Series: The Completion Series
Author: Holly S. Roberts
Genre: Sports Romance
Release Date: December 1, 2015
Ruck me, maul me, make me scrum. Rugby is back and so is bad boy, Van Stelson. Love him or hate him, he’s decided that his brother’s happily married life might be what he’s missing.
It’s cold and miserable in Colt, Ohio and the single ladies need a hot male body to heat up their long, lonely nights. But now, Van’s taking a good long look at his friend, Danny. She’s dynamite on a rugby field and his go-to partner when he needs a drinking buddy. She’s not his usual type—dainty, feminine, or curvy. She’s athletic and independent and wants nothing sexually to do with the town’s playboy. Drinking him under the table and listening to his deepest, darkest secrets is another story.
Just friends. Can friendship build into something more without breaking hearts or will Van ruck it up again?
A Review for RUCK by Holly S. Roberts
~Reviewed by Sam for Pages Abound
This story has such promise, and I was really sad when I had to finally put it down because I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Anxiously waiting all day the next day to get home from work so I could finish the story, I was sadly disappointed by the ending. Unfortunately, the ending was a let down as compared to the first three quarters of the story.
The build-up of the story—the plot development— and characters were both done extremely well. I was really pulling for Van and couldn’t wait for that moment he saw what the rest of us did. His “ah ha” was going to be epic, I just knew it. The playful banter and quick wit between him and Danny as fun to read and imagine. Roberts sprinkled just enough background here and there to give meaning to parts of the current story, without too much to confuse the reader. But in saying that, I feel the wrap up of the story could have had a little more gusto. I literally looked back to make sure I hadn’t accidently skipped a few chapters. That is exactly how I felt at the end; I was missing a few chapters.
Van Stelson was a rugby playing, business owner, playboy manwhore who finds himself no longer wanting that life. Well , the playboy manwhore part at least. He wants what his brother has. A wife who adores him and kids to fill the house he grew up in. But how does he turn his life around, and where does he find that special girl that his mother would approve of?
“Ruck is a quick story about not seeing what is right in front of your eyes. But for a quick read, is packed a hell of a punch.” ~ BJ’s Book Blog
“Ruck is a short and sweet 4 star read. I love a good story of friends becoming lovers and Holly S. Roberts did a great job of setting up the perfect friends to lovers couple.” ~Author Cassandra Lawson
“The author did such a great job with Van’s POV you just want more. Nice little friends to more romance. Fantastic ending.” ~Goodreads Reviewer
“We’re going to do this my way, Van.” She stops me so my back is to the couch. Her fingers go to the button of my jeans.
Okay, so no more yelling. She’s staring into my eyes and, with no uncertainty, she moves to my zipper and slowly lowers it inch by delectable inch.
“Danny,” I say on a groan as one hand slips inside my boxers and she wraps her fingers around me. I start lifting her shirt, but her other hand grips mine and stops me.
“My way.” The fire in her eyes has turned to steel. She removes her hand, jerks the front of my boxers down, and her fingers are back.
Fuck me, there’s no way I’ll argue at this point.
“Have a seat, lover boy.” She gives me a solid push back.
There’s something in her tone and eyes that my brain can’t quite grasp. My dick doesn’t have the same problem. It’s at attention and growing larger by the second. Danny’s strong, but there’s no chance of her pushing me down unless I allow it. My back hits the hard back of the sofa as Danny sinks to her knees.
Fuck me sideways.
She kneels up a bit, and her tongue extends and runs over the tip of my cock.
“Shit, Danny, what the hell?” It’s not really a question, because if she stops I don’t know what I’ll do. Her tongue takes the air from my lungs, and the next second I release a growl as she closes her mouth over the head. Her tongue is still working and I feel its slick surface as she twirls it around. I move back farther against the sofa and her eyes rise to mine.
Holy fucking God, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve had more blow jobs than I can count on my fingers and toes. It’s her large brown eyes, staring at me as her mouth works my dick. She slides down my cock slowly and her cheeks suck in. She makes every other blow job fly right out of my head. She’s watching me and, for a few seconds, I close my eyes, fighting the need to come within thirty seconds of her going down on me. When I open them again, she starts using her hand up and down my length, opposite to the rhythm of her mouth. I want her hair loose. I want it surrounding her face and brushing my thighs. Another time. There’s no way in hell I’m changing anything about this.
She takes her hand away and uses just her mouth as her fingers go to the waist of my jeans and boxers. She pulls and I lift up, so they slide under me while she pushes them down my legs. She takes advantage, and cups my balls with one hand and returns the other to my cock.
I’m losing it when all I want is for this to continue for an eternity. Her fingers, her mouth, her tongue consume me. Within too short a time, the well-known tightening of my balls can’t be denied.
“Fuck, Danny, I’m there, pull back,” I groan in a way I’ve never heard leave my mouth.
She has my dick halfway down her throat and a rumble of need growls inside her throat, which sends me over the edge. The pulse of my seed shoots, and she’s there to take it. All of it. My hips buck. Her eyes are closed now, and I finally lean my head back against the sofa and close mine.
USA Today Best-Selling Author Holly S. Roberts makes her home high in the Arizona Mountains with her husband and two spoiled dogs. She writes steamy contemporary romance as Holly, paranormal romance as D’Elen McClain, and mystery and adventure as retired police detective Suzie Ivy. You can find out more about her and her multiple personalities at http://www.wickedstorytelling.com.
The Slam Tavern is already crowded when we arrive. I help Danny from the truck, but resist putting my arm around her to help her walk. I’ve pushed my luck already and I don’t need a black eye to match hers.
The cheers go up when we enter the tavern. A huge smile replaces the look of pain on Danny’s face and I take a second look. Maybe it’s the bandage and the bruise that bring Danny’s features to my attention. She has a really nice smile that lights up her eyes. No one should look that good with a bandage and bruise, but Danny carries it and it fits her tough-girl style.
As she greets her friends and takes high-fives, I take a third look. She’s attractive. Not my kind of attractive, but pretty is too mild and beautiful too far in the other direction. Some might refer to Danny as gangly, but after watching her on a rugby field with a ball in her hands, that flies out the window. She even walks like a jock. It’s more of a stride, without all the hip movement most girls use, and she swings her long arms to match her gait. I’ve never seen her fancied up in more than jeans and a loose tee. I can’t even picture her in a dress or, God forbid, heels. Her jeans and tees are never tight. With a large, beige Carhartt jacket during the winter, she’s pretty much shapeless. In hotter weather, she forgoes the jeans and jacket for baggy knee-length shorts and more loose tees. She’s wearing the tee, jeans, and jacket tonight, with her signature ponytail keeping the hair pulled back from her face.
She’s gazing away from me, and my eyes travel to her breasts that I can just make out inside the gape of her jacket. She has breasts, but the actual size of them is beyond me. I give her profile a thorough eye. It’s nice. Her body is large for a woman, but proportionate. I wonder why I’ve never looked at her as a possible hook-up. Then I give a small shake of my shaggy head. I can’t believe I’m thinking about Danny this way. Come on, Van, I tell myself. You need to get laid, and damned soon.