Beneath Deception Series: Unbreakable #1 Author: A.L. Long Genre: Adult, Erotic Suspense Published: May 30, 2018
Award winning author of the Shattered Innocence Trilogy
Everyone has a story and for Xavier London, he preferred to keep his hidden. As ruthless as he was, he still had morals and those morals included betraying the one man who saved his life. He never thought that meeting one woman could change everything.
Tessa Sands never knew the truth about her life, nor did she ever question it. The only life she knew was the one she was taught, disciplined by the man who raised and groomed her to be only his. But, when another man entered her life, she slowly begins to discover that she had been deceived from the start. Can she find true love or will his secrets get in the way?
Their love for each other will be tested. Only they can determine if love will win.
Some would call me a little naughty but I see myself as a writer of spicy thoughts. Being an erotic romance writer is something that I never imagined I would be doing. There is nothing more rewarding than to put your thoughts down and sharing them. I began writing three years ago and have enjoyed every minute of it. When I first began writing, I really wasn’t sure what I was going to write. It didn’t take me long to realize that romance would be my niche. I believe that every life deserves a little bit of romance, a little spice doesn’t hurt either. When I am not writing, I enjoy the company of good friends and relaxing with a delicious glass of red wine.
When Gia Lopez signs up for the Submissive's Wish Charity Auction she has no idea that she's about to be bought by a Russian Dom who will do anything to make her fantasies come true. Including staging an elaborate kidnapping that Gia believes is real. Ivan is instantly drawn to Gia and he wants to be the best Master she's ever had. As he spends time with Gia he begins to have intense feelings for the strong, independent, and sexy American woman. He's only won a week of her service but wishes to keep her forever.
Unaware of Ivan’s true feelings, Gia fights her growing emotional attachment to him. All she wants is to settle down with a nice Dom in the United States, continue her career, and live a normal life. However, Ivan sets a plan into motion that will push Gia to all of her limits and take her on a global journey of self-discovery, extreme pleasure, and love.
Warning: Contains Erotic Spanking, Subspace, f/f situations, a devastatingly sexy Dom who knows what he wants, and a submissive who just might be ready to give him what he needs.
I spend the whole day stewing about Nadia and her covert attempt to take back control. I have gone through every emotion. Anger came first. Bitch. Why is she even playing if it’s just gonna be a mind fuck?
But then I got to thinking about that. The mind fuck part. Because I’m kind of an excellent mind-fucker. I mean, shit. I went to school to be a psychiatrist. I got pretty far into it before I dropped out. I have a medical degree. I run a sex club. I’ve been playing this goddamned game for more than a decade. And even though I’ve been on a losing streak for a while now, I’m damn good. I’m due for a win. I will win this.
The key to a proper mind fuck is the element of surprise. The target thinks they’re ready for the unexpected, until they’re not.
Nadia was probably pretty pleased with herself last night. She probably ended that call with a huge smile on her face. One hundred percent satisfied.
And she’s expecting retaliation. She had to know I’d tell Jordan about it. She had to know I’d find out she never called him. She had to know I’d be pissed off today.
When I realized that… well, that’s when I calmed down and started piecing together a psychological profile on her.
Nadia Wolfe. Twenty-something. Beautiful. Talented. Ballerina. Control freak. New in town. Rising star. Player of games.
She’s so stupidly simple to figure out, I almost feel sad that she’s not more of a challenge.
I decide the ballerina aspect is my best first move. They are a different sort of person, so most of what I just described probably stems from her choice of occupation. She likes control because she’s forced herself to be in control of things to get where she is in her art.
Think about it. Ballerinas, right? They get up early to go to class or rehearsal or whatever the fuck it is they do first thing in the morning. They have to control themselves in very specific ways. They have to control their muscles, their emotions, their pain threshold, and the pleasure center in their brains. They have to psych themselves up to fit their bodies into the mold of dancer.
They have to conform in many ways. Deviation from the standard is unacceptable, even though they are expected to excel and stand out.
They must look a certain way, behave a certain way, and submit to the whims of those who control their future.
Success, therefore, is not defined by their own perceptions of themselves, but by the perceptions of others. And those perceptions are directly related to athletic skill, beauty, and youth.
It’s a trifecta of psychological disorders waiting to happen.
I smile.
I’ve got you, Nadia Wolfe. I have your ticket, darling. I know what drives you now.
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
“Why are
you so nervous?” I ask Jordan. We’re sitting in Smith’s bar. The table is
elaborately set for a nice dinner, our glasses are full of expensive alcohol,
and our cocks are happy. Why does he look like shit is about to hit the fan?
“She had a good time,” I say, sipping my brandy.
“Yeah,”
Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to
come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?”
“What was
sneaky about it?”
He shoots
me a look that says, Come on.
“She gave
in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”
“Right.” He
sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this
morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so
bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”
“It was a
joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every
fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get
enough.”
“That’s
because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna
wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”
“Then she’s
gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”
“No,” he
says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do
with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”
“So?”
“So then
she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck
shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want
her thinking I’m like you.”
“You are
like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if
he likes her so much?
But I don’t
ask that question.
Because I
like her too. Just not in the same way.
“See,”
Jordan says.
“See what?”
I ask
“That
fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman.
Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not
play with her emotions.”
“Why?” I
ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”
But then I
realize this intrigues me.
“Stop it,”
Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”
“Then why
are we even playing?”
He huffs
out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…”
He trails off.
“She’s not
what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?
“She’s not
my type.”
“OK,” I
say, not really understanding.
“I mean I’m
not really her type.”
“Hmm,” I
say. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he
says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for
a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people,
understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One
who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a
few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an
understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a
dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give
her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”
“It’s a
game. Same as this,” I say.
“Dude, come
on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK?
You know this, right?”
“Then why
am I even here?”
“Because
we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with
Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a
team. She liked that up there.”
“So what’s
the problem?”
“The
problem is you’re in a weird place right now and I’m afraid you’re gonna take
it out on Nadia. Don’t do that, OK?” He stares at me. “Just be…”
“Just be
your back-up?” I ask, huffing out a laugh.
He shrugs.
But that’s it. That’s what he wants. Don’t overpower him. Don’t take her away
from him. Don’t make her rethink her strategy. Just help him keep her.
It takes me
a minute to decide if I’m angry or not.
I decide
I’m not. I don’t give two fucks about this Nadia girl. And my goal really was
to break her. So I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “You want a wingman. Fine. I’ll help
you out, Jordan. But when I need a favor, I’ll expect the same in return.”
JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
Jean-Luc Martel knows good taste. As the award-winning celebrity chef of éloïse, he's amassed a high-end clientele and hordes of dedicated foodie fans. But while he's a master in the kitchen, his reputation for being a nightmare to work with precedes him. Known for his rapid-fire temper, chiseled good looks, and a dash of tattooed, bad boy edge, Jean-Luc doesn't take shit from anyone. Until he meets Delaney Thomas. She's talented, sassy, entirely too sexy for her own good, and the niece of his best friend and sous chef.
Every bone in his body is telling him to take what's his, but outside forces soon conspire to pull them apart, and Jean-Luc finds himself more torn and tortured than he's ever been. As his bad boy reputation threatens to rattle the very foundations of the forever he's trying to build with Delaney, they'll both be forced to decide if love really can exist under the most intense pressure.
Warning: Jean-Luc is a sex-on-a-stick, walking, talking, blue-blooded alpha male. The only thing that melts this man's frozen heart is the woman of his dreams, and something tells him nothing would taste sweeter than Delaney on his tongue. If you can't handle the heat, stay out of Jean-Luc's kitchen!
Jean-Luc
“Get these out the door. Come on, guys! It’ll be fucking cold by the time it reaches the table!” I belted, pushing two elegantly decorated plates into the hands of the next server that walked into the kitchen.
She looked at me, eyes wide as she struggled, nearly dropping one of them.
“Table twelve.” The growl that vibrated from my throat must have done its job. She spun, racing right back out the doors she’d come through without a word.
“Fuck, who does the hiring around here?” I shoved a hand into the deep pocket of my apron and pulled out my pack of cigarettes. I was supposed to be quitting, one last habit I hadn’t quite been able to shake. “I’ll be back in five.”
I waved, leaving the kitchen staff to handle the firing of a new round of dishes. Sometimes I imagined what my life would be like if I went somewhere else, cut and run on this little venture, but I couldn't, because it was my little venture.
I groaned, shoving through the back door to the alleyway and leaning against the cold brick as I lit the stick in my mouth. I took one long, slow inhale, letting the smoke evaporate my anxiety, feeling it coil through my body like an instant muscle relaxer. No wonder I couldn't quit these little babies; my life was too damn stressful at éloïse not to have a few vices to get me through.
“Chef?” My sous chef, Nero, pushed through the crack in the door.
“Fuck, what, man? I can’t take any more shit tonight. I’m going to start taking the hiring away from Frank. I can’t carry the front and the back of the house by myself.”
Nero’s eyes widened before someone stepped out from behind him, almost smaller than he was, as if that were possible. She was barely five foot two and had enough curves to get a man lost for days.
“Who’s this?” I drew on my cigarette.
“This is my niece. Frank hired her as the hostess, but she’s got some experience expediting.” Nero nodded. “She grew up in my father's restaurant, knows her way around things real well.”
“How old is she?” I tried like hell to keep my eyes off her oversized ocean-blue ones. Christ, why did she keep looking at me like that? Like she was seeing inside my soul. Every goddamn dark corner I kept hidden, she shone a light on. It made me uncomfortable, made me kinda fucking itch. I sucked another lungful of cancer into my body and exhaled, trying to shake the feeling, praying the nicotine would do its job and relax my muscles into submission.
“Just turned twenty-one,” Nero finally answered. I knew his family came from a long line of chefs, cooks, and restaurateurs. They were an accomplished family in their own right, and that’s why he was my right-hand man. Also, because he knew me, inside and out. Every shameful secret I had, Nero knew. He was one of the few people who knew everything about me that I actually kept around—and only because he was a damn good cook. I couldn't run this place half as well without him, and I paid him top dollar to show my appreciation. Fucker deserved a gold mine for the hell I put him through.
I’d met Nero years ago, during a time I’d rather forget. That guy had seen me at my worst. And now that we were both in a better place, it’d only made sense that I bring him on when I finally cajoled investors and was able to open my own restaurant. Whoever sank two million into the startup of éloïse had to be a little crazy, and Frank was no doubt that, but he also saw something in me no one else had: passion. Food was my life, and it was the only thing that saved me all those years ago when I was destitute on the street.
But that was the past, and hell if I liked lingering there.
Éloïse, home of seasonal local dishes that evolved on a daily basis, was my baby. All plates curated by me, Chef Jean-Luc Martel. Food & Wine had rated me #1 up-and-coming chef to watch when I was twenty-two. I’d had a rocky road the first half of my thirty-two years, but the second half I’d made count.
The one thing I apparently did not have?
A decent wait staff.
“Tell Frank I want to chat with him about hiring,” I shot to Nero, tossing my cigarette in the butt tray then finally catching the eye of the blue-eyed beauty who’d been cowering in the shadows before now. “What do I call you?”
She took a step into the light, eyes narrowing before her lush lips opened. “Delaney Thomas.” I swore when she said her name a lightning bolt cleaved my heart in two. “Can’t wait to work with you, Chef.”
Christ, I was in deep water with this one.
My gaze ate up and down her form. “How loud do you holler?”
Her eyes flared with surprise as Nero’s laugh pulled me from Delaney Thomas. “I’ll catch you later, Lane.” Nero patted Delaney on the back, shaking his head at me before putting up a finger. “Go easy on her, Chef.”
“Goin’ easy on anyone never got them anywhere.” I knew that firsthand. I’d worked tooth and nail to get this place, and the fact that the front of the house was all but failing was a thorn in my side. I had to take the reins on hiring, and I only hoped Miss Delaney Thomas knew what she was doing because I didn’t have the tolerance for ineptitude. There was a reason éloïse was a Michelin starred restaurant, and I planned on keeping it that way.
“I can work front or back, wherever you want me,” she said. Her uncle had left us alone, this dark alleyway and a sliver of moonlight the only things separating me from her.
Our bodies.
Fuck.
I hadn’t thought about a woman this way since… Hell, maybe ever. And that irritated me. Everything about this irritated me. How could I work in the kitchen when she was floating around, bumping against my body, and leaning over, her gorgeous tits flashing in my—
“Where do you want me, Chef?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly starved for something. Her, underneath me, would satisfy my craving, for starters.
I moved closer, the heady scent of delicious peaches unfurling around me. Jesus, did she really smell like that? I wanted to bury my face in her creamy, delicious flesh and take my fill. Eat and drink from her altar until I was covered in her juices, dripping with the scent of ripe peaches and Delaney. Damn, I bet she tasted like honey.
Fuck. I had a problem.
“I’ve got high standards, Delaney. I’m not an easy man to please.” I paused, leveling her with my eyes. “I hope you can handle the pressure.”
One eyebrow arched, beautiful red painted lips quirking up in a soft grin. “You might be surprised what I can handle.”
Her arms crossing over her chest drew my attention to the delicate petal pink fabric falling over her heavy tits. I sucked in another inhale of peach-scented heaven, my jaw tense as I growled, “Don’t wear the smelly shit tomorrow.”
I don’t think my dick can handle it.
“Sure thing, Chef.” She tilted her head to the side and walked back through the back door, belting out orders to the kitchen staff like she’d been doing it her whole life.
Jesus.
I didn’t know if I should thank Nero for saving my life or fire him for torturing me with his niece.
Delaney was in my kitchen and under my skin, and I’d only known her five damn minutes.
I was in so much trouble.
Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.
For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!
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