All the Beautiful Lies: Book 1

By Sarah Atlas

When a single soft kiss comes from someone she least expects, Aleah Clayton’s dormant desires come to life, catapulting her on a tantalizing and mesmerizing journey of sexual awakening.

Will her fantasies become reality? Can all the wrong choices lead to the right answer? This much is true...

Passion Always Comes with a Price

This book contains explicit material and is intended for mature readers.

“I love everything about this book. What an amazing story of strength, beauty, and power.”
—AL Penn

“I stayed up until 2 a.m. to finish this. It is a page-turner. It is BRILLIANT.” —JR Leinen

“Ouch! These pages are hot!!!” —M Zvezda

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Atlas
• Release date: Feb 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310400001

Sarah Atlas

Sarah Atlas doesn’t remember a time when she didn’t know how to read. She filled her childhood with books and started spinning stories at an early age, writing her first novel with a friend in seventh grade. Her earliest forays into erotica started in college. All the Beautiful Lies, a mainstream erotica, is her first published novel. Sarah lives with her family in Austin, Texas. Please join her story club (free!) at www.sarahatlas.com to keep up with the latest.

Book preview

All the Beautiful Lies

Passion Always Comes with a Price

Book 1

by

Sarah Atlas

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or brief excerpts as described in the FAIR USE Act.

Second Edition

2016

Parnassus Cloud Publishing, LLC

Austin, Texas

Book One

I can’t recount how often I’ve been implored to write this book, to tell this story, and each time I have resisted. Fear has held me back. Fear of exposure and of revenge. Even now I am haunted.

But clutching this to my chest, holding it in, knowing that if I don’t share this with you of all people—this haunts me more. You deserve this story and this compels me to write.

Regrets collect like old friends… I can still feel the whispering caress of his hand on my cheek, his words to me: People need to know, Aleah. People need to know how good it can be. And how bad, I think.

And so, I tell you my tale. While I fear you may not like me in the end, I’m not going to make it pretty. I’m not going to gloss over the strangeness of it all. I will be honest, though, and so even if you hate me, which I expect you will, you will understand me. You will know your own power. More than anything, that is what I hope for.

We don’t always recognize the moments that alter our path in life and send us ricocheting through the universe, out of control. Sometimes the action in those moments is so slight, so seemingly inconsequential … It’s not until much later that we comprehend their significance. But when we cast our glance back, we notice the light breeze that grew until it changed the tides of the ocean. For me, the breeze stirred on New Year’s Eve. I’ve always hated that holiday. Crowded streets, ever-flowing alcohol, and icy roads never seemed like a good combination. We were supposed to play poker with the boys. At least that took place in the neighborhood.

Glen was sick. I wasn’t feeling great either—my throat hurt a little—but given the choice between a neighborhood poker tourney or staying home with my miserable husband, I decided I wasn’t nearly ill enough to miss out on Hold ’em. I grabbed some Sucrets, tucked Glen in, left a humidifier running, and drove to the game without him.

Frost crackled in the gravel as I walked the path to our friend Erik’s man cave. You could maybe even call it a man lair. The thing was an enormous suite with a bathroom, full wet bar, band room, and the card room. I crossed the threshold into warmth. Hey guys, I said, shaking off my jacket.

Hey Aleah, a few called back. We had fourteen players. It was a two-table night. I paid my entrance fee, found my seat, and settled in to count my chips. I loved the rich black suede, the way the cards slid across it, the thick oaken beams Erik had used when he’d meticulously made the tables by hand. I was the only woman at the table. I’m sure they would have welcomed more; it’s just that none of their girls were interested. I loved the game.

However, this night I was mostly card dead. Sometimes lady luck is just like that, smiling on other people. I made the final table, but two poor decisions put me out of chips early, around eleven. Normally I’d just go home. It was New Year’s, though. The other guys who’d busted out already were hanging in the band room. I felt like I should stay up but I was too tired to move, so I watched the boys play for a bit. The cards rolled out and hit the table, rolled out and hit the table. The world grew hazy through my tired eyes. I could barely tell what was on the board. Hand after hand, it got so all I was seeing was red and black. Maybe I was sicker than I thought. My eyes drifted shut.

The world grew quiet and I caught myself on the verge of sleep. I blinked and jounced myself back awake in time to hear Blake Porter announce, I’m all in. His large hands swallowed his chips as he shoveled them onto the playing field.

Good luck, all in, I said out of sheer force of habit. He threw me his best puppy-dog grin and winked at me.

You back with us, Sleeping Beauty?

I wasn’t snoring, was I?

He shook his head; no, he was just teasing.

I looked at the board. King of spades, queen