One Hour Girl, The Lost Series Book #1
Genre: Comtemporary Romance
From International Bestselling Author, LeTeisha Newton, February 29th, 2016!
Celeste Askew isn’t perfect. Not by far. Her childhood was dark and destructive, her family torn apart by greed and secrets.
So she learned to cope.
During her days she’s a paralegal in a prestigious firm. But by night, she’s an escort, addicted to dangerous situations, rough sex, and money. This is what she knows, what she craves, and what keeps her stable.
Ms. Perfection is kept happy because Ms. Whore keeps the darkness at bay.
Until she meets Royce Mattherson, L.A.’s most eligible bachelor, and billionaire. No that his life was much better. His past was just as dark, just as twisted, and they find that they can give each other those dirty moments. Love wasn’t supposed to be a part of it.
It never was.
Her heart is off limits, and he doesn’t have one to give. The found a way to break the rules anyway.
He thinks I’m his forever girl, I saw it in his eyes. I wished I could have slapped the look off his face and hit him with the same jarring finality I’d learned I didn’t mean shit.
I’m not a forever sort of girl.
I’m not even his for the night.
He’ll be lucky if I’m his for the next hour if he doesn’t pay me for it.
And then Royce Mattherson stormed my defenses. Took all the poison inside of me and pushed it out through my pores. He tasted the taint on my skin and still decided to love me. He terrifies me. Exhilarates me. Frustrates me.
And he always gets what he wants.
Always...
I
watched Celeste’s eyes widen and she tried to shift from under me,
coming out of the daze as she looked over at the hustling waiter. I
gripped her hips, pinning her beneath me.
“You
aren’t going anywhere,” I assured her. “You seemed to have
ruined my dinner, and I’m famished.”
I
licked my lips, feeling desire and pride swell within me as her gaze
tracked my movement and a warm flush appeared under her skin. I
pressed my hips between her legs, hissing at the heat of her pussy
against my cloth covered cock.
“I
think I’ve found something to eat…right…here,” I told her,
letting go of her hip to push my hand between us and cup her sex.
She
moaned, head tossed back. I waited long enough for the waiter to run
behind the counter and away before I claimed her mouth again. This
was my place, my money, my rules. No one would disturb us, and I
wanted to see how wild she could get. I wanted to control her.
I
rubbed my fingers against her in a circular motion as I devoured her
mouth. She gripped at my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. It
couldn’t fall to the floor because I wouldn’t stop caressing her,
but it was out of her way enough that she went for my shirt next.
Buttons popped as she ripped my shirt open and ran her nails down my
chest.
Ground
zero.
My
cock was hard and pulsing in my pants. I moved my hand from between
us and ground against her. She cried out, rolling her hips against
me. I liked that. I fucking loved how she gave into her passion. She
didn’t fight it, she didn’t apologize for it. The way she
responded to me made me feel like a god.
I
sucked my way down the side of her neck, paying attention to any
hitch of breath, and shift of her body. I noticed that her nails dug
when I nipped over her pulse. She sucked in a breath when I traced
her cleavage with my tongue. Her breath rushed out in a whoosh when I
pulled the neck of her dress down far enough to suck her nipple into
my mouth, bra and all.
I
noted it all, and logged it to memory. She was mine. So what if it
didn’t make sense? So what if I was fighting an uphill battle
against a woman who didn’t believe in giving herself. We weren’t
talking about love. We were talking about enjoying a spark with
another person that we’d never feel again.
I
could give her everything she needed, but the emotions. She just
needed to learn that people like us? That’s all we needed. I let
her nipple go long enough to pull her into my arms and force the
dress up and over her head. I tossed the dress over my shoulder as I
used my other hand to pop her bra. By the time she lay back on the
table she only had her delicate black thong and heels on.
Beautiful.
Her
breasts were slightly rosy with desire. It was such a pretty color
against her bronze flesh. I captured her slightly darker nipple in my
mouth, grinding my hips against her. Her fingers tunneled through my
hair as she held me to her. Rolling her nipple with my tongue just to
hear her cry out again, I traced the inside of her thighs.
“So
pretty. How good will you taste?” I asked her. I kissed my way down
over her stomach, stopping long enough to dip my tongue in her navel.
Her body shook under my hands. Or maybe it was my hands. I didn’t
know, and I didn’t care. The most important thing for me was to
drink her down. To hear her scream my name.
I
nuzzled her groin. It was bare, and the skin there was smooth. I
nipped the sensitive flesh and then licked away the sting. Her skin
was like spun honey, sticky and moist, and so fucking amazing. The
crease on the inside of her thigh where it met her groin demanded
attention and I followed the line down with my tongue.
I
took a moment to sit back and grab my chair. I sat back down and
looked at her pussy. My breath came out hard and raspy as I admired
the tight lips and nub peeking out from its hood. Moisture leaked out
of her, making her shine. All for me. I’d done that. Gripping the
backs of her thighs, I pushed her legs up and out.
“Royce—”
she started by I popped her ass to shut her up.
“You
chose this, and it’s what I want. Has anyone, ever, just pleased
you? Have you ever had someone who couldn’t think of their own
pleasure because it was intrinsically combined with yours?”
She
stared at me, so I popped her ass again.
“Answer
me.”
“No,”
she said finally. “Never.”
“You
won’t be able to say that after tonight,” I promised her.
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Trailer:
Writing professionally since 2008, LeTeisha has spanned from Fantasy to Interracial Romance on her road to getting the jumping characters out of her head. Most days she’s pretty color blind, unless it’s a great shade of red (then she can’t ignore it). Other times she’s plotting her next twenty books and then remembering that the computer can’t read her thoughts and doesn’t type at lightning speed. Either way, she just can’t seem to get enough of quill to paper…or eh…keyboard strokes, apparently.
Thank you for having me!
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