Corrupting His Good Girl: His & Hers Duet, #1

By Cass Kincaid

She was the love of my life when we were teenagers. Now, she's going to find out she still is.

Vienna was Garrison High's good girl—valedictorian, scholarships, and a mouth that couldn't even utter a curse word.
She was also my everything. High school sweetheart, first love…and the one who got away.
One stupid mistake on prom night, and I lost her.
For ten years. Not a word, not a glimpse.
Then, she crashed into me—literally—tilting my world on its axis, making my body ache with the memory of her touch, and giving my heart a reason to beat again.
With Vienna back in town, details about the night that ruined us start to surface. Nothing is what it seems.
Nothing, except the undeniable attraction that still lingers between us, the smoldering desire that not even a decade apart could extinguish.
I lost her once. I won't let it happen again.
Even if it means revealing secrets that are better off buried, and falling in love all over again with the woman who's perhaps not as sweet and innocent as she once was.

Corrupting His Good Girl is the first steamy second chance romance standalone book in the His & Hers Duet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EverLust Books
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223164371

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Vienna

Ten Years Ago…

I’d waited my entire eighteen years on this planet for this night.

Cohen Bradley had been so patient with me, and now I was finally going to give him what he wanted.

What we both wanted.

I was going to stand before him in that glamorous, crimson red, off-the-shoulder gown I'd saved all senior year for, and let his eyes roam hungrily over my body the way they always had over the past four years of our relationship, primal and full of desire.

Only this time, I was going to let him remove that dress, shedding the skin of my innocence. And becoming Cohen’s in every way possible.

He’d said the words to me the other night, the words I’d longed to hear fall from his lips since the first time he’d told me he loved me three and a half years ago.

I’m going to marry you, Vienna Janine Anderson, he’d whispered so breathlessly, so sensually, that I’d hardly been able to catch my own breath at the sound of his promise.

Usually, I despised it when he used my middle name, and I think he did it mostly to irk me, but this time it sounded provocative like he was taking me—all of me—as his own.

Yeah? had been all I could get out past the thickness of emotion in my throat.

We’d been in his bedroom—studying, if anyone asked—but even with his bedroom door propped open an inch or two the way his mother always insisted despite the fact that no one ever came downstairs to check on us, we were tangled up in his bed together, our math and history textbooks strewn across the bed covers. Cohen’s algebra book had fallen to the floor with a loud thump only moments before, and we’d both froze, then giggled like schoolkids when we remembered we were in the basement and no one would hear it.

Yeah, he’d confirmed, his face only inches from mine as he huddled over me in our cocoon of blankets. "I’m going to make you my wife. We’ll be the stuff people talk about fifty years from now. The high school sweethearts who made it. And made it out of here."

That had always been Cohen’s plan, to graduate from Garrison High and leave everything about this sleepy town in his dust.

Everything except me.

We’d been fully clothed—which had nothing to do with Cohen’s amusing begging and pleading for just a little more skin, and everything to do with me slapping his hands away playfully—but I’d rocked my hips up against him, so overwhelmed by his promises and plans for us that I felt the electrifying need to feel him, every inch of him, to remind myself that he was real.

And you’re going to be a famous photographer, while I’ll be a highly sought-after journalist…when I’m not on leave taking care of our brood of adorable children, I’d chuckled wryly. Six, at least, right?

"Oh, at least. He’d laughed right along with me, sliding his hand under the hem of my shirt. No reason not to practice a little first before we get to that, though…"

It’d been hot and stuffy under the covers we had pulled up over our heads, and the heat of his fingertips on my skin, so soft and so fiery at the same time, had been quickly melting my resolve into a puddle. A stifled gasp erupted from me just as my eyes had begun to flutter and the jolt of it brought me back to my rational self. To the voice of reason I needed to hear.

You know I can’t, Cohen. It took everything I’d had to cup my hand over his and stop his roaming fingers from crawling higher up my ribcage.

Despite the sigh he let out, he never pushed me. Not that time, and not the countless other times he’d brought up the subject of going further than kissing and cuddling and making out like fools.

I wanted to give myself over to him. God, how I wanted to.

But even perfect, gorgeous, smart Cohen Bradley couldn’t break the iron-clad rules I’d made for myself. When we’re married, I’d whispered to him, his deep hazel eyes locked with mine as each breath he took caressed my face like tender, ghostly touches.

Cohen had pulled his hand from under my shirt and held me in place gently, lowering his body onto me again, and rocking against me. It wasn’t a crude, you’re-fucking-killing-me-here gesture, but a silent physical assurance that not only did he understand, but that he’d be there, waiting for me when I was ready, that he was there with me now in any and every way I could ever want him to be.

When we’re married, he’d whispered, kissing me softly. And I’ll spend every godforsaken minute until then wanting you. And when I’ve finally had you, I’ll only want you more.

I swear, I’d whimpered in desperate need for him after that. How did a woman, trapped under the weight of a man she adored, defend herself against an admission like that one?

Cohen Bradley had me. Owned me. And he knew it.

So did I.

Which is why I’d given myself permission to change my rules for him. To give in to the want I had for him since the day we met four years ago.

Tonight, I planned to love him in the only way we had yet to experience. He knew it, too, and he’d been shocked that I’d made that choice. He’d asked if I was sure—once, twice, and a third time for good measure—then nodded, kissing me with a passion and intensity not meant for clandestine meetings behind the stairs of our high school.

Prom night. It was cliché, but it was our night. With me being the valedictorian, and Cohen being praised—as he always was—for being the captain of the school’s hockey team, we knew we were in the running for Prom King and Queen already.

It was our night. Nothing could go wrong.

Thank God for waterproof mascara, I thought with a grin. I’d managed to get through my valedictorian speech without a hitch, promising the Class of 2007 that the world was ours for the taking and that life began now. That we were free to follow our dreams and find our own path to success.

The truth was, I could barely remember the words I’d rhymed off as I stood on that podium. I was so riddled with nervousness that my body was buzzing with anxiety. It had taken me four years of hard work and academic efforts to obtain my appointment of valedictorian, yet it didn’t seem to matter nearly as much to me now.

All I could think about was Cohen.