One of the most mind-blowing books I have EVER read, a book that simply left me speechless and desperate to tell everyone about it all at the same time, is Black Lies by Alessandra Torre. Faultlessly written, impeccably mapped out, this extraordinary book shows us how far a person is prepared to go for true love, how many sacrifices they are willing to make, and how far they would derail from their own moral compass just to make sure they never lose that unique love. A story of pure genius, it is absolutely no wonder that it has made the New York Times Best Seller list three weeks in a row. So, to celebrate this epic achievement, Alessandra Torre has graciously agreed to write us an extended ending, to thank her fans for loving Layana, Brant and Lee as much as she does.
Two Years Later
“Hannah!” I stood at the base of the stairs and yelled, my voice floating up into nothing, silence the only thing in response. It’s official. This house is too big. There’s no earthly way to fill it, only a hundred ways to hide in it. I listened hard, for steps, for giggles, but there was nothing.
I turned, jogging down the steps, my bare feet hitting the floor as I quickened my steps. We were going to be late. We were going to be late and this demon of a child was hiding. That’s fine. She could hide from me. Morton would find her. I moved to the master suite, pushing open the door and letting out a low whistle, the entire bed shaking until two giant paws peeked from underneath, the black and brown pads stretching and pulling until his nose, ears, then upper body wormed into view, a giant rawhide in his jaws. “Drop that,” I scolded, bringing my hand from a fist to open, the hand motion one he knew, the soggy bone dropping to the floor with a wet smack. The Rottweiler looked at me, his ears up. Waiting.
“Hannah. Seek.” I opened the door behind me and stepped back. “Go.” He didn’t hesitate, bounding through the doorway, the scrape of paws on stone making him easy to follow, his journey interrupted by occasional pauses and sniffs before leading me to the pantry door. He sat immediately outside it and stared, putting his front paws out, the signal one he had been taught. I left the pantry alone, opening up a cabinet and grabbing a glass jar of treats, his eyes following me, training ignored in the presence of bacon. “Morton…” I warned. He snapped his eyes back to the door, the only sign of breakage his tail nub, which beat out a happy rhythm on the floor. I bent down and fed him the treat.
“Hannah,” I called out. “You’re cornered. Either come out with your hands raised, or I’m sending in Mort.”
“Go ahead!” The defiant voice inside made me smile. “I’m not going to piano lessons. I hate them!”
“I’m warning you…” I said slowly and with a side of menace. “He’s extra drooly today. And just ate a squirrel from the yard. He’s got gut breath.”
Silence. Then a giggle. “He doesn’t eat squirrels. He—”
The remainder of her sentence was lost as I flung open the door and Morton jumped into action, launching himself into the deep space, her shrieks hitting my ears as he became a blur of licks, nuzzles and fur, his paws pining her down as he gave her his best version of a hug.
“Mercy!” she screamed! “Mercy! I’ll go!”
I smiled. “Morton. Return.”
He paused, turning his head back to me as he scowled, his tongue hanging out, the beg of one more lick in his eyes. “Go. Return.” He wheeled, his feet trotting back and I watched him return in the direction of the bedroom, my mind imagining the shake of the bedframe as he wiggled back into his favorite spot.
I turned back to the pantry to find Hannah standing, her hands making an elaborate show of wiping off her shirt. “Ready?”
“I guess,” she grumbled.
* * *
We weren’t going to piano lessons. Had Hannah been paying attention, she’d have realized that it was Tuesday, not Wednesday. But piano lessons were an easier distraction than the truth. Had I mentioned the doctor, she would have asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. The girl should write an encyclopedia one day with the answers of all of her questions.
I called Brant from the car, putting it on privacy mode and holding the phone to my ear.
“Where are you?” his greeting quick and to the point.
“Just left the house.”
“You’re going to be late.” I could picture him, calculating the time and distance in his head. “Don’t speed,” he added, as an afterthought. “Take your time. I’m already here.”
“Good. I was worried you’d get caught up at work.” I hadn’t been too worried. My absent man of before was gone. Brant didn’t miss appointments or disappear. His close team at BSX knew his condition, us all playing a constant game of watching, keeping an eye out for any signs of concern.
“I wouldn’t miss this. You know that.”
I smiled. I knew.
One month earlier. The push of his hands on my hips, forcing me back until I hit his office door, his hand reaching down, twisting the lock, his mouth hot on mine, need coursing through his kiss as his hands traveled back and dug into my ass. He pushed his hips forward and squeezed with his hands, tilting me up against his body as he groaned into my mouth like a horny teenager. “Right now,” he whispered, his fingers greedy as they moved up and yanked at the waist of my jeans.
“Shh,” I hushed, aware of the thud of us against the door, his body hard against mine, his need overriding any casual desire to keep our impending f*ck from his secretary.
“Get these off,” he growled, his hands frustrated with my shorts, his mouth moving to my neck as he worked at his own slacks.
“Brant – I can’t – I’m late…” I gasped, my hands misbehaving, twisting the button and shoving the silk shorts down, one foot stepping out of them, the second half of my sentence lost as his hand moved fast, pushing my free leg out, his fingers slipping down and into me, my eyes dropping closed as the press inside of me hit *there* – the spot that I couldn’t say no to.
“Just let me make you cum. Give me two minutes.” His plea made no sense, his cock already sticking out from the open fly of his pants, bare and ready. Bumping against my stomach as he moved his fingers and drove me crazy.
“Two minutes,” I gasped, gripping his shoulder, letting him pin me against the wall, my legs unhelpful in this moment in time. “Then I’ve got a meeting upstairs.”
“F*ck the meeting.” He curved his fingers inside of me and started to f*ck me with them, short hard thrusts that had my orgasm running full force to the edge of the cliff, ready to fly.
“Your cock. Now.” I gasped, wanting to come from more than his fingers, wanting the full connection. These intense f*cks, these moments when I feel Lee, can see him in Brant’s eyes, in the rough touch of a man who can’t control himself, of a man who takes rather than asks, and expects everything without argument… when I get this side of Brant I want as much as I can get, want to push the envelope of being used with being pleased. Want to let my husband f*ck me in his office with twenty people on the other side of the door. Want to let him take me, order me, make me beg.
“I don’t have a condom.” A Brant comment.
“I’m skipping the meeting, you can skip the condom.” I’m not gonna make it, can’t hold off this orgasm, his fingers getting stronger, harder, the darkening look in his eyes at my words pushing me ohmygodIcan’t….
I didn’t know when he shoved in, didn’t know when or how his fingers moved aside and the rhythm didn’t falter but suddenly I was full. Full of raw masculinity, thick and coarse and rough. Taking my orgasm and blowing it into pieces. His hand slamming against the door as his other pinned me into place and f*cked me senseless. My name, yelled from his lips as he pounded… pounded… pounded, each thrust fast and quick, as if he had lost all control, all sense, his mouth biting my neck for a brief moment before he swore out a string of words and came, his movements suddenly longer and deeper, burying fully before pulling slowly, my name a repeating crescendo on his lips before he finally stopped.
“You there?” The worry in his voice snapped me back to the present.
“Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking about what got us into this mess.” I smiled.
“Stop. You’re going to get me hard right here, in this waiting room.” The husk of his voice made me laugh.
“Then you stop. I’m about to pull in.” I ended the call, waiting for, and getting the question as soon as I turned into the office complex.
“This isn’t Mrs. Hobbins’ house. Where are we?” My little demanding child, her voice raised in indignation from the back seat.
“The doctor’s office.”
“I’m not sick.”
“It’s not for you.”
Silence. It was such an unusual response that I turned, glancing back as I unbuckled the seatbelt, surprise flooding me at the tears in her eyes, her small face scrunched up. Weakness on the child made of steel. “It’s okay, Hannah. Nothing’s wrong.”
I reached back, hitting the release on her booster seat, her small body moving through the SUV and colliding with my chest. I cursed myself. Hannah’s mother died of cancer. I should have thought, should have…. “It’s not a sick doctor, Hannah. Everything is fine.”
“Like Dr. Terra?” She sniffed, her hands quick to pull on my shirt, wipe her eyes.
“Well… not exactly. Dr. Terra is a psychologist. Be patient. Don’t cry. You’ll understand when we get inside.”
“I’m not crying,” she sniffed, her eyes glaring at me, telltale tears still wet where she missed them in cleanup.
“Okay.” I kissed her cheek and opened the door. “Child who does not cry, get off of my lap before you crush me to death.”
She wiggled off, launching herself towards the pavement, her feet hitting squarely and spinning her around to me. She held out a hand with importance, and I gripped it, shutting the door and walking towards the doctor’s office. Pushing open the door to Moran Family Planning & Pregnancy, I came face to face with Brant, his eyes on mine, his face dropping as he placed a quick kiss on Hannah’s head before leaning in to brush my lips.
“Ready?” he asked. I looked past him, at the nurse who stood behind him, waiting.
I nodded. “I’m ready. Let’s go confirm this.”
Then, each of my hands held with my family, we stepped towards the next piece of our future.
© 2014 Alessandra Torre