Twin Savage is book #2 in the Porn Star Boyfriend series. It features another porn star, Luka Verenich, and among other things, some of his daily, let’s say, routines. The Amazon link is up now, and you can grab it here.
If you read this post after The Truth about Porn Star Boyfriends, (released August 15th), you’ll already have your hands on the first chapter of Twin Savage. For the rest, there’s a short extract below.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve… Right?
Except, what if you douse that grief with sex
in ways so culturally unacceptable
you leave it to a veritable male harem
led by the porn-star brother of your fiancé
to decide if you’ll emerge
from the jungle intact?
It wasn’t a problem to be the only girl in a house full of guys.
Until my fiancé died and his identical twin took over the roost.
Sweet, easygoing Julian passed, while loathsome, bossy Luka, who pays his way through med school by getting his dick wet on film, is still alive.
What kind of twisted reality is this?
Now, Luka’s on a mission to fix both of our grief.
Like I’d ever accept anything from him.
He doesn’t understand that gorgeous and sexy mean nothing if you’re a promiscuous jerk.
If only the nights didn’t destroy me.
They’re painful and long and empty,
until, on a Monday night, my insomnia attracts Diego.
That Tuesday, it attracts Lenny.
Next, it’s Marlon, James, Nathaniel,
and on Saturday, it’s Connor.
By Sunday night, I get the picture.
This is Luka doing what Luka does: solve problems with sex.
His remote-controlled comfort leaves me in our roommates’ arms six of seven nights.
On Sunday, there’s only one man left in the house.
There’s no way in hell I’m opening my door—or my heart—to a porn star.
EXCERPT from Twin Savage:
I let my gaze sink down my wedding gown until it meets his coffin. Julian Verenich wasn’t perfect, but he was as good as it gets. I loved him. Definitely would have gone through with the wedding.
I miss my notebook.
Setting: small Greek-orthodox church—St. Tatiana—in the Valley. It’s packed with grieving or curious guests, most in black but some in white, “to celebrate his life.” People are here to ritualize and memorialize. I am too. Which is why I wish I had my notebook. The reactions around me are astounding.
My best friend, Joy, narrows her eyes at me from the first bench. I know why. You’re blocking your feelings, Geneva. Snap out of your scientist mode. She’s in her last year of psychology and lives and breathes the stuff, always a fixer of people.
Julian and I are observers. Or, he was one. First-year PhD students in cognitive and evolutionary anthropology, we care about how people react and why. I wish he stood next to me and looked out over this church, such a classic example of ritualization in the name of mourning. Only, I’ve introduced a new aspect with my wedding gown and his groom’s tuxedo. It’s flexible ritualization at its finest, and I’m shocking the shit out of the crowd.
Joy frowns deeper, and I almost smile.
These are the mourners’ reactions: one, they notice my gown, my bouquet, my bridal crown, and their eyes widen. In some, this is followed by glossy eyes and/or a dropped jaw. Two, they cover their mouths in shock/horror/surprise when they see that Julian is dressed in his wedding tuxedo. Three, they gasp out loud, and the backward whisper commences, from the front of the line by the coffin to the ones who haven’t yet seen him. Four, murmurs erupt at the sight of Julian’s best friends/roommates/groomsmen in the archway to our left. People’s reaction is culturally groomed. Julian would have loved it.
Tall and broad-shouldered, the men are as similar as they’re different. With dyed-blue roses in their lapels, they match Julian and me, and every one of them flicks their gazes over me gaging my emotional status. I’m all right. Patiently, they wait, now bodyguards, soon coffin bearers.
These seven men are my friends too. For the last six years they’ve shared the once-condemned frat house on Magnolia Avenue with us. I’m the only live-in girlfriend who has lasted for more than a year.
James. Shorthaired and straight-laced, he’s our polite, handsome law student. Marlon. Another law student, dark-skinned with burning eyes and dreadlocks he’ll cut once he takes the bar exam. Lenny, or La On, which we’re banned from calling him. Black, male-model-styled hair, eyes that turn upward at the edges. He curls his lips now in a sad smile at me. I nod back because my face can’t move.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” someone mumbles, shifting from Julian’s mother to me. I accept their hand. “Beautiful dress,” she says. “Really, I’m so sorry.” And then she cries, whoever she is, and glides on to Luka. It’s when she pulls in a deep gasp and I want to roll my eyes.
I wish people did their research before they came to funerals. Julian was an identical twin—he’s not actually standing next to me. Luka mirrors his brother in a tuxedo, and that I’m pissed about. This was my show, not his. He should have worn what his friends are wearing, regular sharp groomsmen attire. I refuse to look at him. I’m disgusted by the way he hugs the girl. It’s too tight, his side-job considered. I let my gaze go to the remaining grooms-/coffin men instead.
“Sorry for your loss.”
Nathaniel with his big blue eyes, pale skin, and cherry-colored lips. He’s innocence and pureness despite being the oldest of the Fratters. Diego, deep green irises against olive skin. He eclipses them with long lashes as he studies me, another psychologist in the making.
“Sorry for your loss.”
From behind Diego, Connor peers out, gaze lustrous. Ruggedly handsome, he’s trimmed his beard for the ceremony, and his hair is gathered in a bun. I shake my head to him. If anyone can make me cave in and cry, it’s this poet boy.
Release date: October 16th, 2017.