Page 51 of Tell Me No Lies

Yet another thing I never expected to ask for.

Tate’s frown is as deep as I've ever seen it as he glares at my outfit. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

I prop both fists on my hips, blowing out a breath, because as much as I want to get my hands on him, I need him to get his head in the game more. “I want your opinion on how well I'm going to fit in. I understand you don't like the way I look. I don't like it either. But it's a necessary evil.” I wiggle my brows at him, hoping I can lighten up his mood. “Just like me.”

His lips twitch, making me think my tactic worked. “I like a little evil.”

I launch myself toward him, hooking both arms around his neck. “That's good, because when the assholes here figure out what I've done, they’re absolutely going to call me evil.”

Any hint of a smile Tate’s mouth had flattens into a hard line. “They better not say shit about you. I'll—”

“You’ll do whatever it takes to get these women out safely.” I boop him on the nose with a smile, because I love how protective he is of me. I can almost feel it healing the shattered bits of my past.

Even if it’s kind of a pain in the ass.

“I have complete faith in you.” I push up on my toes, letting my front rub against his. “You will get all of us out of here and then we can go back to normal.”

“What if I don't want to go back to normal?” One of Tate’s wide palms moves from where it's gripping my hip to slide under the cotton of my modest button up. “What if I want things to be different than they were?”

“I think I know what you're getting at.” I lower my voice, like there's a secret being shared only between us. “You want me to be more professional at work.”

Tate growls, his expression unamused as the hand under my shirt curves around my breast and the other one flattens against my ass, pulling me tighter to him. “You can be as unprofessional as you want to be at work, Sugar.” He leans down, tracing my nose with the tip of his. “But when work’s over, I think you should start coming home with me.”

I swallow hard at the offer. Not because I don't want to take him up on it, I do. That's part of the problem. My fears about losing myself and my voice are getting weaker with every second I’m around him, but they’re still there. And my issues aren’t the only ones causing problems.

“I'm pretty sure everyone at work will notice if we start coming and going together.” I try to pull out of his embrace at the reminder of what’s holding him back.

But Tate only grips me tighter. “Then I'll tell them the truth.” His thumb drags across my nipple through the thin fabric of my turquoise blue bralette. “I want you with me all the time, Piper. I'll make them understand this is different.”

“What if they disagree?” I understand where he's coming from. I want to believe this is different too. I want to believe I can trust him. I want to believe I can trust myself. I'm just not sure it's true. “Aren't you worried about Nancy?”

“You said what we do is none of Nancy's business.” His lips trail across my jawline and down my neck. “And I've decided I agree with you. I didn't betray them. I didn't manipulate you. I didn't do anything wrong. And if they can't see that, then they haven't been paying enough attention to the kind of man I am.”

I swallow hard, because I have been paying attention to the kind of man he is. Closely. And I'm still struggling. Still terrified. Because what if I end up being the same kind of woman my mother is? What if I lose myself in him? What if I put him on a pedestal? Raise him up above everyone else in my life? I can't take that risk. And until I'm sure it won't happen, I have to be careful.

“Let’s not worry about that. We have way more important things to deal with.” I glance at my watch. “Like being downstairs in five minutes.”

Tate’s lips curve into a slow smile. “That gives me just enough time to offer a little persuasion.”

I yelp as his hands shift, gripping my waist and hauling me up, feet dangling off the ground as he steps to the bed and deposits me right on the edge. Before I fully have my bearings, my long skirt is flipped up, smacking me in the face, and Tate’s strong hands grab me behind the knees, tipping me the rest of the way back. I barely get the fabric of my skirt shoved down to my chin before he's got a finger hooked in the side of my matching turquoise thong and pulls it to the side.

There’s no time to brace before his mouth is on me. Hot and relentless and demanding.

It's been less than an hour since he woke me up the same way. Tate has quickly learned exactly how to touch me, and soon all I can think about is how good it feels. Hopefully he's not the kind of man who likes a challenge, because the steady flick of his tongue against my clit has my thighs clenching around his head in record time, coming yet again.

As my body goes limp, he kisses down the inside of my thigh, righting my panties before giving me a smug smile. “Didn't even need the whole five minutes.”

Tate rises to his feet, snagging my hands and pulling me up with him. “You ready, wife?” All the aggravation and irritation coloring his expression earlier is gone. It's almost like getting me off legitimately makes him happy. And as much as I love that, I'm starting to get a little jealous.

Because I would like to be that kind of happy too.

“I guess.” I smooth out my skirt and try to adjust my hair. “Do I look like your head was just between my thighs?”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips. “You look perfect.” One hand clasps mine as he tugs me toward the door.

“You didn't answer my question.” I use my free hand to feel around my head, doing my best to do damage control on what I can’t see. As Tate leads me from the room, his hand comes to rest on my back, keeping me close as we make our way to the elevator. We’re not alone in the hallway, and I'm a little confused about why he’s still touching me. From what I've seen, and what Myra told me, these men basically act like their wives don't exist when they’re in groups like this. Sort of an amped up version of, ‘the adults are talking’.

So far Tate has abided by that unspoken rule, but today he seems to have changed his mind. Because the warmth of his palm doesn't leave my body as we crowd into the elevator. It doesn't budge as we move out and into the lobby. It stays put as we file to the auditorium being used for today's... Presentation? Sermon? Lecture? I don't fucking know what to call it, but I'm pretty sure it's gonna suck.

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