Reaching For Emeralds

by Lacee Hightower

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Lacee Hightower

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-678-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: CA Clauson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Ric … anyone who knew him knows why.

  REACHING FOR EMERALDS

  Beautiful People, 3

  Lacee Hightower

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  Who gets to prosecute the dirty prosecutors?

  The first time the beautiful bastard waltzed into the courtroom, I’d heard of him. Knew he was ruthless and more than often cruel. Understood that our chances at winning against him were next to impossible.

  Assumed he was an old guy with thinning hair and a bulging gut.

  My instincts failed me … miserably, goose bumps billowing on my body like a biting chill in the air when the Texas temperature was a scorching ninety-something degrees outside. Obscene delusions of him taking me from behind blurring my thoughts when I couldn’t understand why I was having disturbing fantasies at a trying time like this.

  Inside the courtroom that he seemed to own, every time he made an entrance, the temperature rose some ten degrees. It was always the same thing when he entered—place his belongings down in front of him, slowly remove his suit jacket and carefully fold it over the back of his seat, then turn around and take a quick look at the surroundings as he ran a hand across his stubble-shaded jaw. He carried himself with a mature, poised and polished sexy confidence, like a man who didn’t easily accept no as an answer. If my perceptions were correct, this powerhouse of a man challenged anything less than a yes.

  Making a presence that first day that demanded to be seen, he was dressed in a black suit impeccably fitted to his long lean build. What was undoubtedly a body ripped with cut lines and beautifully chiseled muscle, flexed with every move he made underneath the two-thousand-dollar tailor-made jacket with black shirt and matching tie. The shoes he wore underneath all black were a rust color, matching the tint of his unusually luminous eyes. The entire courtroom watched him when he arrived, though he acted as if the room was vacant. The sudden surge of attention didn’t even get so much as a smile or nod of the head as he and his assistant carried on a quiet conversation, a small smile finally stretching over his lips at something his fellow attorney said.

  The first time my glare drifted leisurely from his breathtaking face that resembled someone famous, then down and over his firm chest before stopping at the peak that angled just between his torso and upper thighs, my hands began to tremble and I knew my head was everywhere it shouldn’t be. He’d looked up almost as if he felt me watching him, his stare cutting deep through mine before a trace of a grin covered his egotistical-filled, thick lips, hitting a raw nerve in me.

  This was Jackson Shipman, District Attorney for Dallas County. The cold-hearted, beautiful bastard who ruined lives without the blink of an eye. Here for one reason—to convict my father and send him to prison.

  As usual, nobody stood a chance against the ruthless prosecutor.

  Convicted on theft, my daddy never had a chance, our Defense no rival. We knew that going in. Every mistake he’d made in his business career had been presented and used against him.

  Jackson Shipman was the best of the best. Losing was a rarity.

  So damn full of himself, the only time he’d spoken directly to me was outside the courtroom minutes after my dad had been led away. So much I wanted to say as he approached me, the words wouldn’t form.

  “Do you have something you want to ask me, Ms. Richardson?” My body jolted at his tone. His eyes bled cold, stone-hearted lack of emotion, sexuality seeping from every pore of his body.

  “Do you have any semblance of a heart at all, Mr. DA?” I’d pompously asked.

  With a parting, self-absorbed nod, his response had been quick and callous. “No, Ms. Richardson. I never have. Good day.”

  I hated this man more than any one single thing in the world.

  But now, the trial was over and I had the advantage. As luck may have it, I’ve learned all the details about Jackson Shipman’s kinked-up needs and dark expectations, and just what he likes in a woman.

  Dark hair … Flawless skin … Light eyes … Submissive.

  Ironic as it is that my closest friend ended an eight-week contract with our fellow DA a few short months ago, if things went my way, retribution waited right around the corner for the kinky District Attorney. Against all the rules of Venture, the fetish club the two of them belong to, divulging information on any Dom is grounds for permanent removal from the club. Yet, she’s my best friend. We tell each other everything. She knows exactly what gets the District Attorney’s filthy goat. The way his eyes darken when he’s about to come. The small shuddering of his legs when he’s being sucked off.

  At twenty-three years old, I have no family left. He’s taken everything. And now … the only thing deemed important is making sure I walk away Jackson’s newest submissive at Venture’s next auction. If I can get lucky enough to accomplish that, then I know I can make him fall in love with me. That’s always been easy enough. Still a virgin, I’ve been unable to care enough for someone to give up my most valuable property—my virginity. Jackson will be no different. I loathe the very sight of him. I could never care for him.

  Yet, I can easily make him think I do. Let him break through my most intimate body part for the first time. Lure him in with my southern charm. Make him fall long and hard, knowing I’ll never return any of such a callous creature’s feelings.

  This will simply be a game of revenge. My game.

  Sweet and short-lived. Just long enough to earn the beautiful bastard’s heart.

  Then… I’ll crush his.

  Chapter One

  Layla

  “Layla. Sweetheart, no. This is outrageous. You can’t possibly pull something like this off. Jackson Shipman is basically a sadist. I don’t think you really understand what all that involves.” Of course, I knew. I’d read. Watched movies.

  “You’re not like me. You’re anything but submissive. Especially the type he requires. He’ll chew you up and spit you out like you’re garbage. A bat of those pretty thick eyelashes or your sweet southern accent isn’t going to matter two shits in his world. You can’t lure a man like Jackson in. I can guarantee you, the only pretense of a heart in him is strictly between his legs.”

  Her reasoning made perfect sense. I wasn’t like Joslyn. I didn’t need a special type of sex to satisfy me. Until now, I hadn’t really felt the need for sex at all. At twenty-three, I’d had boyfriends. Messed around. Come close. Labeled a tease by more than one man, for me, sex was a spiritual kind of connection. Not something I took lightly.

  Until … Jackson.

  “I can do this, Joslyn. And I will. For my dad. It’s all I have left,” I added, rubbing at the leftover tears that I’d shed oceans of.

  “Layla, this isn’t something you decide over pizza and beer. You don’t just become submissive. It’s in here, sweetheart.” Long, red-tipped fingernails tapped at her chest. “It’s in your soul. Please forget this. I have money saved. We’ll get you in school. You can still reach your dream.”

  “No. Please…i
f you care anything about me, show me how to get Jackson Shipman to fall for me. Teach me his likes and dislikes. Show me what I’ll have to endure.”

  “Jesus, Layla.” Hellbent on keeping me from following through with perhaps the craziest idea of my life, Joslyn knew it was a huge longshot. I knew it, too. But I also knew what she was thinking as she stared at my cleavage. My body was my biggest advantage. We both knew I could make a living using it if I so chose. I’d thought about it a million times when Daddy sat with his head hanging between his hands, worrying how to pay all the debt after everything started fizzling away and going straight into the attorney’s bank account that hadn’t even been able to save him.

  Now my biggest challenge, quite possibly in my life, was luring in the man I’d dreamed of dozens of times to return the feelings and want my body just as badly as I wanted his.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But I don’t like this one bit, Layla. And I want you to remember one thing.”

  “Okay, Jos,” I whispered.

  “When people treat you like they don’t care, you should believe them. Men like Jackson don’t have feelings. He uses women to his benefit only. They’re his indulgence.”

  “Okay. When do we get started?” I blurted out, refusing to consider anything but success.

  Blessed with a pretty face and shapely body, men had stumbled over their own feet and lost all ability to speak around me since I was fifteen. Yet, to me it was the furthest thing from a blessing. It made me uncomfortable. Only made other girls start ugly untrue rumors and refuse to be my friend. I didn’t care about my looks all that much. I only wanted to go to culinary school and own a bakery one day. Watering mouths and ogling eyes every time I walked past a man wasn’t even flattering. Gnarly cat calls were demoralizing. I didn’t appreciate being on display. I simply wanted to be taken seriously. Treated like a person with a brain. Not a set of nicely-shaped tits and a pretty face.

  Today though, I realized my physical attributes might finally help me get what I need most—retribution for my dad’s downfall.

  Daddy went to a minimum-security prison.

  Thirty-seven days later, he was dead by hanging.

  Lots of nights, he’s still in my dreams. At home, we’re playing Candyland, eating Cheetos and drinking Hawaiian Punch. Every morning when I wake, I try to go back to sleep. Return to my dreams. But they’re no longer anything but distant memories.

  So, my priorities have changed.

  To grabbing our local District Attorney by the balls.

  And squeezing. Crushing. Flattening.

  Until nothing is left but a big empty space of nothing.

  I want him to endure every bit of hurt my dad did.

  The hopelessness. Loneliness. Failure.

  I pray that one day Jackson Shipman experiences the same.

  Chapter Two

  Jackson

  Mother of Christ! Uptight as hell today, the tension in my body needed relief. This was the best way to remedy that situation—getting laid.

  I didn’t care to see anyone except the stranger that was waiting for me behind the Mystery Room door. Small talk was the last thing on my mind. Going over the short conversation I’d had on the drive here with Seth, the edginess in my body only grew.

  “Oh, shit,” Sam said, our bodies colliding as we both stared down at our phones. “Sorry about that Jackson. Everything is a go. Go on in when you’re ready. She’s been waiting.”

  With a polite smile, I wanted nothing more than to ignore Sam altogether. Except, of course, I didn’t want to come across as a complete asshole.

  “Thank you, Sam,” I answered firmly.

  “By the way, it’s been too long. We miss your face.” With a quick nod, conversation wasn’t coming easy today. I continued walking with no response. Truth be known, I was wound up as fuck.

  The room was a nice, cold, sixty-seven degrees, the faint glimmer of brightness next to non-existent, both preferences of mine. Adjustable lighting as well as air-conditioning and heat, I preferred just the bare minimum amount of light in the windowless, dark-walled room. Only enough that I could see the outline of the woman I was with, as well as the shine in her eyes.

  Everything at Venture was treated with the strictest of rules and anonymity, and even though the masks they provided didn’t keep a person from recognizing each other at a later date, they still yielded just the smallest hint of secrecy. Openly at my wits ends after a completely shitty day, I personally didn’t give a fuck whether we wore them or not.

  I’d been one of the club’s first VIP members when Tyler Yates and Justin Wisely first opened Venture, well before my sister met Justin. Whether it was watching or participating in couples acting out scenes, enjoying time with a sub in a private sex room, or visiting their biggest attraction, The Mystery Room, it was all done with the utmost of privacy and first-rate class. I didn’t share my dick with the public and currently preferred either a private room or the Mystery Room, other than the auctions that I took part in, time permitting. My visits limited, due to my workload, when I got the unexpected call about an opening late this afternoon, I couldn’t refuse.

  My expectations were precise. Dark hair, light skin and eyes, and five foot six or over in stature. The women were all made aware upfront that bondage and deep play may or may not be involved. They were also told that I didn’t partake in small talk and never had a second meeting with any of them. This was incognito sex between two consenting adults. Words weren’t necessary, other than the bare minimum. A woman’s bodily response was all I needed.

  The long-haired, leggy brunette was on top of the bed, bare, her breathing anxious and heavy, half her face covered, yet enough visible to see that she was beautiful. The faint smell of her perfume filled my senses as I slowly stripped out of my clothes and removed two condoms from my pants pocket. As always, there was the small thread of uncertainty, but ultimately that was part of the thrill.

  Restraints streamed from each corner of the bed, which I wouldn’t be using. No intentions of anything besides deep, hard fucking, I’d decided against any of the floggers, whips, spreader bars or anything else in the room. Unless, of course, she gave me a sign that she’d like something a little darker.

  Easing my body beside her, I settled my hand on her chest, relishing in the feel of her rising pulse, along with the hitch in her breath that hardened my dick. I trailed my fingers down and over her small breasts, rolling the instantly hardened nipples between my fingers.

  She moaned quietly. She liked her breasts being tweaked so I squeezed the tight buds a good bit harder to give her the sting she obviously enjoyed. Her hands grabbed mine, pushing them against her even further, a silent message that she wanted more of what I was doing. Her breath was getting stronger, her hips rising every time I tugged at the rock-hard nipples. She was already getting close when I hadn’t even come near her sex. I lifted her delicate hands and lowered them to my cock, guiding her up and down my length to familiarize her with my size. Another relatively silent moan slid up her throat as she squeezed and quickened the pace a little. My own silent groan building behind my chest, I was rock hard. I needed release. And she was wet as fuck. Her scent was addictive.

  This is what made the whole Mystery Room adventure so compelling. The women were all beautiful. Completely in tune with their sexuality, looking for nothing but an hour or so of erotic, lustful, nameless sex or playtime, with no rules or expectancy.

  I slid my hand through her bare, slick crease. Her hips rose to meet me when I pushed two fingers deep inside her moist channel, using the side of my arm to widen her legs. After only seconds of riding my fingers, she was urging me on top of her. Jesus, she didn’t even want me to lick her pussy. That was perfectly fine with me—this time. I reached for the condom package that I absolutely detested and ripped it open with my teeth, rolling the thin latex over my beaded cock. Again, she tugged at my arm, whimpering.

  She was anxious as hell.

  Unusual, I would have normally been
turned off by all the urgency, not tasting her first or having my dick sucked, but this chick was all about getting down to the main event. Right now, that was fucking hot.

  I rolled her on top of me, her legs instantly straddling my hips as she pushed her impatient sex down onto me, taking every inch in one long, brutal thrust.

  Christ!

  Almost immediately, she was rocking her hips, riding me like I wasn’t a thick nine inches of hard muscle, throwing her head back as she reached for my shoulders. The sound of skin on skin suffused the room. I reached for her ass, pulling her forward, making sure her clit brushed the base of my cock with each thrust as I gently eased a finger in her ass.

  “Yes,” she whimpered, totally getting off to both openings being taken. Maybe the second condom would be used in her ass.

  Fucking like it was our last time, the cold temperature of the room didn’t keep beads of sweat from rolling off my forehead, her sex muscles strengthening as she rode me like there was no tomorrow. I was thirty seconds from releasing the backed-up load that was heavy in my balls.

  Holy fuck, this chick was insane. Her fingertips dug into my shoulders as she hammered against me, squeezing my cock with every thrust. I slid my finger from her back hole and reached for her clit, rubbing it with my thumb before giving it a good tight pinch. Her head fell forward into my neck as an orgasm pounded through her, my wad shooting straight up my dick to join her.

  I eased out and rolled off the condom, dropping it into the trash can. Fuck, that was nice. After a few minutes of recovery, maybe I’d take her in her tight little back hole.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, rolling off the bed and slipping into the connected bathroom.