Page 5 of Tell Me No Lies

Everything about Tate is intense. Focused. Determined. I shouldn't be surprised that he would fuck the same way.

I am surprised, though, when he quickly releases me, sliding free of my body, leaving a dribble of wetness sliding down my thigh in his wake. He rights my panties and shorts before backing away from me, moving all the way across the room. He rakes the hand that was just between my thighs through his hair and my eyes follow the path, because I'm pretty sure he just wiped a little bit of me through the dark glossy strands.

Tate’s blue eyes don't meet mine as he fastens his pants and shoves his T-shirt back into the waistband. "You should go back to work since you’re leaving early today. If that guy calls, pass it through to me." His movements are brisk as he finishes righting himself, and his tone is all business. Professional. Not at all the approach he normally takes with me.

He’s acting weird, which makes me less upset that I feel pretty weird too. Especially knowing what's going to be in his hair for the rest of the day. I suddenly need to get the fuck out of this office. Put some distance between us. So in a move completely uncustomary for me—especially when Tate is involved—I agree. "Okay."

I rush for the door, flinging it open and hurrying out into the hall that stretches between the lobby at the front of the building and the shop at the back. The walls are nothing more than painted concrete block and the floor is untreated cement, but the place has always felt warm to me. Probably because it's always filled with good food and friendly faces.

But right now I don't want to see a friendly face. Right now I need a second alone. So I turn away from the lobby and the front desk where I work, going straight into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me. Leaning against the solid metal panel, I close my eyes, pulling in deep, gulping breaths as I try to wrap my head around what just happened.

I accidentally fucked Tate.

Well. As accidentally as fucking can get.

It would be a lie to say I never thought about what it might be like, and that maybe that's why it happened so easily. My brain had already mapped out the process, coming up with a thousand different ways it could happen. But never once did I believe it actually would. Not only because Tate is careful to keep a respectful, and professional, distance between himself and his employees, but also because he fucking hates me.

That's fine, because I hate him back.

Over the weeks we've known each other, not only has he nearly broken my wrist and insulted my wardrobe, but he’s taken every opportunity to snarl in my direction. To poke at me. Purposefully saying shit he knows will piss me off and make me regret not unleashing a thousand volts into his scrotum when I had the opportunity.

The reminder of what we really are has me feeling a little more normal. Brings back my regular feelings for the man who just rocked my whole fucking world.

Which reminds me I need to pee. So I undo my pants and drop down onto the toilet, bracing my elbows on my knees and catching my head in my hands as I let out a little groan.

I don't technically regret what happened—regret is an emotion I do my best not to waste time on—but I'm not looking forward to the rest of this day. Especially since I’ll have to spend more of it than usual with Tate.

With an audience.

I finish peeing and wad up some toilet paper, sliding it between my legs before letting out another groan as I look down and realize exactly what is on the paper.

"Fucking hell." I clench my core like I think I can squeeze everything out of me.

Not only did I fuck Tate, but I did it without a condom. I'm not super worried about getting something from him—Tate’s a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of man who would knowingly put a woman in danger. I’m just not interested in having to deal with the other issue that can arise from unprotected sex.

After gulping in a few, calming breaths that don’t come close to calming me, I finish cleaning up, washing my hands before smoothing down my hair and going back to the front desk. Tate’s office door is closed as I pass, and I let out a little sigh of relief. I'm not sure what I would say to him, and I don't want to find out. I have a bad habit of spewing whatever jumps into my mind, and so far I think most of the people I work with like me. I doubt they’d feel the same way if they found out I just fucked our boss.

And got off three times doing it.

"Fuck." The word slips out before I can stop it and I wince because I know it won’t go unnoticed.

Nancy glances over at me, her graying brows pinched in concern. "Are you okay? That dick didn't hurt your wrist when he grabbed you, did he?"

It takes my brain a second to register what she's talking about, because the interaction with the customer has become the least of my concerns. But it is a great cover story for any odd behavior I might exhibit, so I need to keep it fresh in my head. "No. I was just surprised."

Nancy rests one hand on my shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. "Sucks to have a vagina sometimes, doesn't it?"

Not a statement I would currently agree with, considering mine served me well very recently, but I understand what she's getting at, so I smile back. "Yup."

After another gentle pat of my shoulder, Nancy goes back to her work corner, leaving me to handle the main desk. As the afternoon passes, she occasionally comes over to check on me. Her genuine concern for my well-being makes me feel a little guilty, since it's clear she thinks I'm upset over what happened with the customer.

I'm not. I am fucking dreading tonight. Maybe I can pretend to be sick. Maybe I can fall down some stairs.

Maybe I can disappear forever.

Two months ago, the last one might've been possible. But considering my best friend Lydia is now with a man who could track down just about anyone or anything, it’s a less than viable option.

Falling down stairs it is.

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