Cover

Feral

A Taboo Romance

Selena Moore

Copyright © 2023 SELENA MOORE

All rights reserved


The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.


No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher

Upadted Version Oct 24


Cover design by: iStock Photos

 

Spotify Playlist

 

 

 

“Slow Dance” by Ana Popovic

 

“Drive” by The Cars

 

“La Luna” by Belinda Carlisle

 

“Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen

 

“All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You” by Heart

 

“Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman

 

“Keep On Loving You” by REO Speedwagon

 

“Eye Of The Tiger” by Survivor

 

“Give In To Me” by Michael Jackson

 

“Make Me Lose Control” by Eric Carmen

 

“Is This Love” by Whitesnake

 

“Waiting For A Girl Like You” by Foreigner

 

“I Was Made For Loving You” by KISS

 

“Self Control” by Laura Branigan

 

“Broken Wings” by Mr. Mister

 

“High On Emotion” by Chris de Burgh

 

“(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight” by Cutting Crew

 

“I Come Undone” by Jennifer Rush

 

“Because The Night” by Patti Smith

 

“Driver’s Seat” by Sniff ‘n’ The Tears

 

“Like The Way I Do” by Melissa Etheridge

 

“Born In The U.S.A.” by Bruce Springsteen

 

“Sounds Like A Melody” by Alphaville

 

“I Surrender” by Rainbow

 

 

 

Author's Note

 

 

 

Dear Reader,

 

Thank you so much for taking a chance on my work.

If you love plot-driven books, this story might not be a good match for you. If, however, uber smuttiness and no-holds-barred spice is your cup of tea and you have no triggers-or are willing to test them-by all means, come and meet Daddy Jacob.

He'll no doubt ruin your panties, too.

 

Please read content warnings for this book by visiting my Instagram account at selenamooreromance

 

Feral doesn't include age play and it's written by a smut lover for a specific kind of reader. One who enjoys the dirtiness and depravity that comes in the written form. The escapism of it. The fantasy. Consider yourself warned and please, enjoy this story for what it is; a raunchy ride into fantasy land where absolutely anything is possible.

 

This is the updated and slightly revised version of this book. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for embracing FERAL with such love and enthusiasm and for turning it into my first best-seller.

I am forever grateful.

Now, without further ado, I give you Daddy Jacob.

 

Happy reading...

 

Selena

 

Glossary of Cajun French Terms Used by Mr Broussard

 

 

 

 

Maman: Mom

 

Pirogue: A long, narrow wooden canoe made from a single tree trunk

 

Oui: Yes

 

Pichouette: Naughty little girl

 

Pauvre ti bête: Poor little thing

 

Ma chérie: Honey, sweetheart

 

Envie: Lust, desire

 

Pockon: Cajun French slang for a woman's external reproductive organs, i.e. her vagina

 

Chère: Dear, beloved, used when referring to a woman/girl

 

Mon trésor: My treasure

 

Allons: Let's go

 

C'est tout: That's it, that's all

 

Oui, ça c'est bon: Yes, that's good

 

Bayou: A slow-moving creek or a swampy section of a river or a lake

 

Pièce de résistance: The most noteworthy or prized feature, aspect, event, article, a special item of attraction.

 

Ça va?:How are you? Are you good?

 

Laissez les bon temps roulez: Let the good times roll


Chapter One

 

GEMMA

 

 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Gemma,” my best friend, Tammy, says as she downs yet another shot of vodka. It's my twenty-fourth birthday, and I am celebrating it alone at the local bar, thanks to my sleazy, rotten son of a bitch ex-boyfriend, Jack, who decided to dump me on the day of our second anniversary.

Thanks a lot, fucker.

“I’m not kidding, and you know it,” I say flatly, as I delete random pictures of Jack and me from my phone. “Imagine the buzz after I get his interview up in the newspaper. He has never spoken about the accident, not since his conviction. Did you know that?” I sigh as I delete my favorite picture of Jack taken at last year’s Fourth of July. Now, I only have to scroll down and do the same with a couple hundred others.

‘Slow Dance’ plays on the speakers, and I feel like this is just my luck since it's the first song he and I ever danced to. Tammy shakes her head, her eyes lingering on the heavily tattooed man behind the bar.

“Jacob Broussard is responsible for driving his best friend off the road and into smithereens, Gemma. News reports say he’s been cooped up inside his mansion for months on end. I doubt you’ll be able to even find out where he lives. And why do you need to go there and interview him yourself? Darren is drooling over this, and you know it. It’s practically all I’ve heard him talk about these past few weeks.”

I flip open my purse and count what money I have left. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. It’s not every day I get to celebrate my shitty choice in men. Well, boys, actually, if I’m being completely honest.

“Darren wants to meet him because he somehow thinks he’s entitled to tell his story just because he’s a sports reporter and he’s obsessed with race car drivers," I say. "I’m sure that even if he managed to talk to him, he’d end up twisting the whole thing and making him out to be something completely different.”

I watch her make a noncommittal grin and chug down the rest of her drink, gesturing to the bartender for another round.

“And can you please take it easy on those? Last time we went out, you bailed on me without so much as a heads-up.”

With complete disregard for what I just told her, she rolls her eyes and scratches her nose, looking around the crowded bar before she speaks again.

“What makes you so sure he's going to tell you anything more than what he's already said to the Press before, Gem?”

“Nothing,” I simply say. “I just know that I want to give him a fair chance. I want to meet this man in person, Tammy. See if he’s the cold-blooded killer everyone portrays him to be.”

“Honey, flying out to New Orleans to talk to a convicted felon just for the sake of an interview, sounds way too risky. Even for you. What if the rumors hold true? I don’t want to see you get into any trouble.”

“Please, spare me the lecture, okay? I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. I’ve read the dossier that the research department compiled on him. I know all his background information, where he’s from, his age, and his political leanings. I’ve gone through all the court documents. I’m not going there blind. I know he’s angry, bitter, and stubborn as a mule. Did you know that he’s refused every doctor or physician's advice to get a prosthetic leg and make his life easier?”

“No, I didn’t know that. Damn, he sure sounds like one headstrong, unbending son of a bitch, huh?”

I pull out my phone and show her the files I have saved. “And who said anything about flying? I thought you knew I’m terrified of planes. I’m going by bus or train, whichever is cheaper.”

“You’re going to take the bus to Louisiana? From Manhattan? Girl, you’ve lost it, you know? That’s sheer madness!”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Tammy. If I need anything, that’s a little fun. Now, how about I buy us another round, huh? I’ve got some money to throw around to celebrate my unceremonious break-up.”

Tammy and I met my first week at Manhattan Express, and since then, we have been inseparable. Her warnings do nothing to deter me from going to Louisiana, not one iota. I still want to interview him. Come hell or high water, I’m going to do just that. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. With Jack out of the picture and my self-esteem hitting rock bottom, this project sounds exactly like what I need to get my mind off my miserable little life. I need some fucking excitement, something to get me out of my slump.

“Suit yourself, hon,” she finally says, taking another look around the now bustling bar. “Damn,” she mumbles a moment later. “That stud at your left has totally been checking you out, Gem.”

I turn slowly, pretending to look innocuously around and catch his eye. Mid-thirties, lean, and impeccably dressed, he looks like Liam Hemsworth, only better. His wind-swept hair shimmers like autumn leaves under the bar’s ambient lights, and when he smiles, revealing perfect white teeth, the gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.

I smile back, and he instantly disentangles himself from his buddies and walks over to where we are in slow, confident strides, all the while keeping his eyes on me. When he’s finally in front of me, it’s his intoxicating, musky cologne that seals the deal, even before his rich, smooth voice hits my ears.

He’s just what I need, and if he’s game, I am too.

“Hey, gorgeous. I'm Bastien.” He extends his hand to me, and I hesitantly shake it as his eyes rake all over me.

“I'm Gemma. Nice to meet you,” I say, smiling up at him.

“What do you say we get out of here? Grab some food and enjoy the rest of the night?” he asks, and that Southern accent alone is seductive enough.

Damn, he’s cocky.

I’m surprised that he doesn’t cast a single glance at my best friend sitting right next to me.

Rude, but what the heck?

I turn to look at Tammy, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I sass, “but first, give me your phone, please. I need to give your number to my girlfriend, you know? There's tons of creeps and psychos crawling the streets.”

He eyes me incredulously, as if I just said the rudest thing, then pulls out his phone, handing it to me.

“I'm sure there are, darling,” he drawls, waiting patiently.

“So, what's your number?”

Tammy jots down the numbers on a paper napkin and then proceeds to call it. We all watch the device light up as a soft, soothing tone rings.

“Fab! Tammy says, looking at him from head to toe. “You best make sure to treat her well, you hear?” she shouts over the music, and I'm already following this fine specimen out of the crowded bar.

“Ladies first,” he croons a few moments later as he opens the passenger door of his shiny black Lexus, and I know one thing for sure; if he fucks even half as good as he looks, I am in for a long, sweat-filled night.

***

Two hours later, I’m picking my bra and panties off the black marble floor of his vast apartment on Lexington Avenue when I feel his muscled arm wrap around my middle, attempting to pull me back under his black satin sheets.

“Leaving already?” he asks as I slip into my heels. I turn, just to save the image of his beautiful face for safekeeping. His body, too.

“Yes. I need to get back home. It’s been nice.”

“Nice?” he asks, wrapping the luxuriously soft fabric around his hips and walking up to me. “It’s been nice?” he repeats as if I didn’t hear him right the first time. “We just fucked like animals, and it was nice?”

I make a face because he’s got a point. Nice is too little a word to describe what happened between us two. “I mean, it was spectacular,” I correct, a smile slowly forming on his face.

“That’s more like it. It may well have been the best sex of my entire life, Miss…”

“No last names. Please. Makes it easier for both of us.”

“No last names. Okay.” He escorts me to the door, opens it hesitantly, and leans over to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride home?”

“That would beat the whole purpose, don’t you think? You’d know where I live, and I’m not sure you aren’t a serial killer yet or any other kind of psycho.”

“See you around, then, Miss No Last Name,” his voice echoes in the empty hallway, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Goodbye,” I whisper back just as the elevator door closes behind me.

God, I fucking needed this tonight!