Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Layers Deep by Lacey Silks
He needs her to save a friend.She needs him to plan her revenge. Their pasts scar them Layers Deep. Their passion distracts them... ...and distractions can be fatal. Tristan Cross is battling emotional demons from the past. He lives in a world where trust is earned, loyalties are tested, and love is impossible. That is, until he meets Allie Green. She’s the only woman who can help him find a kidnapped friend and to top it off, she captivates him. All he has to do now is persuade her to work for Cross Enterprises, his top investigations firm.
My feet pressed to the floor as the elevator lifted against gravity. Tristan turned, facing me. His sultry stare bore through my body, and I felt my back press against the mirrored wall. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to hold power over me; no man ever had. I was a cop. A strong cop who wasn’t swayed by crying mothers, cute puppies, or gorgeous hunks speeding in their Ferraris, offering everything they owned and more. But I was also a woman – and to Tristan, my body responded of its own accord. I felt my breasts swell and I wished I’d worn a dress with a larger top: one that could hold the twins in better. Tristan didn’t seem to mind. “So, what will two thousand dollars buy me, sweetheart?” Even if we were playing, I had a feeling this was going to be one hell of an interview—one of the best ones I’d ever had. “Whatever you want.” I wondered how far he’d go, and how far I’d allow him to go. I already knew what he wanted. My instincts were solid, especially the hormonal ones. My body had secretly ached for his touch since he’d walked into the auditorium. And that one deep kiss we’d shared in his car was like a teasing spoonful of chocolate cake. I craved chocolate cake; and not just a bite. And before I could say another word, Tristan crushed his mouth to mine, possessing it like he owned me, spreading my lips apart with his needy tongue. The hint of scotch still lingered in his mouth. And at this moment, he did own me. Every. Single. Piece of me. His grip on my wrists above my head would have normally enraged me. But tonight I wasn’t a cop, and his strong and demanding fingers wrapped around my hands like cuffs, burning me with a long-forgotten yearning. The force of his lips devoured mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. The few moans that escaped me, Tristan swallowed. I had no room to breathe and found hardly enough strength to stand on my legs. He let go of my mouth and trailed his lips along my jaw to my cheek and ear before lowering down my neck, pinning me against the wall. Oh, God, he felt so good against my body. Everything inside me twisted and tightened and released in unbearable pulses between my thighs. I breathed him in, the oak smell of his scotch imprinted in his skin and in his hair. The elevator halted and Tristan jolted up as if he’d just realized what he’d done. He searched my eyes with his as if asking permission to go on. And for the first time tonight, doubt crept in. He leaned his forehead against mine. “We can’t do this. I’m your employee,” I whispered into his mouth. But inside, I laughed at my own unconvincing words, feeling the heat between my legs penetrate my dampened panties. The open elevator door chimed the second time. “Your body says we can.” He cupped my engorged breasts, one in each hand, squeezing them in slow motion, feeling their full weight. I held my breath, pushing my chest into his palms, filling them. He looked straight into my eyes. “And you’re not hired until the morning.” This time, his mouth took my lips slowly. The forceful tongue softened, teasing my gums, and I couldn’t get enough of his taste as he guided me into his apartment. We never broke our kiss and I couldn’t remember when my arms wrapped around his neck and fingers weaved through his silky hair. Tristan’s hands slid down my body and under my skirt, scrunching it up to my waist, and I felt him smile against my mouth. “You’re prepared.” His palm covered the hand gun in a holster strapped to my thigh. “You never know what weirdo you’ll run into on the street.” He laughed, pulling the buckle open. Tristan set my piece aside on the table. “What else are you hiding there?” He drew his finger along my brow, looking deep into my eyes. And for a moment I thought he could see everything, including my soul. “Things I can never forget.” Did I just say that? “I want to help you forget, for tonight at least.” The comfort and understanding in his eyes struck me deep inside. But behind those deep amber-like gems there was also pain. I wasn’t the only one hurting. Whatever had happened to Tristan must have been bad. Perhaps he was scarred as deep as I was? Had he ever allowed anyone to see what was hidden, layers deep inside his heart? I wondered what secrets he held and whether he’d share them. “I’m going to fuck you now.” His voice thickened with lust as his fingers gripped the lace panties on my ass. The way he’d said this so nonchalantly comforted me. Like it was something we both needed and wanted. A fuck to forget. “If that’s what two thousand dollars buys, fuck away.” When I looked into his eyes, Tristan understood completely. Tightening his grip, he lifted me up and seized my mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms holding onto his upper body. Tristan carried me across his apartment, but I couldn’t remember a single detail about the place, except the faint smell of scotch, manly musk, and Tristan. I loved smelling him. His lips felt so good and natural against my mouth, just as it had when he’d kissed me that first time in the car. I’d dreamed about that luscious kiss every night. But this was much better than a dream, because his lips were warm and real. His bulging arms and flexing muscles as he carried me so effortlessly pulsed under my body. I wasn’t sure when he’d laid me down on the bed, or removed my skirt, panties, or even the top, because the next time he pulled away from my mouth and I looked up, I was naked, in a faintly lit bedroom, propped on my elbows, watching Tristan remove his jeans and shirt.
Lacey is an Author of Erotic Romance. Her stories come from her life, dreams and fantasies. She’s a happily married wife with two kids. Lacey likes to make her readers blush and experience the story as if they were the characters. Drawing on the reader’s most sensitive emotions through realistic stories satisfies her more than… …ok not really, but you get the point;) She likes a pinkish shade on a woman’s cheeks, men with large feet and sexy lingerie-especially when it’s torn off the body. Her favorite piece of clothing is a ‘birthday suit’.