Everything Madame X has ever known is contained within the four walls of the penthouse owned by her lover, her keeper, the man who controls her every move and dominates her desires. While Caleb owns her body, someone else has touched her soul. X’s awakening at the hands of Logan’s raw, honest masculinity has led her down a new path, one that is as exciting as it is terrifying.But Caleb’s need to own her completely knows no bounds, and he isn’t about to let her go. Not without a fight that could destroy them all…
5 BILLION (I Love Jasinda) STARS!!!!
Oh Jasinda… how you are with words. How you make me feel so many emotions. I grip your pages, I hold on to your books as if my life depends on it. I love and hate you. I love your stories and hate that I want more. I always want more, yet you satisfy me.
Exposed is a raw, gritty and additive tale about secrets, lies, passion and mystery. You will want to block off hours of your day to read this series because it packs a punch and it will devour you.
I got this book about a month ago. I was really happy when I saw it and I almost cried. I wanted to dive in to it right away, but I knew… I knew once I read it, I would be sucked into this dark world. So I waited… but I could not hold out any longer.
I’m always nervous going into the second book of any series, but I did not expect what I got. As a reader and reviewer, Exposed is the kind of dark, twisted dramatic book I crave for. I wanted to feel the pages in my veins and never get off from my high.
“I feel like I’m drowning, sometimes, like you’re an ocean and I’m just trying to stay afloat. And… the thing is… I want to drown in you.”
In Madame X we know she picks Caleb at the end. YAY! I’m team Caleb. I love him, I love how crazy and obsessive and manipulative he is. He’s not an easy Hero to love and that makes me love him more. He knows so much and yet he won’t let it out. Gah, it kills me. When I got into the book, I was wondering if Caleb would change his ways, considering he lets Madame X live with him now. Caleb is a real struggle. Just when you think you got him somewhat figured out, he pulls the rug under you. It’s heart breaking and thrilling at the same time.
“I want to be anyone other than the addict, the Caleb-junkie, the no one, the girl on her knees, taking what you give as if it’s all I’m worth…”
Madame X has the same struggles as I do. She cares for Caleb, but she wants more. She wants a relationship, a two sided relationship. She beings to voice her concerns and opinions a lot more and Caleb isn’t too happy about it.
And then there’s Logan. Logan is the perfect guy. He takes Madame X with flaws and all. He’s not domineering like Caleb and Logan is willing to do anything to help answer Madame X’s questions. The big question of, who is Madame X? What is her name? How did she lose her memory? Can she trust Caleb? Can she trust Logan?
That’s what I SUPER love about this series. I love all the secrets, I love figuring out the answers with Madame X and I love not knowing who she can trust. It’s so GOOD! Madame X is desperate to learn about who she is and she needs Caleb for that, BUT Logan gives her what she wants and craves as a woman.
So, I’m not a fan of Logan, he’s the “nice” guy, BUT in Exposed, you will see different parts of Logan and if you are team Logan, then you will be SUPER happy with Exposed.
“I give Logan every corner of me, I don’t look away, I let him look into me, and I take that same from him. It’s a gift”
Overall, Exposed is a trip, it will blow your mind and when you are done, you will simply crave for more. The book isn’t easy to read, there are some parts you will be frustrated, some parts you will cringe and some parts you will just gasp for breath, but in all honesty I wouldn’t have it any other way.
You will not be disappointed with Exposed.
An ARC was provided
EXCERPT
I turn then, and you let me go. Allow me to walk away. But then you’re behind me. Standing far too close. Breathing on me. Your front touching my back. I can feel your erection against my backside, and your hands clutch my hips. Your lips touch the curve of my neck, near my shoulder.
You murmur to me.
“Can you walk away from this, Isabel? How right we feel together? Yes, I use you. But you use me just the same. You accept what I give, and you take more from me. You do not stop me. You do not say no. You beg for more. Not in words, but sex is not about words, is it? You beg for more with the way you breathe, the way you tense when I draw closer to you, the way you arch back into me. The way you lift your hips when I touch you. The way you moan when I make you come, over and over and over. You come for me, Isabel.” Your large, powerful hands with your squared-off, manicured nails and rough calluses paw across my hips, one scraping up to cup my breast, the other down to my core. “Do you remember the first time I touched you?”
I cannot breathe. God, I remember. All too well, all too vividly. I remember. I’d felt it coming for so long. Weeks. Months. Years, even. Tension building, heightening, mounting. The way you looked at me, didn’t quite touch me. Almost, but not quite. We were in my condo, which was new. Still smelling of fresh paint. I’d lived in a different apartment in that building until then, a smaller one. Much like it, but not as large, not as nice. But very similar. I was standing at the kitchen counter, looking at my new home. Admiring the dark hardwood floor and the bookshelves, daydreaming of all the books I’d put on them—you’d put on them. And you came up behind me, just like this. An inch away at first. I smelled your cologne, and felt you there. You put your hands on the counter to either side of me. Just stood there. Inhaling my scent. I wanted you. I wanted to touch you. I remember that. Needing to know how your muscles would feel. Needing . . . something. I wasn’t sure what, but something. And when you edged closer so your body was touching mine, I knew. I’d straightened, and you’d moved closer. I felt your chest against my back, and the thick ridge of your erection. I remember fighting it. Not knowing if it was right or wrong, nor understanding the potency of my desire.
But when your hands touched my waist and skated down to cup my hips, I had no choice but to let out the breath I’d been holding and melt into you.
Second by second, you seduced me with nothing but touch, and I let you. I ate it up, truth be told. Devoured every touch. Felt you remove my clothing, bit by bit, until I was naked in that kitchen and your hands were on my skin and you were tasting my flesh and I was moaning. You tasted me then. Buried your face between my thighs and made me come. And then you bent me over the counter and drove into me right there. It surprised me, but excited me. And when you were done, you carried me to the bedroom, set me in the bed. Touched my skin. My curves. And in not too many minutes, you were ready again and this time you rolled me to my hands and knees and took me once more, and you commanded me to keep quiet and told me not to come until you instructed me to do so. It lasted for a time I could not measure. You allowed me close to climax, and stopped. Closer, and stop. Closer and closer, stop. And when you did let me come, I was ripped apart by an orgasm so potent I cried.
My skin is hot and my breathing falters, just remembering.
“You remember.” You pinch my nipple through dress and bra, and I gasp. “I waited so long to have you. Years, I waited. I wanted you every single day, but you weren’t ready. So I waited, and waited, and waited. When we moved you into that condo, I was planning to wait longer yet. But you were standing there, and you were just so fucking beautiful that I had to be closer to you. And the way you reacted, I knew you wanted me. I knew you were ready. Not before or since have I ever experienced anything so beautiful and erotic and incredible as that first time with you. You were so responsive. You knew what you wanted. You weren’t a virgin, Isabel. You had no more memory of yourself then than you do now, but I could tell. You knew what you were doing, and what you wanted, even if you didn’t know you knew.”
“Years?” Those early years are a blur. I remember your presence, always you, only you. I remember wanting you, wondering why you didn’t touch me, kiss me. And then you did, and I glutted on you.
Exposed AMAZON
Falling Series
Falling Away AMAZON
Wounded Series
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she’s not writing, she’s probably shopping, baking, or reading.
Some of her favorite authors include Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Liliana Hart and Bella Andre.
She loves to travel and some of her favorite vacations spots are Las Vegas, New York City and Toledo, Ohio.
You can often find Jasinda drinking sweet red wine with frozen berries and eating a cupcake.
No comments:
Post a Comment