ABOUT LAUREN SMITH
Amazon best-selling author
Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and
edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a
native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets—a feisty chinchilla,
sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She's won multiple awards in
several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel
Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Award.
Connect with Lauren:
Excerpt:
Emery held still, didn’t make a sound or
move until she opened her eyes. When she did finally look up at him, he dropped
his head a few inches, his nose touching hers, nuzzling her cheek.
“I’m not like other men, Sophie. Scars are
a sign of strength, survival. Someday you’ll be brave enough to show me, and
I’ll prove you have nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I am willing to accept the
deal you proposed. Are you willing in return?”
She bit her lip. It had been her idea; she
had to see it through. She wanted to see it through, even if it scared the
living daylights out of her.
“Yes. I’ll do it. Your story, my
submission.”
He
kissed her with raw possession, his mouth showing her how wicked it would be
between them. Wild, dark, and completely free. She wanted that more than
anything, the freedom to let go, to give in to the erotic dreams she’d spent
years ignoring but never had felt safe enough to give in to before. His kiss
broke down every barrier, obliterated every part of herself she tried to hide.
Sophie lifted her chin, offering him her mouth, pleading for him. Emery drew a
quick breath, eyes widening before his lashes fell to half-mast, his gaze drawn
to her lips.
When he took her lips, he dominated her with
the depth of his claiming. She breathed him in, like drawing the first heavy
breath upon waking from a thousand-year sleep. Sophie came alive in that single
moment. The woman she’d been all these years since losing Rachel, the scared
little girl fighting against the evils in the world, was gone. In her place was
the woman she’d always wanted to be, a woman not afraid to live her life. She
couldn’t shut this man out like she had her other friends or her family. No. He
demanded she give in to him. Electric tingles pulsed outward from the places
they touched, setting her senses on fire, fogging her mind. His kiss consumed
her—enveloping her until she was lost, set adrift in a haze of desire, longing,
and aching.
She felt his mouth tremble against hers;
he seemed to strain to keep his possession under control, to bank the fires of
his passion. His tongue slipped between her lips, thrusting in time with the
rocking of his hips against hers in tiny circles. He gave up his control and
took her over. His body weighed hers down, his hips rocking into hers. He could
have done anything to her in that moment, and she’d have agreed to it. Sophie’s
inner muscles clenched, empty and wet, yearning for him, but it was his kiss
that was her downfall—almost brutal with craving, as though he was a thirsty
man savoring his first sip of water from her mouth. All his focus, all his
energy seemed to be on her, on her lips.
He tore his mouth from hers, panting
roughly. He cursed savagely and withdrew his hands from her body. She blinked
in surprise when she realized his hot hands had slid up her outer thighs
beneath the mini-skirt. Her chest heaved, her breasts dangerously close to
escaping the confines of her corset. Emery’s eyes slowly tracked down from her
mouth to her breasts. With a rakish grin he pressed his mouth lightly on the
tops of the creamy swells, his tongue darting out as he licked and nibbled a
path back up to her lips. He paused, then feathered his lips at the corner of
her mouth and brushed his nose against hers playfully.
Sophie whimpered at the loss when he
finally drew his head back. It felt like good-bye, but that was foolish; she’d
only just met him and agreed to surrender to him. They couldn’t be done.
Emery sighed, his breath uneven against
her temple. His body stiffened above hers.
“Go home, Sophie. Forget me, this place.
Let it be a peculiar dream, nothing more. I’m not the man for you.” His voice
was harsh.
“No,” she whispered fiercely, but she
wasn’t as sure of herself as she had been. She’d expected a spanking, some
rough kissing. She hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable and exposed by a man
taking control of her body and owning her completely in a mere few minutes.
“You think you can really survive this
lifestyle for even one minute? You’re vanilla, sweetheart. You wouldn’t ever
let me tie you up and take you the thousand ways I’d like to. You’d cry when my
hand came down on your ass in punishment. You’re not ready for this.”
She shook her head, furiously fighting off
the swell of tears as her throat constricted. He and he alone had offered her
what her secret dreams and longings had called for night after night. The
phantom lovers that had tormented her to the brink of violent need in her
dreams could never compare to the very real and very heavy weight of his body
on hers at that moment. The devastation of that perfect kiss couldn’t be
undone. The story could wait…but the need…the
desperation to feel alive again…she couldn’t let go of that, not yet.
“No. Take me home with you.” She paused,
calculating each word. “Please, Sir.”
She was begging. There was no doubt about it for either of them, and as shocked
as she was by her own impulse to beg, she prayed he’d let her go with him.
Emery’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.
For a moment, she saw the boy in him, the one he’d been before his world had
been utterly destroyed. The child wasn’t gone, wasn’t dead. Buried yes, but not
dead. He threaded a hand through his hair and remained silent for moment.
Shadows of doubt and indecision danced across his face before he finally
replied.
“How can I resist?” Emery lifted himself
and hauled her to her feet.
Sophie winced. Her back was bruised after
lying on the stone floor beneath him. She hadn’t minded at the time—her body
had been distracted by a thousand other things. But now her shoulder blades and
hips screamed in protest. Emery took her into his arms, rubbing her back,
massaging it with knowing hands.
“Come, I’ll summon my driver.”
“Okay.” She tried to remain calm. She was
going home with Emery Lockwood. One of the richest men in America. Yet it
wasn’t his wealth that made her fight off the rippling tremors at the base of
her spine and in her womb. No, it was the fact that she was going home with a
man who kissed her like she was the last woman on earth and time was ending. If
he kissed like that, sex with him would be the Apocalypse. She’d never survive
it.
