Thursday, 11 June 2015

Blog Tour/Excerpt & Giveaway: Crave by Jennifer Dawson

And, then I see him. My heart slams into my chest, my pulse kicks up, something akin to panic rushes across my skin. He’s staring right at me. My throat dries up like the sierra and every cell in my body knows he’s the one.

I want him. More than I’ve wanted anyone in a long time. 

I vow. I crave. I give in.
I used to be a nice, normal girl. I had dreams. Good, happy dreams of a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a fairytale love that lasts forever. Nobody ever warned me that sometimes, the prince dies three weeks before the wedding.
Like any addict, I swear this time is the last….
Now, I go through my days, a shadow of my former self. I pretend I’m okay, and the people in my life pretend to believe me. But, sometimes, when I can no longer stand the craving, I roam an underground sex club looking for my next hit. It’s dirty and wrong, but I can’t stop, and my only line of defense between them and me, is the rules I’ve designed to keep me safe. The men always abide by my rules. Until I meet him.
And, like any addict, I’m wrong.
I don’t question the instincts that tell me to run. One look at him, standing there, power radiating off him in waves, tells me all I need to know. He will make me crave those happy dreams I’ve left behind. And that is not an option.

Kindle Edition, 308 pages
Expected publication: June 1st 2015 
Series: Undone #1
Genre: Romance/Erotica

Kristine's Thoughts:

I received an advanced readers copy from the publisher via NetGalley for the purpose of this blog tour and in exchange will give my honest thoughts.

Layla has an addiction and like any addict she can only ignore her cravings for so long. She craves pain, punishment and release the way I crave gummy bears. Once it's in my head there is nothing that will get rid of it until I get some. Of course, her addiction is far more dark and dangerous and eats away at her in a way that is impossible for her to ignore.

It is while she is attempting to get her fix that she meets Michael and is instantly drawn to him. She knows he is dangerous and capable of making her feel the things she doesn't think she deserves to ever feel again. The sexual chemistry between the two is so strong and powerful that no amount of will power can keep her away for long.

The pages of this book are filled with sex and lust. It is dripping off the pages and steaming up the room. This is not a boy meets girl story where they fall into bed and make sweet love to each other. It is darker and grittier and capable of making most people blush. It is rough and angry and needy. Fans of erotica are sure to love every lust filled page.

What I really liked about the book is that it wasn't just another sex story aimed at topping the one before it. There was a real dark and sad story that went with it. It was about Layla's struggle to move on from the death of her fiance and the survivors guilt that ruled her every waking and sleeping moments. Although she didn't think she deserved happiness ever again, Michael brought out emotions that she struggled to come to terms with. I really enjoyed this aspect of the story. You could really feel her inner turmoil and her battle to become healthy and strong again.

Although the alpha, dominant male is not my thing, I do enjoy my make believe book version once in a while. I have to say that I kind of loved Michael. The way he handled Layla and attempted to bring her back to life was kind of swoon worthy in my eyes. It really made me route for them all the way.

This is the second book by Jennifer Dawson that I have read and I have to say that I really like her writing style. Her stories draw me in and leave me wanting more. I can't wait to see what she comes out with next!

About the Author
Jennifer Dawson grew up in the suburbs of Chicago and graduated from DePaul University with a degree in psychology. She met her husband at the public library while they were studying. To this day she still maintains she was NOT checking him out. Now, over twenty years later, they’re married and living in a suburb right outside of Chicago with two awesome kids and a crazy dog.

Despite going through a light FM, poem writing phase in high school, Jennifer never grew up wanting to be a writer (she had more practical aspirations of being an international super spy). Then one day, suffering from boredom and disgruntled with a book she’d been reading, she decided to put pen to paper. The rest, as they say, is history.

These days Jennifer can be found sitting behind her computer, writing her next novel, chasing after her kids, keeping an ever watchful eye on her ever growing to-do list, and NOT checking out her husband.

Connect with Jennifer

Chapter One Excerpt

Eleven P.M.

Two months. Five days. Twenty-one hours.

It’s my new record although I have no sense of accomplishment. No, I’m resigned as I walk down the dark, deserted alley. The heels of my knee-high, black patent boots click against the cracked concrete in echo of my defeat. The distant sounds of the bass thuds in my ears in time to the heavy beat of my heart.

My own personal staccato of failure.

I’m not sure why it’s always a surprise. Maybe because, at first, my conviction is so strong. By now my pattern is long and established—I vow, I crave, I give in.

Rinse. Repeat.

But, like any good addict, I always swear this time is the last.

Of course, I try. My therapist has given me “management tools” to get me through the hard times, and like a good patient, I follow her instructions to a tee—I meditate, do yoga, and write all my crappy feelings in the journal she insists I keep.

Only, it’s backfired and become part of the ritual. When the cycle starts, it’s a matter of time before I end up here.

I’m sure when John brought me to this underground club the first time, he’d never envisioned I’d be back on my own, wandering through the crowds, looking for my next fix. The club reminds me of him, and I wish I could go somewhere else so I wouldn’t be confronted with my betrayal, but I don’t have a choice. There aren’t ads for places like this. Or maybe there are and I don’t know where to look.

Swift and sudden, anger clogs my throat, and for a split second I hate him for changing me so irrevocably, and leaving me so permanently. Fast on the heels of anger, the guilt wells, so powerful it brings a sting of tears to my eyes. In the pockets of my black trench coat, my nails dig crescents into my palms.

I push away the emotions. Exhaling harshly, my breath fogs the air as I spot a hint of the red door that signals both my refuge and my hell. I hear the muffled hum of music that will crescendo once I’m inside to pump through me like a heartbeat.

My pace quickens along with my pulse.

As much as I hate giving in, I can’t deny my relief. Once I step through that door, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be normal.

The tension, riding me all day, distracting me in meetings, making me wander off in the middle of conversations, ebbs. A twisted excitement slicks my thighs as the bare skin under my skirt tingles.

I haven’t bothered with panties. It makes things easier, quicker. Less about getting off and more about taking care of business.

I have on my usual club fare: short, black pleated skirt that leaves a stretch of thigh before my stockings start. A sheer, white silk blouse that’s unbuttoned low enough to show the lace of my red demi-bra. My lips are slicked with crimson and my dark chestnut hair is a tumble of shiny waves down my back.

My outfit is carefully orchestrated. I leave as little to chance as possible.

No leather or latex. I’m not into bondage. Chains and rope do nothing but leave me cold. Once upon a time I loved to be restrained by fingers wrapped tight around my wrists, digging into my skin, but now I can’t handle even a hint of being bound.

I reveal plenty of smooth ivory skin, my clue to guys into body modification or knife play to stay away. I like fear, but not that kind. I want my bruises and scars hidden away, not worn like a badge of honor for the world to see.

My wrists and neck are free of jewelry so the Masters don’t confuse me with a slave girl. I tried that scene once, thinking all their hard play and intense scenes would focus my restless energy and make me forget, but there is no longer anything submissive about me.

I don’t want to obey. I want to fight.


1 US Winner will receive gift basket that contains a signed copy of CRAVE

Prize package contains:
Decorative reusable storage trunk
Signed copy of CRAVE
$25 Barnes & Noble Gift Card
4 Premium Chocolate Truffles
Argan Oil Sugar Scrub w/shower scrunchie
Pink & black Pillar Candle
Black & Pink Chalk Board Flower Pot
Hanging chalk board
Candle Holder with pink sparkly battery votive

3 INT/US winners will receive an e-Copy of Crave



  1. Thanks for hosting, and I liked Michael too.

  2. Thanks for hosting, and I liked Michael too.