Read the first chapter of House of Lies!

The countdown for House of Lies has begun! 

In just SEVEN short days, House of Lies will be live and ready to be devoured! 

I usually do full-price preorders, but it's been such a long time since I've launched a new book, I dropped the preorder price on this one to only $2.99! 

Now's the BEST time (and best price!) to grab your copy. 

FYI: Everyone who's already preordered will only pay $2.99! 

This is one spicy book, y'all! These are some of the hottest scenes I've ever written. Ethan and Cassidy's chemistry is off the damn charts, and I'm so here for it! 

Don't just take my word for it. Here is what early readers (some of whom finished this 380 page book in a single sitting!) are saying…

“So very 🌶️🥵 I just loved Ethan and Cassidy!"

“Steam city - 5/5 spice level. Page turner. Characters were well developed and the story line was gripping. Finished in a single sitting.”

“A wild ride. Amazing characters, a plot line that was enthralling, mysteries and lots of steamy and spicy scenes. ”

And just in case you think I'm talking a bunch of hooey, I'm gonna drop chapter one below for your reading pleasure…

FYI: This is definitely NSFW!

HOUSE OF LIES - CHAPTER ONE

The Devil

A breeze toys with her hair as the woman hurries down the sidewalk in her red-soled stilettos. Purple twilight above promises a bright, star-studded sky later tonight, the warm air perfect for a night of revelry.  

She snuggles deeper into her dark brown knee-length mink coat, tottering as the sidewalk becomes a little more uneven.  

No one should be out here alone.  

Especially not an easy target like her.

From the Hermès Kelly purse, to the four-inch Christian Louboutin shoes, everything about her screams opulence and luxury.  

Entitlement.  

There are a few nightclubs in this area, some within walking distance. But she should have chosen a brighter, busier route. One with more foot traffic.

Less dark alleyways.

Instead, she’s alone.  

Uneasiness wafts off her, mingling with the jasmine and amber notes of her Chanel perfume.  

The click-clack of her red-soled pumps is the only sound until she nears another dark alley. Then another sound emerges.  

Footsteps.  

These have a longer stride.  

A harder strike.  

Someone taller, heavier, wearing boots.  

She stiffens and then walks a little faster. Her ankles wobble precariously in her shoes, a perfectly styled section of her hair lifted by the breeze before settling against her fur coat.  

The woman clutches her purse tighter.  

Wraps her mink coat around her like a shield.  

But there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. As soon as she set foot on this sidewalk, she became fair game.  

As the entrance of the alleyway looms ahead, she dares to look back to see if her imagination is playing tricks on her.  

Her red lips form a wide O as her eyes travel up, up, up.  

Our eyes lock.  

She screams. She runs.  

But I catch her before she can take more than three steps in her silly shoes.  

I grab her around the waist, lifting her bodily and dragging her into the alleyway as she struggles and yells. She loses one shoe, then another, her soft little feet doing no damage to my shins despite how hard she kicks.  

There’s no need to take her deep into the alleyway. I know this place like the back of my hand…it’ll be one hell of a coincidence if someone walks past while I’m busy with her.  

But I always like to give them a little hope.  

Hope keeps them pliable, agreeable, sometimes even…docile.

My nose is filled with the scent of her. Perfume, hair products, leather, a touch of perspiration. When I shove her face-first against the plastered wall that makes up the back of some or other warehouse or packing plant, her gasp is both outraged and terrified. 

Entitled.  

Always so fucking entitled.  

I flip her around and fist her mink coat just below her throat, keeping her in place. She grabs my wrist with both hands, but just holds on, staring up at me with glassy eyes. The fight’s gone out of her, at least for now.  

She glances at the alleyway’s entrance as if begging someone to wander by and help.  

Stooping to put us at eye level, I grab her chin hard enough to make her whimper, and murmur, “No one’s coming to save you, Princess. It’s just you and me.”  

“P-Please—” she blurts through trembling lips “—I—I have money. You can have it. All of it.” She tries to open her purse, but I drag it down her arm and toss it behind me without even looking.  

Her face pales when I let out a dark chuckle. “Think I need your motherfucking permission, Princess?” I switch my grip to her throat, pinning her easily against the cold plaster wall. “If I want something, I’ll fucking take it.”  

“P-Please!” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes. “I have more. Lots more. As much as you want. Just don’t—don’t—”  

Her eyes squeeze closed when I lean in.  

“Don’t what?”  

I inhale her fear, my cock hardening painfully inside my jeans at the intoxicating scent. She mewls wordlessly when I lick the side of her face, trying to turn away, but held in place by the large, veiny hand around her throat.  

How careful I have to be not to snap her neck.  

Yet.  

“Don’t…hurt you?” I murmur into her ear before taking her diamond earring into my mouth and letting it clatter against my teeth. I tug it loose and turn to spit it over my shoulder. She trembles under me, her hands moving to my chest to push me away, fingernails clawing but finding no purchase on my worn leather jacket.  

“Don’t…kill you?” I tighten the grip around her throat and drag her until she’s on tiptoes. She wheezes, bashing her small fists against my arm and chest like it’ll somehow convince me to let her go.  

I take out my six-inch hunting knife and press the flat of the blade against her cheek.  

Her face goes deathly white. Her pupils are wide—too wide.  

She must be coked up, and I can smell alcohol on her breath as she pants in fear.  

Silly, silly woman. I bet she regrets that last line of cocaine. The too-sweet cocktail. Whatever else she indulged in tonight. Every decision she’s fucking made up to this point.  

But it’s too late.  

Releasing her throat, I slide my hand down her body, grabbing roughly at her breast. She shoots up to her toes again when I shove my hand between her legs, under the slit skirt of her black, figure-hugging dress. A dress that probably costs several months’s wages for most people.  

“Or is this what you’re afraid of, princess?”  

I rub my palm over her underwear hard enough to create even more heat between her legs. Her eyes are glued shut again, her lips pressed into a tight, trembling line. I trail the tip of the knife over her jaw, down her throat, between her collarbones. She goes still, only her hips moving from the force as I roughly massage her pussy.  

The tip of the knife slices effortlessly through the thin straps holding up her dress, but only once the second strap is sheared through does the bodice begin to sink. I use the tip of the knife to encourage it down even further, exposing her breasts to the warm night air.  

There’s barely any light left in the alleyway. A distant street light shines into the corridor, but stops several feet from where I have her pinned to the wall. But there’s enough ambiance for me to see the dark blade against her creamy flesh. To make out her nipples.  

She whimpers when I drag the tip of the blade over those hardened buds, and then again when I slip my fingers behind her underwear.  

I chuckle when warm arousal coats my fingertips.  

“Should have known. The dress, the hair…” I lean in to smell the side of her neck, making her turn her face away with a panicked mewl. “The perfume. You’re out hunting for a man, aren’t you?”  

Her gasp when I shove two fingers inside her pussy makes my cock crowd against my jeans, fully erect, painfully confined.  

Again. Harder.  

She blubbers out something incoherent, trying to close her legs.  

I pull my fingers out and drag them over her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it. Not when you’re so fucking wet.”  

Her lips tremble against my fingers. “No-no, please!”  

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Princess.” I grab her dress and use my knife to shear it in two.  

It happens so quickly that she’s still gasping and fumbling to hide her nakedness when I rip the fabric away from her with a jerk of my hand.  

Now all she’s wearing are her pretty little panties…and the fur coat.  

That’s when she screams again.  

I shear off her underwear next, and hold the knife against her throat as I unbuckle my belt. As I kick her feet apart. As I slap her pussy and smear her arousal over my cock, so fucking her won’t feel like sticking my dick in a sandpaper sock.  

“Wait, wait, wait!” she yells, slapping at me despite the tip of the knife dimpling the skin beneath her jaw. “Please! S-stop!”  

The terror in her voice is blatant in each shaking consonant. I pause, soaking in the sight of her.  

Mascara streaks down her face. Smudged lipstick. Disheveled hair.  

I trail the knife down her body, her stomach flattening in panic the lower I go. My other hand has a stranglehold on my cock, a white-knuckled fist moving slowly down the shaft. When the metal blade scrapes through the patch of curls above the woman’s pussy, a sob bursts out of her.  

“The D-Devil made me d-do it!” she stammers.  

My head is still down, only my eyes flicking up to look at her. “What did you say?”  

She licks her lips, hands slowly going to cover her breasts. There’s a little more power to her voice when she says, “The Devil made me do it.”  

I tilt my head at her. Releasing my cock, move the knife aside and replace it with my fingers, dragging them through her soaked pussy. “Are you sure?”  

Her jaw trembles, lips parting as I touch a thumb against her clit, then she gives me a quick, hard nod. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”  

I step back, wrestling my cock into my jeans. I study her for a moment, flipping the knife in one hand, catching it by the handle. Then I use it to point out of the alleyway.  

“Then you’d better run, Princess, and hope I don’t catch you. Because if I do, even the Devil can’t protect you.”

She doesn’t wait. Gripping her coat closed against her naked body, the woman sidles around me and bolts out of the alleyway, her hair flying. There’s a faint sob just before she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.  

I toss my knife again, shaking my head, and then fling it into the wall, where it slices into the plaster with a thud.  

“Fucking socialites,” I mutter, pulling my clothing straight and ripping the knife out of the wall.  

I leave the alleyway wearing a scowl, not bothering to collect the woman’s things.  

There’s people for that.