Hi Everyone,

Sam Blackhawk has been in my life for three years now. I met him while I wrote my New Adult paranormal romance, Oxford Shadows. Already back then everyone liked him… and I was intrigued by him. The two of us started chatting and getting to know each other. He made it to my first New Adult contemporary story, No Reverse. Once again, Sam won over many hearts. Subsequently, he made an appearance–or a cameo, as they say in Hollywood–in Fast Forward and You Turn. All this time, I kept receiving emails from readers asking me to tell Sam’s story.

But you see, that’s really true: Sam Blackhawk was waiting for The One. And I had to wait for You Turn to finally find his match. As it happens, her name is Charlotte and Leap of Faith is their story. It’s a new genre for me and I hope you’ll enjoy this Romantic Suspense.

I will release Leap of Faith in monthly installments for free to my newsletter subscribers. It’s a little gift from me to you and my way to say Thank You for all your support. All you have to do is sign up for my newsletter here. You won’t need to have read any of my previous books to enjoy Leap of Faith. It’s part of the Second Chance Series, but can be read as stand-alone.

I hope you’ll love Sam as much as I do. He’s special to me and I’m glad I waited to tell his story and find the right lady for our NOLA boy…

Here is the first chapter to give you a taste of it:

Copyright Marion Croslydon 2015

Chapter 1

Sam

Provence, France.

I grab her ass, lift her up, and her back slides up the wall. Her legs squeeze around my waist, her bridesmaid dress now bunched up to her hips. Her tits are spilling out of it.

I thrust inside her and every damn inch of my dick comes alive. I freeze. I want to fuck this French girl until dawn breaks, I want to fuck her until she’s sore, so detonating upfront isn’t an option.

“Getting overjoyed, Big Boy?” She rasps into my ear. Her voice has the taste of spicy red wine, and after one word from that cheeky, sultry mouth of hers, I was already tipsy. We’ve been talking all night so I’m wrecked by now. One evening sitting next to her and I already know Froggy’s wit is sharp enough to stab through any bullshit I throw at her. I really like that about this girl. I like this girl.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Froglet. I’m a lot to take in.”

She starts a giggle but I cut it short by nailing her harder against the wall. She lets out a tiny moan, bites her lower lip, closes her eyes shut. I start drilling inside her and the more I move, the more she arches her back, the deeper I bury myself in her. With each thrust, I groan and each groan catches me from tipping over the cliff and exploding.

Her lips part and she repeats a moan for every one of my groans. The window is open and the music from the wedding party outside filters into her bedroom. If we carry on like this, we’re going to steal the show, but I’m so turned on I don’t give a flying shit. My lust for her is whitewashing my brain and I want more of her. I want all of her. We forge on and the thumping of her body against the wall adds to our vocals.

“Look at me.” I order. She doesn’t. “Look at me. Now.” I sound too harsh.

She opens her eyes and the challenge is gone in them. They’re glassy and I swear, they shine as if she’s about to cry. Something twists inside my chest: A chick crying when you fuck her tops up a guy’s worst nightmares. I stop and her arms tighten around my neck to get her balance back. My dick tingles, wondering, for sure, why in hell I’ve stopped.

I carry her to the bed leaving behind my clothes discarded over the floor. It’s one of those fancy four-poster thingies and I sit on the edge of it. She’s now straddling me, straddling but not moving. I’m still inside her, still totally blown up. I’m filling every intimate depth of hers, but her lips are pursed together, her body stiff. She’s so petite and delicate. It’s like holding a doll and, right now, I’m scared that doll is about to break. “We can stop,” I whisper. She shivers and I run my hands up her arms, over the curve of her shoulders, and they reach to cradle her face. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t talk.” She lifts her chin in a challenge but I’m no fool. There’s something inside her that is hurting and I don’t want to hurt her more. I don’t want to make her sore anymore. I want to fix whatever it is that makes her eyes so shiny, I want … shit, I don’t know what I want… “Keep going.” That’s her demand.

My eyes lock with hers, searching for her truth. Gently I pull her face towards me and I kiss her. I kiss her. For the first time. Her lips tremble under mine, maybe mine do too. Their taste is familiar—sweet and familiar—and it spreads inside my mouth. My tongue teases her. She lets me and it’s like a favor, a privilege she’s granting me. A stupid pride swells my heart.

My hands brush a path down to the sides of her breasts. When my knuckles tickle her nipples, she lets out another of her kitten purrs. She doesn’t want me to talk, so I show her by grabbing her waist. I make her move over me, back and forth, up and down. Blood rushes back down to my cock. She’s breathing faster now and I don’t have to guide her anymore. She’s riding me and rocking my world.

Her breath quickens. There’s no space left between us with the tips of her breasts sliding against my chest. Her tits tease my skin and that alone could make me come. I’m so fucking close but she has to fly with me first, so I bend backwards and lay on the mattress. She straightens over me, her palms flat over my stomach. She leans on them, lifts her hips, then crashes down. The grinding blows all my senses.

I’m climbing, higher and higher. Our gazes cling to each other, feeding each other while crazed lust runs through our bodies. Her face is shaped like a heart and her short hair is tousled, a dark curl falling across her forehead. Her lips draw a sweet line and I’m about to fucking come and yet all those details of hers shoot into my mind.

I want to talk to her. I need to.

“Kiss me.” That’s as if she hasn’t heard me, as if I don’t exist, as if she’s not impaled atop me. “Please, Charlie, kiss me.”

I’m begging her and I’ve called her name. She bends forward until her lips are on mine again. I cup each side of her face to keep her there, then my tongue explores her mouth, sweeping over the ridge of her teeth. She stops moving, her gaze is fixed on me, unflinching. A shadow crosses her eyes and she gasps. It’s not a moan, more like a humming. Her breathing hitches and she exhales, her breath caressing my face. She’s wrapped around me, pulsating around my cock, and that’s what tips me over the edge.

I want to growl. I want to howl, but I make no sound and that very silence is what kicks my pleasure into super-nova. She collapses over me, my arms enclosing her, cradling her closer to me. Before I have even landed back to Earth, the tips of my fingers are drawing shapes and lines over her back, following the curve of her spine. I’ve lost track of time, so I don’t know if we stay tangled in each other for one minute or an hour. She shuffles against me so, slowly, I roll her to my side, then roll on top of her, taking support on my forearms to avoid crushing her under my weight.

She’s still not uttering a word. Girls usually kill me with their post-coital chit-chat. Not the case here and I’m tempted to open that sleazy mouth of mine. I don’t, but I’m tempted to start all over again: I’m still inside her and still hard after all. But I don’t do that either and instead I withdraw from her to lie next to her. My fingertips trace the line of her profile and she turns her face toward me so that there’re only a few inches between our mouths.

In a tiny move, she kisses my lips. The sensation is feather-light. It doesn’t last but it’s like she’s just gifted something to me, a part of her she doesn’t want anyone else to see. And with that, she’s taken a part of me no one else gets to see either.

Just like that.

The twisting in my chest I felt earlier is back on, full force. It doubles with the warmth seeping into me. That warmth has nothing to do with the heat of my lust, nothing to do with my groin but all to do with my heart.

That’s dangerous—she’s dangerous—I must disengage. I must get the hell out of here, out of this wedding, and on the first plane out of France. But I don’t move. I caress her face, run my fingers through her smooth curls, kiss the tip of her shoulder. The outside noise has decreased to no more than some random laughs and giggling. My eyelids weigh heavier and heavier, my sight blurs and fills with darkness…

My wake-up is brutal. The bright sunlight piercing through the window blinds me. I blink, my mouth is parched, and there’s a drum performing in my head, one that sounds a lot like a hangover. I don’t register the décor of the room around me.

The only thing I register is the empty space next to me.

She’s gone.