Spent (Wrecked #2) by Charity Parkerson

she had a brain cell left, ordering her to kiss him back, it was only because she needed to drive him on. Bailey feared if he stopped for a second, death would follow.
    She was certain she was climbing his body, seeking release, but Bailey couldn’t stop the out-of-control sensation trapping her. With her ass gripped between his hands, Sol hauled her against him. The instant his erection collided with her skin, Bailey exploded. Her orgasm took her knees out from underneath her. Only Sol’s hold kept her from falling. Pulling away, Bailey buried her face in the crook of his neck and fought for air. It didn’t matter that she didn’t need oxygen. Her body refused to give up the habit.
    His fingertips smoothed her spine as she slowly regained her senses. Whispered words brushed her ear, but hearing failed her. Before she realized what she was doing, Bailey placed a light kiss against his throat. A sense of nostalgia rolled over her. The way he smelled called to something trapped at the back of her mind. She snorted.
    “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’ll want next.”
    Sol shook with barely suppressed laughter. The low chuckle vibrated against her ear, making her smile. “I want your name.”
    His answer had her pulling back to see his face. “You know my name.”
    Sol’s smile didn’t falter. “Your full name.”
    Bailey shook her head in confusion. She didn’t understand why he wanted it, but it seemed simple enough. “It’s Bailey Leanne Dupart.”
    “Bailey Leanne Dupart.” It didn’t sound as if he was testing the name on his tongue. More like, he didn’t believe her.
    “You’re repeating my words again.”
    Sol’s grin grew. “You’re lying to me again, but that’s okay. Come find me when you remember your real name.” Bailey wanted to argue. Sol didn’t give her time. “Until then, take this.” He waved his hand over the book. A duplicate appeared. While Bailey stared in awe, Sol handed it over, along with the velvet bag he’d put together, adding, “And this. You said your apartment wouldn’t let you leave some days. That doesn’t happen unless a dark entity casts a spell, trapping you there. When you’re ready to accept you don’t belong there, turn the tables on your captor by keeping him locked inside. All you need to do is spread this across the entryway.”
    Suspicion she hated crept in. “Why are you helping me?” Because nothing was ever free, she knew.
    “Who says I am?”
    He looked a little too innocent for her liking. “I do.”
    “This isn’t help, Bailey,” he said, leaning in and brushing his lips across hers once more before pulling away. “This is greed.”

“I’d like to think I’ll leave this place one day, but I’m not sure that’s true. They can unlock the door any day, but it won’t matter. I’m trapped in a prison with no chains or bars. It will always be that way.”
    —Bailey’s Journal, B.D.
    Chapter 5
    Then…
    Wednesday nights were the only night Masked Image closed. Joe, the shop’s owner, probably wouldn’t have chosen to shut down then either, if it weren’t for the severe lack of customers on those nights. Bailey was thankful for the break. What she needed more than anything, besides Lucien, was alcohol. Lots of it. She couldn’t stand another night of searching her mind and the net for any sign Lucien was more than a dream. Her sanity couldn’t take it. Two months. It had been two months since the last time they’d spoken. One night, they were together. The next, poof, he was gone. No amount of searching turned up a single thing. It was as if Lucien Sephtis was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
    Three shots in, and with a fourth in hand, a solid warmth pressed against her back. Without having to look, she knew it was Lucien. She knew his scent. The exact way he felt. Everything. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from melting into his hold.
    “I’ve been looking for you.”
    Bailey snorted.