Liars Like Us

48

Trembling now, I wrap both hands around his thick forearm and stare up at him in growing anxiety. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. The words are trapped in my throat.

But words become unnecessary when he leans down and kisses me.

He takes my lower lip between his teeth and bites it. Then he licks the sting away and kisses me again, this time until I’m breathless, squirming, and starting to sweat. My pulse is going wild now, thudding hard against my rib cage. My breathing is fast and shallow. My skin prickles with heat.

Sliding his hand from my neck down to my chest, he cups one of my breasts. When he breaks the kiss to suck on my rigid n****e right through my camisole, I gasp.

Then he bites it.

The pleasure is intense. The moan I make is loud and involuntary.

Kneeling next to the bed, he pulls up my camisole and drags his cheek over my chest, nuzzling my bare flesh with his beard, then his mouth. As I pant and cling to his shoulders, he sucks each of my n*****s until they ache.

Then he slides his hand down my belly and between my thighs. He squeezes my p***y through my underwear, drawing another gasp from my lips.

“My sweet wife. You’re already soaking wet for me.”

His voice is so soft, but also hot and dark, with a thrilling edge to it.

I’ve never been this sexually aroused in my life.

I whisper, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Oh, but we really should.”

“I—I don’t want to.”

His voice hardens. “What did I tell you about lying to me?”

Pushing my thighs apart, he gives me a sharp, stinging slap between my legs.

I jerk and cry out in surprise, then lie there panting and disoriented as throbbing hot waves of pleasure spread throughout my body. Nose to nose, we stare at each other. His blazing eyes dare me to say I didn’t like it, but I don’t.

Because I did like it.

But this is the man I married for money, and I’m the girl he married for his inheritance. We shouldn’t be muddying the waters like this.

Except I really want to.

Very softly, he says, “You need to learn to be my good girl. And your first lesson is in manners.”

“You know manners aren’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He chuckles. “Another lie. You’d have already screamed for help and gouged my eyes out if you thought you were in danger.”

Trembling all over, I lick my lips and gaze up into his eyes. “I’m…I’m scared.”

“No, you’re not. You’re excited.”

He waits for me to deny it, but I don’t. The evidence is too obvious. I’ve already started rocking my hips against his hand, desperate for him to shove his fingers inside me.

There’s just something about this man. He’s so damned attractive. I’ve never met anyone with such incredible magnetism.

He slides his other hand under the back of my neck and squeezes. “Say it, Emery. I want to hear the words.”

Hyperventilating, I close my eyes and whisper, “Yes. I’m excited.”

“Good girl.”

As a reward, he softly strokes his thumb back and forth over my aching c**t, petting me through my wet panties. He gives me that and nothing more, until I start restlessly moving my legs in the sheets, desperate to feel his mouth between my thighs.

He croons, “I know, baby. I know what you want. And as soon as you ask me properly, I’ll feast on this pretty wet cunt, then f**k it. If you’re a good girl and you ask very nicely, I’ll spank your sweet ass, then f**k that too.”

My pulse is flying. My entire body is shaking. I can’t catch my breath. I’ve never had a man speak to me so explicitly, so I had no idea how arousing it would be.

I can’t risk getting emotionally involved with him! I should be telling him to get lost! I should be doing anything other than lying here writhing in the bedsheets and letting him manipulate my body!

Attempting logic, I say, “What if we did it only once? To get it out of our systems.”

“Everyone knows that doesn’t work. Now ask me for what you want. And say please. You have five seconds.”

His hands are hot on my flesh. His breath is warm in my ear. His husky voice just might be the death of me. He smells like pure masculinity—skin and s*x, heat and power—and I’m so turned on, I can hardly think straight.

“Five.”

I whisper nervously, “We should talk about this.”

“Four.”

“Like set some boundaries or something?”

“Three.”

“I just…I just don’t want things to get complicated, you know what I mean?”

Staring hungrily at my mouth, he growls, “Two.”

“Okay, fine! I want you to f**k me, all right? Please f**k me.”

His grin is devilish. “You sure? I don’t want you accusing me of pressuring you when you wake up sore and bruised with my handprints on your ass and my c*m all over you.”

This asshole. He’s rubbing my yes in my face for his own amusement.

“Have I told you lately that I can’t stand you?”

“Yes, baby. But we both know you’re a liar.”

He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed in my entire life. It’s devouring and all-consuming, an undeniable claim. Ten seconds in, I think I feel my soul leave my body.

Then he rips off my panties, shoves my legs apart, and falls on my p***y like he’s been starving for it.