Rock Hard Soldier has scenes so hot they'll melt your Kindle and maybe even your hand. Holy Moly! This KINKY interracial romance novel is something else and the STEAMIEST to date. This story starts off with a bang and only gets spicier.
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She found out her lover was racist…
Nothing could Tess Thompson go "WTF" faster than that.
But her military lover Dean Nash will let go of his past for her…
He craves her gorgeous, voluptuous body more than anything.
Their chemistry is SMOKING hot.
They can't get enough of each other, no matter where they are.
But despite renouncing his past, Tess has her doubts.
Is red-hot love enough to make a cold-blooded racist leave his past behind?
Free Romance Novel Excerpt: Rock Hard Soldier
“Stop fuckin’ squirming will ya?” Chet grunted.
Dean tried to sit still. But the hot burning of the needle made it hard.
“Bubba, get your buddy to sit still. I can’t fuckin’ tattoo him if he’s squirming like a bitch.”
“Sorry,” Dean grumbled.
Dean continued to lie on his stomach, while Bubba applied pressure to his back, holding him still so Chet could continue to stick and poke the tattoo on the lower left part of his back.
“It looks like shit,” Bubba grunted and then laughed.
Dean whipped his head around, trying to catch a glimpse. That set Chet off again.
“I said to hold FUCKIN’ STILL!”
“Sorry…” Dean mumbled.
“You sure this pussy belongs with us?” Chet asked.
The question was directed towards Bubba, who shrugged and then polished off his sixth beer for the night.
“I’m not a fuckin’ pussy!" Dean snapped back.
His light brown hair had grown down to his shoulders. He’d just turned eighteen and the guys he’d started to hang around with were tough. When he was fourteen and fifteen, he’d been a shrimp. No one thought much of him and the boys in his small, working class town all knew he was an easy target.
That had changed when he met Chet Morris, Bubba Smith and Ted Sharpe. The three of them were older, no longer in high school and they were real tough guys. They listened to heavy metal, drank beer and they weren’t afraid to fight. And get hurt. But usually, they won the fights.
Since they’d met up with Dean, he’d changed. He’d gone from a demure high school student to someone people were afraid of. Nobody wanted to fuck with him anymore. He wasn’t a joke. And now, they were tattooing him, making him prove his loyalty which to him was indisputable.
But damn, it really hurt.
Hanging out with the guys filled a void that had been consuming Dean. He was filled with purpose. The guys took him to concerts out of Illinois and they hung out with other cool guys, guys in bands, guys who drank beer, guys who had tattoos and who didn’t give a damn what society thought about them.
Dean wanted to be one of those guys. He needed to. His long brown hair was sticking to his neck as he closed his eyes and tried to grit his teeth throughout the remainder of his basement tattoo. Dean had decided not to cut his hair to see how long it took his ma to notice that he’d been going to school looking like a hooligan.
It had been months. She was far too preoccupied with her latest flavor of the week — a preacher from out of town with a penchant for having loud anal sex with her in the only bedroom in their trailer. Fuck him. And fuck her. That’s what Dean thought. That was why he was here anyways — payback.
“I’m all done, pussy,” Chet grunted.
Dean stood up, trying not to wince from the aftereffects of the pain.
“I’m not a fuckin’ pussy.”
Chet shrugged and set the needle down. Dean couldn’t believe that the tattoo still stunk like this. He turned around and saw how red his skin was.
“Is it s’posed to look like this?”
“Just keep it clean and you won’t have any trouble.”
Bubba chuckled, “You’re such a freak Nash.”
Dean shrugged, “Whatever. Hand me a beer.”
Bubba handed him a beer. Dean stabbed his key into the bottom of the beer and chugged the whole thing while Bubba and Chet fell into drunken peals of laughter.
“You won’t regret this Dean. You got any problems with these fuckin’ spics on the other side of town and we’ll put ‘em in their place. One flash of that motherfucker and they’ll know you’re not alone.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Dean replied, “Job stealing bastards.”
Chet smacked him on the back.
“You’re finally growin’ some balls. You ready for tonight?”
Dean nodded. “Fuck yeah.”
When he’d gone to take a leak after a few too many beers, he looked in the mirror at the tattoo. The swastika on his back made him feel a delightful mixture of terrified and powerful. It was a feeling he’d never had in all his years as a teen.
He knew his mother would be sick if she saw his tattoo. If she cared enough to get off her back and actually give a rat’s ass about him. Dean slipped his shirt out and went out to meet the guys. They had a long night ahead of them. Dean’s initiation had only just begun.
After some smokes and some beer, they were going to take on the gang of teems from across town — from the side of town Dean hated. The side of town that wasn’t white. He felt dizzy just thinking about it.
But this was his family now — Chet, Bubba, Ted, the rest of them. They gave more of a fuck about him than his mother ever had. And family stuck together. Dean emerged, back into a room full of laughs, back into a room where everyone had his back. Compared to life at home, this was a little slice of heaven.
The night went on. There were screams, shouts. He threw punches and flung bits of plywood with nails driven through the end. Dean became a man who could fight. And when the night was over, when he’d burned the rubber on his Doc Marten’s and run home, he felt alive for the first time in a while.
His mother was passed out drunk on the couch; the preacher was next to her with his hand wrapped around her breast. It was three in the morning and she hadn’t even noticed how long her son had been gone. She wouldn’t have been able to win a wager about what he’d been up to.
Dean took his boots off at the door. He usually slept on the couch, but now he’d have to sleep in the one bedroom. Great. He slammed his boots onto the ground. His mother only grunted. She didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t look up. She didn’t ask where he’d been or why he was covered in blood.
Dean walked into the bathroom and took his bloody clothes off, tossing them onto the floor. He winced beneath the ice cold water as the blood and dirt washed off his body. When he was clean enough, he got out of the shower, patted his new tattoo dry and changed into sweats.
He fell asleep on the small double bed, waking up only ten minutes before school. With no shower and no breakfast and only ten minutes before the bell, Dean had every reason to skip. But if he skipped, that would beg questions about where he’d been the night before.
If Dean ended up getting his friends in trouble, they could go to prison. Especially for what they’d done. Some cops would understand. But not all of them. And there was no guarantee you’d get one of the good guys who understood that they were just trying to protect their heritage from those job stealing pussies from across the border.
Dean arrived at school late. He knew he’d get told off but he didn’t care. High school was just an obstacle between him and his real family. You couldn’t get anywhere with school these days. It was just a waste of time.
After first period, the school counselor burst into Dean’s homeroom. He shrank in his seat, pressing his seat back and glaring. He knew why the counselor had come, but he wasn’t going to make this easy on her.
Didn’t she understand that she was part of the reason he was doing this? Innocent white people were in danger and they didn’t even give a damn about all the people who were struggling to defend them.
His teacher called, “Dean Nash? Could you go with Counselor Dunn?”
Dean scraped his chair across the floor, ignoring all the stares. The other kids didn’t get it. They were still living in a kid’s world. He was the one who understood what the real world was like, what they were truly up against.
Dean slung his backpack over his shoulder and stalked out of the classroom behind counselor Dunn.
“How are you Dean?” She asked as they walked towards her office.
He rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.
“Having a bad day?”
Dean grunted. He just wanted to get this over with. The last thing he wanted to do was sit down like a pussy and talk about his feelings with some peace-loving hippie who wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the real cause he was trying to stand up for.
Counselor Marie Dunn had curly brown hair which she always wore in an updo, pinned to the top of her head with a colorful barrette in it. She wore loose fitting clothes, tunic tops and floral skirts that grazed the ground. She was decidedly unfashionable. The only pair of shoes in her wardrobe were cheetah print clogs which she wore daily.
Her cheetah print reading glasses perched low on her nose as she sat at her desk and invited Dean to sit across from her. He threw his backpack to the ground, but refused to sit.
“Fine,” Mrs. Dunn replied, “Don’t sit.”
“Why the hell am I here? Just give me some fuckin’ detention and stop wasting everyone’s time.”
“Language, young man,” Mrs. Dunn said patiently.
Her calm demeanor made Dean angry. So angry. She was just calmly talking down to him like she had no idea of who he was and what he was capable of.
“So what am I here for? I want to get this over with.”
“You’re here because I’d like to talk to you Mr. Nash. Now you can do that standing up or you can sit down and relax for a second. There’s nothing you can do to scare me.”
“Yeah fuckin’ right,” Dean grumbled.
But he sat down, slouching as much as possible.
“How are you?”
“Hungover like shit.”
Mrs. Dunn didn’t seem shaken by his confession to underage drinking.
“Went out with the boys last night and we got shit faced.”
“I see. Tell me more?”
Dean clammed up. Mrs. Dunn clicked the “on” button on the electric kettle sitting on the edge of her desk. She was determined to break through to Dean Nash without driving herself crazy. She’d have a quick cup of tea and spend the rest of the morning (if necessary) trying to get through to him.
“I’m not gonna say a word.”
“I see,” Mrs. Dunn replied, “Then maybe I should talk for a while.”
Mrs. Dunn waited in silence for a while. She could see her silence making Dean uneasy. He was determined not to talk but his determination was no match for her training — and no match for the fact that she knew in her heart Dean wasn’t a bad kid. Troubled, yes. But ruined? No.
The kettle flicked off and Mrs. Dunn poured herself a large mug of green tea. She dipped the teabag into the boiling water a few times and then continued.
“There are suspicions that you were involved in an attack last night Dean.”
Mrs. Dunn shrugged.
“Maybe so. But the police have some evidence and they’ve picked up a guy named Charles Morris who goes by the name Chet, sometimes Charlie, who has ties to Milwaukee skinhead chapters.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
Mrs. Dunn took a sip of her tea. She enjoyed the slightly drying effect of the bitter green tea as it entered her mouth.
She continued after another lengthy pause (this pause caused Dean to fidget in his seat).
“One of the Mexican immigrants attacked died from his wounds in the hospital some time around four in the morning.”
Dean’s face went ghost white. Even if his words hadn’t yet betrayed him, his face had.
His half-hearted response did nothing to assuage Mrs. Dunn’s suspicions.
“If you were involved in an attack like this, you could be facing jail time.”
“Well I wasn’t involved,” Dean snapped.
His mind involuntarily flashed back to the seventeen year old kid he’d pinned to the ground. His fists had flown into the guy’s face faster than he could realize. He’d let out primal screams of anger as all his pain, all his fury had connected into the guy’s jaw. All of a sudden, Dean felt sick.
He sat up.
“Well, if you weren’t involved, you have nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Dunn smiled, “But the police are pressing charges.”
Dean shifted uncomfortable.
Marie Dunn reached her hand across the table.
“Dean,” She replied, “I know that you’re going through a lot that I can’t begin to understand. My cousin worked with your ma at her last job. But whatever you’re doing… It’s a path to nowhere. I don’t want you to end up in jail. You’re a smart kid.”
Dean scoffed, “There’s nothing in this bullshit town for me.”
“Maybe not. But have you considered joining the army? You’re 18. You need a way out. Don’t just stay here and rot.”
“My friends aren’t just a bunch of scum bags you know!” Dean snapped.
From Mrs. Dunn’s silence and pursed lips, he could tell that he’d said too much. Marie nodded. She’d been looking for this confirmation and Dean’s emotions had gotten the best of him.
Mrs. Dunn said gravely, “These are dangerous people Dean. Dangerous, racist, people. I’ve known you since you were ten years old. When you’ve had enough of the violence, when you’ve had enough of wasting your life away, you need to get out of this town and make something of yourself.”
“Is that it?” Dean said, standing up again.
His heart was racing and he didn’t know how much longer he could hide his terror.
“Take a pamphlet.”
Mrs. Dunn reached into her top drawer and pulled out a pamphlet that said “GO ARMY” emblazoned on the front.
“Thanks,” Dean mumbled. He folded it up real small and stuffed it in his pocket. His new tattoo stung beneath his itchy clothing. He walked out of the office, ignoring Marie Dunn as she called goodbye to him, wondering if it were even possible for her words to change a boy as troubled as Dean Nash.
Well, at least she had to try. Dean considered walking back to class, but he was out and the doors to the school were right there. His walk turned into a light jog as he pushed past the front doors of the school house. As he burst free into the fresh Illinois air, his heart stopped.
Right in front of the school sat two police cars that had just pulled up into the driveway. The door to one of the cars opened and Dean’s heart stopped as an armed cop got out and started walking right towards him.
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