze.
Mia Storm is a hopeless romantic who is always searching for her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens, she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite. Connect with her online at MiaStormAuthor.blogspot.com , on Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MiaStormAuthor.