All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
BEAUTIFUL LIES (BOOK ONE) is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright ©2015 by Charlene Antrobus
Cover Art by Charlene Antrobus
Edited by Holly Baker
BOOKS BY SHARLAY
Living With The Bad Boy
The Boy Who Paints Me
Beautiful Lies: Book One
To those people who no longer believe
in love...it exists...it lives...
verything feels perfectly right until it all goes wrong.
That was the story of my life. Everything was
or at least I thought it was. I was that happy, carefree girl that you would see in a shampoo commercial, smiling away and flicking her hair. My eyes were filled with innocence...a lack of pain or loss.
It’s amazing that we are fooled into thinking that we truly know who we are, when in fact, we don’t. We don’t truly know who we were before the experiences of life changed us. We don’t remember and can no longer relate to the purest form of us that ever existed because too much has happened since then. Too much has broken us and molded us. We’ve been shaped into a survival mode action figure, and yet we spend most days of our lives oblivious to it. I don’t. I see it every day. Every time that my eyes flicker open and reality sets in; every time that I am haunted by a memory of how it used to be. What it used to feel like to be
But there was a time...
When I was happy that is...
Gosh, there was a time.
Life was so good back then. Everything was so perfectly right until it all went
wrong. A year ago, I was
girl who had everything that she wanted, until one night changed it all...
“Paige,” Rick calls.
My smile widens at the sound of my name on his lips.
“I’m coming,” I reply, walking toward him.
“Can I show you something?” He asks.
I nod in response, letting my tiny hand get swallowed up in his. He leads me to the unknown destination and I feel excited. The art gallery looks even more beautiful at night. The walls are slightly off white and the only colors that decorate the entire building are those from each of the individual paintings. They are exquisite and they each tell a beautiful story if you truly study them. My heels make a gentle tapping noise against the smooth wooden floor but it sounds so loud in the midst of the silence.
“It’s nice like this, isn’t it?” He whispers as though someone might hear him.
“I have something that I really want you to see tonight,” he says smiling.
“Ok,” We walk in silence for a few moments just enjoying each other’s presence.
“Do me a favor, close your eyes,” he looks down at me.
His hands slip around my waist and I feel the breath escape my body. Everywhere that his fingers touch, tingles in excited anticipation. “Keep them closed,” he whispers in my ear as he guides me forward. I lean into him slightly and hear his quiet intake of breath. My heart is beating in my chest and my entire body feels warm. We come to a slow stand still and I know to open my eyes before he even says a word.
My eyes fall immediately on what I know that he has brought me to see. I stare at it in awe. It’s amazing and so intricate. I step forward, leaving the embrace of his arms. Smiling, I stare at the painting in admiration.
“It’s me,” I whisper.
“Yes, happy second year anniversary,” he says quietly as he pulls my body back against his. I mold into him naturally. It feels good.
“It’s beautiful,” I feel strange saying it since it’s a portrait of me. “Who did it?”
“His name is Fredrico Lamar, a new artist. I am considering his work for the gallery. What do you think?”
“I think that he is amazing and you’d be crazy to miss out on him,” I say honestly.
“Yes, I couldn’t agree more.” He turns me to face him slowly. I look up into his eyes and he is gazing at me in the same way that I was looking at the painting. I see love in his eyes. He doesn’t need to tell me, I read it in his every expression. I thought that the feelings may have dulled after two years but they only expanded...became heightened...
His face moves closer to mine, our lips meet and I am filled with the taste, smell and intoxicating feeling of him. I drink it in like a starved vampire and it fills my veins, excites me. He pulls me closer--if that is even possible.
My hands find their way to the nape of his neck and I draw his lips nearer. All that can be heard in the silence of the gallery is the sound of our breathing. I’m lost to his lips because they remind me of a first kiss. It’s intoxicating and new. I draw away for a moment. “What if someone walks in?” I ask, staring up at him.
“I own the gallery, Paige. No one comes in without my say so,” he smirks. Then he kisses me again and the previous conversation never even existed. His tongue fills my mouth, imprinting me with the taste of him forever. I can’t get enough of him. I
will. I love him. My mind tells me this over and over again and I kiss him deeper, with more need and desperation than before. I hear a groan escape his lips and I am lost.
He lifts me in his arms, never breaking the kiss. He uses his hands to gently wrap my legs around his waist. I squeeze his body tightly with my thighs, a secret language that I know he understands...
I need more.
In a flash he slams my back against one of the gallery walls. My eyes never open so I can’t say where we are positioned and honestly I don’t even care. My legs slip slowly to the ground, sliding against the contours of his taut body on the way down. Everywhere that our skin touches, leaves behind a tingling sensation. I hear noises from the depths of my own body that sound foreign. I’m hot and he is sweating. My palms are sticky and my lips are swollen. His hands are undoing the buttons of my shirt at speed, and before I can even register or work out how, it is a purple puddle on the floor. My hands respond by lifting his shirt over his head. I throw it...where...I do not know. My hands trace his naked chest. I want him so much in this moment. He moves my hands to the side of my body and pulls me flush against him. I feel his flesh against mine and every hair stands on edge.
His fingers trail the dips of my flesh stopping at the band of my pants. His hands tease the zip of my pants before he slowly pulls it down. I watch him in eager anticipation. His every move turning me on a little bit more. He guides the tight material down my body, lowering himself with every move. He lifts my feet one by one, gently removing it from the material. His lips touch the skin on my thighs and I gasp. My eyes close instinctively so I can focus solely on where I can feel him. I feel dizzy but he holds me tighter. He trails soft almost none existent kisses up my inner thighs and my body screams for him. He leaves a trail of wet kisses up the line of my torso. I twitch as he makes contact with the sensitive areas of skin. His lips land on my neck and my eyes open. I focus on a painting across the way, but it doesn’t make sense to me right now. Nothing other than him and what he is doing to me makes any sense. His lips are soft but demanding, as he sears the skin from my collar bone to my neck. He pulls back for a second to look into my eyes. My heart beat increases rapidly and my eyes will not leave his. A confident smile laces his lips before he claims my mouth again. Without words, he is telling me that I am his, and I obey without question.
My hands find the belt of his jeans and go to work at making them disappear. Too much material...not enough contact. His kisses distract me and I’m not even sure when his trousers came off.
Did I take them off? Or did he take over?
Who cares, they’re gone and all that separates us is our underwear. A simple black lace set and a pair of navy blue Calvin Klein boxers. Hands...his, slide up the length of my back and undo the clips to my bra. His eyes are focused on mine as he strips me bare. I’m so turned on...only a reaction this man can produce. He slides the material down my arms, letting it fall lazily to the floor. I keep my eyes on his as I slide the soft cotton from his damp body. He steps out of them and kicks them away from himself, before pulling me closer. I feel the moment that his thumbs find the edge of my lace panties. His warm breath fans my ear.
“Last but not least,” he whispers before they disappear from my body. And in an instant, I stand naked before the man that I have spent the last two years of my life loving. In this moment I love him more. He steps back and stares at me in my natural form. He smiles.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“That,” he says gesturing toward the painting of me, to our left, “it’s amazing, but you, you leave me completely speechless, Paige.”
He moves forward; slow, careful, meaningful steps toward me.
His hands travel deliberately up the outsides of my thighs and I close my eyes. I’m panting. I have no control over it, but I hear it.
My body is lifted in the air. My eyes open. They lock with his. He never takes his eyes off mine. He watches me so intensely that I want to squirm under his gaze but I don’t. I keep my eyes locked on his. “Wrap them around me,” he gestures toward my legs. I follow his command without hesitation. His eyes never leave mine as he slides my hands above my head and pins them against the gallery wall. “I love you,” he whispers before I feel him enter me languidly...softly. I gasp as he fills me, touching every part of me; making us
in the most exquisite way. He smiles at me again before his lips touch mine. This time, he kisses me gently as though I am a piece of breakable glass. His thrusts are deep and slow, filling me with his love every time that he re-enters. Every movement speaks of a new emotion between us. A secret emotion.
“I love you, too. Happy two year anniversary,” I smile.
“Yeah,” he smiles, too.
Right there in the gallery, in the silence of the night, surrounded by pure beauty, we give each other the most precious pieces of our entire being.
* * *