Lies You Tell by LaQuette
Hello my people!!! What's going on?!! If you didn't notice, I'm a little bit excited. No, it's not just the coffee I've had, I've got some awesome news. Today is the DAY!! My latest novel, Lies You Tell, is live on Loose Id. Please click the link on the cover to purchase it. Speaking of the cover, isn't it pretty? Thank you Taria A. Reed for such a sexy photo. My girl Tayo, and that fine Shawn are looking extra-delicious in this shot. Thanks to Syneca Featherstone for bringing it all together in such an amazing design.
This book is my first mobster romance. I usually write from the standpoint of the traditional hero and hero. This book is a different scenario. Dante DeLuca is not your typical hero. He's a good mad who made the decision to live the badboy life and he's never made apologies for it. You gotta love a man that can own his own sh!t. lol Without further delay, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Sanai Ward and Dante DeLuca of Lies You Tell.
“Sanai, you either come out here, or I’m coming in there, but either way, we’re having this conversation now.”
The strong rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate through the wood of the door and into her body. She tensed her muscles, trying to ward against the tremble that sound was igniting.
I am not afraid of him. I did what I had to. I am not afraid of him.
Wait, is he inside my room?
She grabbed the knee-length bathrobe hanging on the wall, pulled it on, and tied the sash quickly around her waist. Her suspicions were confirmed when she pulled the door open and saw him sitting comfortably on her bed.
The nerves she’d been battling inside the bathroom gave way to fiery anger, boiling quickly.
“‘Fuck are you doing in here? I left you in the living room,” she barked.
“Forgive me if I didn’t trust you not to disappear through the bathroom window,” he countered quietly.
She walked until she stood directly in front of him, chest heaving, head pounding with the sound of her heart banging against her ribs. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He stood up, his frame reaching just shy of six feet, solid, with thick muscles straining his shirt, forcing her to take a step back as she looked up at him.
“I’m the fucking man that loved you more than my own life!” he bellowed as he stepped forward, forcing her to backpedal with each step he took. “The man who thought he would die when he found a dead woman burned beyond recognition holding the locket I gave you, the locket you wore every day.
I’m the fool that stood over a hole in the ground and cried like a baby at his mother’s tit while a casket holding what I thought were your remains was lowered into it!”
Her back crashed against the hard wall, but she couldn’t stop to worry about the zing of pain spreading against her shoulders and the back of her skull. Unsure of what he’d do, she needed to keep her eyes on him.
The Dante she’d known had never been a violent man—intense with a temper to be wary of, yes, but never violent.
Can you be certain of that six years later?
When she was flat against the wall, he cornered her, both arms caging her as his palms rested on either side of her head. He leaned down closer to her, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “I’m the man who came back to that lonely grave every day for six fucking months, lying curled up on it because it was the only place I could be physically close to you.”
The image of Dante lying in a dark cemetery aching for her tore something in Sanai. He might have been indirectly involved with why she’d left Florida the way she had, but no human being deserved that kind of mental and emotional torture. That was exactly what it was; the rage filling his fixed onyx stare was telling enough. There was so much anger there, anger that only came when you’d lost something irreplaceable.
His pupils were blown, his breathing ragged, large swells of air pushing in and out of his lungs. He wasn’t speaking. She didn’t even think he was capable of speaking any longer, rage vibrating off his trembling frame.
She took a shaky hand and touched the small patch of olive skin on his wrist exposed by his rolled-up sleeves.
“Dante, I…” She swallowed, attempting to think of what to say next. She’d had cause to be angry all these years, much of it focused on him. But she’d never entertained the idea that he’d suffered the way his outburst suggested.
She couldn’t find the words, so she stroked that area of skin with slow, soft movements. She continued her circular strokes until his breathing calmed, until he began to blink away some of the rage clouding his soulful eyes. Until she believed he was seeing her and not his anger at her.
“Dear God… You’re alive,” he whispered. His eyes watered, and tears began to make a slow trek down the sharp angles of his face, joining into a huge drop at the bottom of his squared chin. “I prayed so many times just to be able to touch you again, feel your touch…hear your voice.”
Tentative fingers danced over the edges of her jaw, across her cheeks and forehead, down the wide bridge of her nose. It was such a familiar pattern. Something she should’ve forgotten by now, something that should be deemed insignificant after all this time. It was how he would outline her face in the darkness of her bedroom after they’d made love or when he was waking her up in the morning to make love to her again.
This path was always the same. No matter how many times he’d done it, it was always the same. And then his fingers landed on their final destination—her lips. He traced each of them with a slow, sacred pace, until her entire body was dancing with anticipation.
When her lips opened for him, as they had so many times before, he pushed his thumb inside. His eyes locked with hers, and instinct took over. At least that was what she told herself as she closed her eyes and lips and sucked on the lone digit, tongue swirling around it, laving at it until she heard the tiny but familiar pull of breath he took into his lungs.
As soon as tongue touched skin, she felt the lips of her pussy swell with sensitivity, her desire beginning to pulse, her muscles pulling in an open-and-close motion. How could she be so fucking thirsty for someone she’d claimed to hate all this time?
He pulled his thumb from her mouth and placed it at the junction of her clavicles, allowing it to slide down the darkened line that traveled between her breasts and down her abdomen. He kept sliding that thumb down until it separated the loosely tied belt of her robe and allowed the two satin halves to fall away to her sides. He kept that thumb moving until it dipped inside her belly button, forcing her to draw in a breath to still herself.
She forced her eyes open, hoping to find some glimpse of the sanity she knew she was losing in his eyes, but the only thing that stared back was fire—fire she’d experienced, and God help her, fire she wanted to experience again.
His thumb continued its journey until it split her slick folds. It traveled down until it touched the pooling stream at her opening and traveled just a short way up again as it searched for treasure. The moment it made contact with her clit, her entire body shuddered. He must’ve taken that as permission, and if she were truly being honest, that was exactly what it was.
He grabbed her to him, hoisting her legs around his waist before taking her down to the floor. He climbed atop her, his thumb now replaced by the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, circling around her clit. Her traitorous body sought his touch as she curled up against those fucking fingers, begging him to touch her, satisfy her.
Should you really be doing this, allowing this to happen?
There it was, the rational side of her brain. She’d figured it would show up sooner or later. It was just about to make her close her legs and push Dante off her when rough lips pressed against hers, bruising the skin there, forcing her to respond to that divine pressure. She made the mistake of trying to pull air into her lungs; the small opening of her lips was enough space for him to dip into her mouth with his tongue. Once he found entry, any notion she’d had of putting the brakes on this impromptu romp ended. She fell into the forceful motion his tongue was stroking out against hers.
She heard the fumbling of fabric and something metallic. The next thing she knew, she felt him, really felt him, his hard, curved cock pressing against her entrance. A streak of panic sliced through the fog of desire until Sanai felt the latex barrier between them. At least he’d had sense to protect them both, something she’d make sure to reprimand herself about later, but right now—right now she was going to enjoy every hard and fast second of this.
And it would be hard…and fast. Dante had that look of determination carved into his features, the one that’d always told her when he was too hungry to make love to her nicely. This was about to be brutal, and she was so grateful.
Six years since she’d walked away, only moments after he’d found her, and they were back to this again, back to this insane connection she’d thought would one day rob her of her ability to breathe.
And now, all these years later she was still thinking the exact same thing.
This motherfucker is going to ruin me…again.
* * * *
Dante was on fire. That was the only way he could describe being inside Sanai again. It was the most welcoming heat that burned him from the inside out as he joined his body with hers. His body instantly remembered that intense zing of electricity that flew from his heart straight down to his cock and balls.
He pressed his full length inside her, bottoming out in the tight, hot depths of her cunt. Bliss was what he felt. It was soul piercing, ripping at the very core of his being. He’d ached for so long to feel this connection, the thing that had kept him whole, sane, human during their time together.
He bent down, resting his weight on his elbow, sinking his teeth into the flesh on the gentle curve of her neck. “Gotta move,” he growled. His hips snapped, bringing his full weight down against her. He’d apologize later for how quick this was going to be, for how sore she was going to be when this was done. Taking care of her had always been his priority, but finding her alive after so many years of crippling grief had fire shooting through him, need he couldn’t control if his life depended on it.
If he were in his right mind—well, if he were in his right mind, none of this would be happening. That ship had long since sailed from the moment she touched him and looked at him with those wide brown eyes that always made his heart still for moments at a time.
He placed a firm hand behind her knee and pressed, opening her for him, giving himself more room to do what his body commanded—drill.
He buried himself to the hilt with each rapid thrust of his hips. Her body quivered around him. They were only moments into this, and he could feel her nearing her breaking point already. He changed his angle slightly, remembering instinctively where her sweet spot was. He rammed inside her with repeated staccato movements, trying his damnedest to abrade that little bundle of electricity that would send her tumbling over the edge of ecstasy.
He felt his balls hiking up with each thrust, tight, heavy, begging for release. He kept up his punishing pace, keeping his cockhead zeroed in to the same spot, waiting for her to break.
He felt the first tremors of her orgasm ripple around him, grabbing on to his cock like a clutched fist.
He pulled her other knee up, deepening the angle, pulling guttural noises from her with each stroke.
Those strangled cries pressed against his sensitive hair trigger.
“Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkk!” he ground out as fire erupted from the tightness in his balls, up his shaft, and into the thin latex barrier separating them. Each spurt drained him of the fire he’d been carrying since his mind first latched onto the idea that Sanai could be alive. When the last jet of cum left him, he collapsed, his balls wrung dry, changing angles just in time to keep from crushing her, landing most of his weight off to the side on the floor.
Life had played a cruel trick on him, had gouged his heart and soul with a fiery poker. He’d been left with a soulless shell of an existence. So now, on the floor, in the presence of the only woman he’d ever loved, he wrapped his arms around her, cradled her into his secure hold, and rested. Every inch of him, even the soul that’d been gone for so long, rested and slept in peace.
LaQuette is an erotic, multicultural romance author of M/F and M/M love stories. Her writing style brings intellect to the drama. She often crafts emotionally epic, fantastical tales that are deeply pigmented by reality's paintbrush. Her novels are filled with a unique mixture of savvy, sarcastic, brazen, and unapologetically sexy characters who are confident in their right to appear on the page. This bestselling Erotic Romance Author is the 2016 Author of the Year Golden Apple Award Winner, 2015 Swirl Awards Bronze Winner in Romantic Suspense, and 2015 Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award Finalist in Erotic Romance. LaQuette—a native of Brooklyn, New York—spends her time catering to her three distinct personalities: Wife, Mother, and Educator. Writing—her escape from everyday madness—has always been a friend and source of comfort. At the age of sixteen she read her first romance novel and realized the genre was missing something: people that looked and lived like her. As a result, her characters and settings are always designed to provide positive representations of people of color and various marginalized communities. She loves hearing from readers and discussing the crazy characters that are running around in her head causing so much trouble. Contact her on Facebook, Twitter, her website, NovelsbyLaQuette.com, Amazon, her Facebook group, LaQuette's Lounge, and via email at LaQuette@NovelsbyLaQuette.com.