Hump Day: Zara Cox's Beautiful Liar
Quinn Blackwood has a good reason to hide behind a mask: his father, Maxwell Blackwood is a former business magnate and the incumbent governor of New York. Selfishness and a general lack of moral fiber has helped the Blackwood clan to rise among the ranks of the elite, but Quinn plans to put a stop to that. Part of his plan involves a secret porn business that caters to elite clients. His performers can never know the identity of the man behind the mask, but when Lucky begins breaking down the walls he's built around himself, Quinn realizes his perfect plan may have a pitfall after all ...
Strong fingers sink into my hair. His grip is firm. Unbreakable. A tug that tilts my head back, exposing my face, jaw, and neck to the spotlight I feel burning into me.
His thumbs graze gently over my cheeks as he angles my face this way and that. “Every inch of you belongs to me,” he breathes.
The terrifying finality of the statement ratchets up my every emotion.
I feel another shift of air and the whirr of cameras as he rises, his hands still locked in my hair. Rough fingers gently massage my scalp.
“Open your legs.”
My knees part. He moves between them, bringing his essence and magnificence even closer. He tilts my head farther back, secures me with one hand. With the other, he sets a trail along my jaw, my throat, pauses at my pulse, before drifting over my shoulder to clasp my arm. I sense him bend forward.
His smoky cedarwood scent intensifies. My belly quivers when his breath whispers over my face.
“I’m ready for your lips, Lucky. Are you ready for mine?”
The tingle that seizes my mouth is immediate. The russet-red gloss applied on them in no way alleviates their dryness. I slick my tongue over them. “Yes.”
A low laugh, tinged with a whisper of the sinister. “I don’t mean those lips, honey. Those can wait. The lips I crave are between those gorgeous legs.” He takes a step back. “Stand up.”
I totter to my feet. A little disoriented and drunk with heady emotion, I sway. He doesn’t steady me. My arms flail for a second before I gain my feet. The impulse to reach forward, touch him, fires through me. But I intrinsically know touching is out of bounds until he gives me specific permission.
Or maybe I don’t want to find out if he’s human or not? I curb the absurd thought and bring my hands to my sides.
His hands land on my shoulders, trail down my arms to the tips of my fingers before he sets me free. I sense a huge height disparity between us. He must be thinking it too, because his next words, over a foot above my head, are, “So small. So fragile.”
I shake my head, a spark of rebellion firing. “I’m not—”
“Shh. Hush, my little pocket firecracker. Take off your panties.”
Using the back of the seat as my compass, I slowly turn around. I sense him take another step back. The immediate whir of the camera makes me think they operate on motion sensors. I try to block them out as I hook my fingers into the French shorts and peel them over my hips, but the sound grows until I can’t block it out.
My fingers stall, one corner of the panties over my hip, the other below.
“I’m waiting, firecracker.” There’s a tense warning in his voice.
I swallow and force myself to keep going. I lean forward to step out of the scrap of silk and the scent of warm skin fills my nostrils. I’m not sure which parts of his body I’m closest to, but I know he’s less than an inch from my face.
The knowledge lances me with craving, hot and fierce. My panties drop. I carefully step out of them, but I don’t want to straighten. I want to lean farther forward. Taste him.
“Found something you want?” Q asks, his voice lending further fire to my heated core.
“Maybe,” I whisper, my own voice weak.
“You have to wait, Lucky. Until my craving is seen to. Do you understand?”
You’re not in control here. He said that to me in the kitchen this morning over the simple washing of a plate. I know it’s a thousand times more so in this room.
“Sit back down. Hands on the chair. Open your legs.”
My knees part until the sides brush the seat and I’m exposed. Soft air rushes over my core, touching and attempting to cool the wetness forming there. Heat flares up my neck and into my face.
“Your pussy is beautiful, Lucky. So pretty, I almost don’t want to spoil it. But it belongs to me. It’s my property. So I’m going to desecrate it. You know that, don’t you? I’m going to smack, eat, and pound it sore. Same with your ass.”
I gulp in air. My thigh muscles quiver, but I’m unable to form words in the face of the powerful imagery he creates, so I remain silent.
He drops to his knees. “But first, I need my kiss. Lean back.”
I slowly relax my body until the top of my back touches the end of the bed. I’ve been in a few positions before in my life, but I’ve never felt this exposed, this vulnerable before.
An exhalation of breath is all I get before firm, masculine lips bracket my bare pussy. My hips jerk and a hoarse gasp spills from my throat. Fire-hot sensation races up my spine, arches my back. The natural instinct to shut my legs, contain the flames, is curtailed when merciless hands grab my knees and hold me open.
Q doesn’t concentrate on a specific spot like my clit or my furnace-hot center. He’s making out with my whole pussy, drawing my lips between his and tasting me with the flat of his tongue.
The sensation is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Already, my head feels woozy. Deprived of sight, my remaining senses zero in on the sexy, dirty kiss being bestowed on me. He’s eating me like I’m his favorite food. It feels good. So good.
A guttural purr, transmitted with a distinct electronic wave, fills the room.
God, how is he doing that?
He kisses me harder. The tip of his tongue flicks my engorged clit.
“Oh!” Breath rushes from me. I tilt my hips forward, seeking more of that singular pleasure.
He ignores my need and goes back to Frenching my pussy. Warm, firm tugs pull my flesh into his mouth, where he rolls my vulva over his tongue. The hood of my clit is pulled deep, strong, steady sucks further enflaming the turgid bundle of nerves. A long moan escapes me, and he raises his head.
I wish I could see his expression. I wish I could drown out the unmistakable hum of the camera.
“Fuck, you’re perfect. Taste so good.”
Hands hook under my knees, throw my legs higher and wider. My head rolls back onto the bed and my fingers curl into the seat as he goes back for a deeper, longer taste. Pleasure spreads, thick and fast. My hips begin to writhe, my body caught in a relentless pursuit of its first bona fide, non-masturbation-induced climax.
Q stops without warning. My head surges off the bed, although I can’t see anything.
“Please.” I’m not sure why I whisper the word. Because I don’t want the camera to catch my plea? Because even though I’m begging for it, I’m not sure I can withstand the explosion I sense heading my way?
“Do you want to come, Lucky?”
I swallow hard and nod.
“Whose body is this?” he asks.
“It’s . . . yours.”
He delivers another open-mouthed kiss between my legs. “Whose pussy?”
I have an inkling of where this is going. I don’t like it. “Yours.”
My thighs shake with the force he has on my legs. “I . . . I’m.. .”
“It’s yours, Q.”
Maybe I imagine the shudder that runs through him. Maybe in saying those three words, something shakes loose inside me. Maybe I’m out of my mind.
“Mine,” he growls. “So let me ask again. Do you want to come, Lucky?”
“Yes. Please. But with your permission,” I reply. I’m a fast learner.
It earns me another kiss. Then another. The melting resumes, intensifies. My head falls back. My arms ache with the tight hold I have on the seat.
Hoarse sounds and electric hums mingle with my moans. I can’t escape the humiliating thought that what’s happening to me is being recorded. That I wouldn’t be here if the promise of an obscene amount of money didn’t wait at the end of my performance.
But I also can’t stop the onrush of bliss gathering between my thighs. I gulp in air and exhale on a jagged moan. My nipples, already tights points of almost excruciating pleasure, chafe against the russet half-teddy as my breasts swell.
Q alters the mood of his kiss. He lets go of my knees, curls his hands around my thighs, and uses his thumbs to part my pussy. The hood of my clit is exposed to his warm breath a split second before he tongues it with pointed, determined purpose. Just as I think I’m about to lose control, he dips lower, stabs my entrance with his tongue. The alternating attention teeters me on the brink, until colors begin to swirl across my bound vision.
“Q... oh, God! Please,” I gasp. “I want... I need to come.”
I don’t know if his deep grunt is permission or denial of it. He doesn’t relent in his ministrations.
Knowing how close I’m skidding to damnation, I try again. “Please, may I come?” My voice is thick and rough. I’m gearing up to plead again, in case I was incoherent, when he hums against my pussy.
“So fucking good. Want to keep licking this perfect cunt.”
A thunder-strong tremor moves through me. I’m not sure how long I can hang on. I try gritting my teeth, but the eruption is counting down in big, fat letters with each flick of that wicked tongue. “May... may I come? Oh God, please?”
“Taste it . . . ” His voice is a hoarse, jumbled mess. “I want to taste it. Every drop.”
“Hmm. Yes, my little firecracker. Come for me... In my mouth.”
A sob rips from my throat as I let go and surrender to the wave that slams into me. It rips me apart, and I want to drown in it almost as much as I want to protect myself from it. Q loosens his hold on me, but keeps my legs firmly open while he laps me up in hungry licks.
“Fuck,” he mutters against me as I jerk through my bliss.
Several whirs penetrate my fog of pleasure, and I wonder how many cameras he’s activated to record my climax. I start to stiffen, the idea that I’m enjoying this suddenly drawing ever-growing shame.
I don’t know why I know he senses it, or why I know I’ve pissed him off. But when he pulls at me one last time, there’s a touch of cruelty that makes me wince.
I feel him settle back on his legs. A second later he pulls off my shoes. “Crawl up on the bed. Make sure the blindfold stays in place.” The mechanical tenor of his voice still transmits an aroused hoarseness, but there’s implacable power as well as an edgy aggression that slices icy warning into my stomach.
My languid body is still thrumming, but I do as instructed, traveling a little slower when I reach the top of the bed to avoid bumping into it.
Plump satin pillows brace my body as I wait, hands once again at my sides.
I sense him prowling the room. I know he’s watching me from the hyperawareness rippling beneath my skin.
After a minute, I hear his zipper lowering. The muscles in my belly bunch. I’m dying to know when the blindfold is coming off, but I dare not ask. He warned me he might not be able to help hurting me. I’ve just had a taste of his cruelty. I don’t want to invite more.
Beautiful Liar will be available in digital and print on April 11! Digital copies start at $4.99, grab yours: Amazon | B&N | Google Play | iBooks | Kobo. If you loved this excerpt and would like to read another from Zara's Black Sheep, we can help with that too!