Title: Dishonor Thy Wife
A Psychological Thriller. A Tale of Obsession and a Twisted Love Story.
After six years of a sexless forced marriage, Ronni finds she enjoys her husband spying through the keyhole of her bedroom door. She begins to perform for him, even remembering his past violent outbursts, because Brad returned home to Austin from a Philadelphia business trip a changed man, or so she thinks.
Once Ronni has a taste of forbidden passion, she is addicted until Brad begins acting like a Jekyll-Hyde. She believes Brad may be bipolar, never realizing that something far more sinister is going on.
What happened at a Philly medical convention sets off a chain of events that begs the question, does a woman really know the cracks beneath her husband's skin?
Author: Belinda Austin
Published by Self Source: Author
Published: June 13th 2016
Genres: Dark Romance, Horror, Suspense
See the title at Goodreads
Purchase your copy: Amazon
Visit the Author's Website
Whoa! Just. Whoa!
As my fingers hover over the keyboard trying to figure out how to start this review, I keep thinking of song lyrics. Probably because a character uses them so often in the book. But I just can’t seem to pinpoint the right lyric to describe this thriller. Although the Doors’, People are Strange keep popping in to my head.
First, a little disclosure. I typically do NOT like books that are written in the first person and somewhat like a diary. This is probably why it took me a while (25% in) to actually get in to this. Add in the fact that the POV changes virtually every other chapter (4 pages) and I was starting to think “I” was the crazy one.
Ronni is the wife of Brad. Brad is an a-hole to the tenth degree. But for some reason, he’s a completely different person ever since he returns from his doctor convention in Philly. He’s not just treating Ronni differently, he’s actually nice to their child, Traci. But the weirdest part hasn’t even happened yet. It’s like he’s possessed. For weeks he’s sweet and caring and then, BAM, turns into the a-hole from hell, scaring the living poo out of her.
Brad is a prick. Certifiable, bordering on Schizo. What the hell happened in Philly? Man, that’s a loaded question that in all honestly completely spirals out of control. I’m not even sure Brad truly “knows” what happens in Philly, but by the time this book is over, I’m pretty sure Brad doesn’t even know who he truly is. At least Traci knew (hint hint).
Yep, I’m talking in circles. Why? Because if I start rattling off even ONE thing, it’ll ruin your experience. And let me just say that it IS an experience. Overall, I’m happy I stuck with this one. It’s absolutely a mind F that literally has you second guessing everything…and you think you know…but you don’t.
Link to Follow Blast: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/04/dishonor-thy-wife-by-belinda-austin.html
Buy Links: Amazon
Belinda is a former Software Engineer and Web Developer. She is a Zumbaholic. Belinda loves to create novels with twists and turns, and love stories that will squeeze your heart. Her goal is to entertain and touch you by making you laugh, cry, get angry: go through the emotional experience that makes us all human and by doing so humanize her characters.
Her aim with her books is to grab the reader by the shirt collar and drag him or her into the novel, and not let go until the end. She hopes that the reader will not just read her story, but experience it, with chills, blood pounding, brain bursting, etc.
Belinda was born in the Los Angeles area and lives in Texas.
Rafflecopter Giveaway (Grand Prize Winner will receive a $10.00 Amazon eGift Card and a Print Copy of DISHONOR THY WIFE. Two runners up will receive a Print Copy of DISHONOR THY WIFE.)
Well here goes, now it begins, a devious plan concocted in Philly. “You look nice, Ronni.” Wow! My voice had gone up as if she clenched my balls because the wife looked unbelievably sexy. In soft light, she appeared almost pretty with her hair mussed. One strap of her t-shirt drooped over her shoulder.
Okay, down boy! Quit picturing how she would look with pointy nipples tingling with excitement, and legs spread wide, hips humping. I cursed the desire welling inside my dark soul. I must not sleep with her—ever! That was our agreement. “Ronni?” I said in a eunuch voice.
“Well, who were you expecting, Brad? Fool!”
Next to the wedding picture was a photo of a child, supposedly my daughter. The oldest trick in the book was to trap a man with pregnancy.
“No one calls me a fool and gets away with it!”
She ran towards the stairs.
My legs were longer and I grabbed her arm, laughing at her kicking and missing.
I spun her around, trapping her with my arms. Our bodies touched everywhere and I held her even tighter. “You smell of jasmine,” I moaned, lowering her to the stairs and raining kisses across her neck. Her wiggling aroused me beyond belief. I throbbed, pounding with such pressure; all I could think of was easing my pain in Ronni. My blood rushed to that one spot where my need was desperate. At this moment, the act was worth any price. Guilt could come later. I closed my eyes, and muttered, “God, I promise to say ten Hail Marys later even though I’m not Catholic.”
I shoved her hand on my pants, rubbing her palm against me. “Please, I need you, Ronni. Feel how much I want you. I need you so much, Ronni. Please, stroke me, pet me. Yeah, that’s it. More!”
She quit struggling and groaned.
I removed my hand and she continued rubbing. Squeezing. Pulling. Caressing.
My breath came in deep gasps. “Unzip me,” I panted and tugged at the zipper of her pants, my fingers clumsily poking her.
“Ouch, get off me you oaf!”
She slapped my cheek hard, sobering me, making me remember who we were and that bed was out of the question between us. “Again, Brad? You’re raping me again?”
I stood, straightening my pants and feeling rather sheepish about the rape thing. I plunked down on a step to conceal my throbbing arousal, looking like a petulant child. Any moment now, I might have a temper tantrum—Ronni really should give out to her husband. She was a tramp, just as her mother had been.
“I wish you stayed in Philadelphia permanently, Brad, or the plane crashed,” she snapped.
I never struck a woman in my life and clenched my hands into fists, resisting the urge to punch her. It took a minute for my pants to deflate. I then stumbled up the stairs, banging my ankle against the last step.