If you never speak of the past, can it be erased?
Lacey Edwards has a past.
A past which changed her life forever.
A past she is desperate to forget.
Lacey is quiet and reserved compared to her best friend Becca Fox. They became instant friends when Lacey moved to Maryland nine years ago. Becca helped pull Lacey out of her internal shell to experience life. By high school, Lacey was active in the club scene and would occasionally have to drag Becca with her. One night, Lacey realized she might be able to run from her past with the help of Becca and one steamy Caine Rogers.
Lacey didn't know, until it was too late, how feelings, honesty, heartbreak and life altering events can change a person. Lacey has Becca’s support but will that be enough?
Will Lacey sacrifice her own happiness to do what is expected?
***WARNING***
Appropriate for readers 18 & up only!
This novel contains explicit language, sexual situations and abuse that some might find offensive.
EXCERPT
“Let’s check it out,” said Cameron.
“I’m not allowed.” I raised my hand to let him
know I had no intention of going anywhere near there.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, calling the lift.
“You’re with me.”
The doors parted and we stared into an open elevator.
Cameron strolled on in and gestured for me to join him. “It’s safer. I don’t
want to leave you up here alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“If someone did break in they may be up here now.”I leaped in and with a push of a button we descended.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” I said.
“They have a knack for spoiling all the fun.”
“Do you really think someone has broken in?”
“No.”
Oh.”
He shrugged.
“Will you explain this to Richard for me,” I said.
“Of course.”
“I’m actually kind of intrigued.” I felt a jolt of
excitement.
Tara had been right about the deep red walls. Soft lighting fell upon the five
pieces of furniture, if you could call them that. More appropriately they were
beautifully carved, dark stained contraptions. A table positioned in the middle
had reams of fine silver chains hanging over it, reaching all the way to the
floor. To its right stood a crisscrossed wooden panel with leather handcuffs on
either side to stretch out the victim’s arms. Upon the wall hung an assortment
of equipment, including paddles, whips, and blindfolds. A chest pushed up
against the far wall hid what was probably more torturous accruements. I
resisted the urge to take a peek.
What looked like a stock out of the Middle Ages was easily countered by the
elegant throne, a velvet cushion before it. To its right hung an enormous steel
cage, and farther along more contraptions rested on shelves: silver-link
chains, ropes, blindfolds, gags, and what looked like a black pair of gloves
with spiked fingertips.
This place set medieval devices against modern in the most startling way. No
wonder Richard didn’t want me down here. He probably assumed I’d have bolted on
my first day. Yet the soft scent of sandalwood and the womblike aura felt
surprisingly calming. My lightheadedness muddled my brain. This risqué decor
stirred feelings that had lain dormant, the thrill of delicious intrigue, a
throb low in my belly that had no right to make me believe any of this was
okay.
A door at the end of the room promised to lead off to more rooms of pain. There
was no getting over this was a dangerous place to be in, and how anyone would
voluntarily want to be strapped into any of these baffled me.
I turned to see Mistress Scarlet step out of the shadows. Her dominatrix outfit
was a mixture of leather and latex. Her gothic-styled eyeliner and mascara
highlighting her eyes, and her rouged lips, sharp cheekbones and hair worn back
accentuated her commanding presence.
“Hi Scarlet,” I said, hoping that glare of hers wasn’t anger at me for being
down here.
“Mia,” she said, tapping the whip in her other hand. “Cameron.”
There came an unsettling feeling she’d been waiting for us. I glanced back at
the elevator, wishing I’d brought my cell. Richard might have texted back by
now. Though the reception down here might be sketchy. We were way underground.
“We were concerned someone came down here.” Cameron arched an eyebrow.
Scarlet’s gaze slid over to me. “It’s just us.”
I took the few, short steps toward him, though my gaze stayed on Scarlet, wondering about that whip.
“Come look at this,” he said. “Have you ever seen one of these?”
“What’s it for?” The ornately carved crisscrossed post felt smooth beneath my
touch.
He placed his hand over mine. “Want to see?”
Cameron looked fierce. The change in him so surprised me I didn’t struggle when
he took hold of my shoulders and eased me back against the bar.
“You stand here.” He titled his head. “Well, the client does.”
I almost lost my balance as he stretched out my left arm to the side. He used
his weight to keep me there, his body pressed against mine as he secured my
wrist inside a leather strap; tight. A thrill shot from my chest to my groin
and I caught my breath. There came a waft of Cameron’s light cologne; a balmy
scent stirring my senses.
“I don’t like it,” I lied, unsure of these sensations awakening in my chest and
shooting downwards, reaching that place where he’d touched me not so long ago.
My lips trembled as my gaze fell upon his mouth.
“You’re quite safe.” Cameron tugged the straps. “It’s good to have a feel for
what our clients go through, right?” He secured my right wrist.
I resisted, though his strength overwhelmed mine. He tugged my wrist tight in
its buckle.
A throb in my chest lulled me. Scared me. “Scarlet?” I looked to her.
She gave a nod of encouragement.
The elevator shuddered and the lift began its ascent.
“Let’s pretend she’s not here.” Cameron pulled a thicker strap across my waist,
buckled and yanked it. “In most sessions it would only be us two.” He held his
hand against my chest. “You’re breathing way too fast. I don’t want you to
faint.”
Mouth dry and thirsting, I tried to slow it down. “I have to get back to work.”
“Thought you were finished for the day.” He reached for my shirt button and
undid it. His fingers moving fast on the others.
I screamed and he stepped back and laughed. “Not the shirt then.”
“Not the shirt.”
“Screams echo down here,” he said. “We get that a lot.”
Oh no...
His hand returned to my chest, pressing against it, his body close, his gaze
boring into my mine with a fierce intensity. “What are you feeling?”
My eyelids fluttered shut, my heart beat way too fast. This desire intensified
an ache sending spasms low and deep inside; a building pleasure. My nipples
pushed against my bra, the hardened buds betraying me through my blouse.
“Very good.” He leaned toward my ear and whispered, “That’s what this one’s
for.”
Another thrill of excitement shot between my thighs and I hated the fact he
could tell. His fingertip brushed along my right forearm, pressing beneath the
crux of my arm, sending a shiver up my spine.
“Cameron.” I shuddered in response and twisted my wrists in their straps. “I
can’t breathe.”
“Relax.” He caressed my bottom lip.
I nipped at his thumb, my tongue tracing the tip.
His eyelids became heavy, his teeth clenched, his jaw tensing. “You are
exquisite.”
The elevator purred, getting louder, pulling his attention away for a second. His dark stare found me again. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No.”
He looked surprised. “Let me show you just how exquisite you are.”
Cameron pressed his lips against my mine, bruising them, opening my mouth with
his, daring me, capturing me with ferociousness. His erection pressed against
my belly, and the pleasure and pain it would bring became all too real. Unable
to push him off, I had no choice but to surrender, opening my mouth and going
with him, drowning in the lightheadedness caused by his embrace.
This man was way out of my league, and yet he was here with me, seducing me,
his velvety tongue tangling with mine. He’d called me exquisite. Made be
believe it. This dreamlike moment was an impossible fantasy. A slow, steady
throb of pleasure built as my moan entered his mouth, my tongue battling his,
lost in this craving.
He pulled back slightly and held my gaze. “How do you feel?”
“Nice,” I murmured, hating myself for saying it.
“Aroused?”
I gave a nod.
“Is your pussy nice and wet?”
I bit my lip, hard.
“Good girl.” He gave an impressed smile.
“Cameron,” snapped Richard.
I jolted back into the room.
Richard stood ten or so feet away, his face unreadable. Cameron glanced his
way.
“Untie her,” said Richard.
“We were exploring.” Cameron found my gaze again. “Weren’t we, Mia?”
“Now,” said Richard.
Leaving me strapped in, Cameron stepped back. “Mia’s been a very naughty
girl.”
“So I see,” said Richard.
Author Links
Bio:
Author L.U. Ann recently moved to Colorado from the Eastern Shore of Maryland with her husband and two children. Life in Colorado is so much different. In Maryland, you would find her in the garden tending to her vegetables and flowers, sea glass and shark tooth hunting once a week, and enjoying the kids swimming in the backyard. Her life took a drastic change when her family moved to their own “Little House on the Prairie" at an elevation of over 6,000 feet above sea level, and a semi-arid climate that makes it hard to grow anything. While barely anything can grow where she resides now, the wildlife makes up for it. Mountain Lions, and coyotes, and rattlesnakes, oh my!
She tries to spend a little time each day writing, but domestic chores around the house usually take precedence. She would much rather hide them from her husband. She tends to her loving four-legged children who at times become much too demanding when she locks herself in the office. This often results in MORE domestic work, and she finds herself cleaning up after their deviant behavior.
At night, you’ll find her begging the kids to go to bed so that she can catch up on the latest book before her sister can. Yes, she is an avid reader who escapes her chaotic but wonderful home to the feisty depths of romance land in search of her newest book boyfriend. Shh, don’t tell her husband!
She is an artist by the grace of God. She worked as a set designer for six years, helping establish a local children's theatre where she was the scenery artist, set, and prop designer. Before that, you would find her covered in paint, so engrossed in painting a mural that time didn't exist. Graphic design is her guilty pleasure.
Destructive Silence is her debut novel. It is one of three books in The Destructive Series. Each book will hit its reader with lots of angst hoping for a happily ever after.
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