Page 26 of House of Lies

I’m willing to do this if this is what begging brings me. For the rest of my life. Or until I kill him.

Mattia stands up while I struggle to breathe normally again, moves the chair closer, and pulls me into his arms. I land straight on his lap, bending my knees to straddle him. He circles me in his arms, a devilish grin on his lips.

He gave me tonight, even if he returns to being his usual self. He gave me a glimpse of what we could have been. I’m grateful. Aware that I might faint if we keep going on, I slip my hand between our bodies anyway, stroking his cock.

“You’re ready to go again?” He raises his eyebrows.

“You’re hard. Don’t blame it on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just concerned about your well-being.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me senseless if that’s the case.”

“I can spend the rest of my life buried inside your pussy, Wildfire.”

CHAPTER 18

Caelia

Maybe there will come a day when knocking on my husband’s office won’t fill me with dread, but today’s not that day. This marriage didn’t start with a mix of good and bad feelings. No. It was one hundred percent hate, sorrow, and hurt. And it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t rough. It was unbearable—soul-crushing. There were days when I thought I had enough and maybe life wasn’t worth living. Mattia lit up a spark of hope inside me, and nothing is worse. It’s a double-edged sword. I don’t want to get comfortable while I work on my plan to run away. I don’t want to let my guard down so he can strike when I’m least expecting it.

He tipped the scale.

But there’s too much bad blood between us to forgive and forget.

“Come in, Wildfire.”

Arching my eyebrows, I enter his office. I didn’t know my husband knew my steps so well.

“Hi,” I smile at him.

He gives me a nod, an amused grin on his face. “What can I do for my lovely wife?”

I’m willing to drink poison to kill whatever flutters in my stomach at the sound of his smooth, sinful voice. We kiss. We fuck. We talk. Sometimes, it is about silly things, like whether having bacon with pineapple is a good idea. Sometimes, about other things. When I’m not careful enough, I let details of my childhood slip. I talk about my dreams. My hopes. We both play this game so well that you would never think he used to be my assailant until a couple of months ago. He’s wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I know his tattoos by heart now. I have traced the ink with my fingertips so much that it has bled into my skin.

“Your mother called the landline.” He goes stiff, his jaw clenching. “She returned from the cruise yesterday and said you’re not answering the phone. She asked if we'd be attending the charity ball next month.”

I wasn’t aware of it, but Mattia must have known. He rarely tells me things until the last minute, so I got used to it. Sometimes, he doesn’t even bother to invite me. Living my life without expecting anything from him is the best thing I can do. I cross the distance between us. He seems a little off, but you couldn’t tell unless you spent countless hours forging his features in your mind. I lean against the desk on his right side. His gaze travels up and down my body, his pupils dilating. I’ll never stop being amazed by the desire that takes over him. My husband wants me. It’s too bad he figured it out too late.

“Are you going to attend?” I break the silence between us.

He catches my wrist, pulling me closer to him. I place my hands on his shoulders, trying to regain my balance. Strange things started to happen when I am around him. His touch doesn’t turn my stomach upside down anymore. I don’t feel that burning desire to stab him every time he looks at me.

“You’re not coming with me?” He tilts his head back, looking up at me.

I will never forget who he is and how he treated me for so many years. But it’s easy to fool myself when he’s staring at me like I’m the moon in his sky or when he’s on his knees in front of me, worshipping my body.

“I wasn’t invited.”

He sneaks his hand under my dress, caressing my thigh.

“Would you like to attend the charity ball with me, Wildfire?”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” I tease him.

I don’t lean forward to kiss him because I want to. I do it because I have to keep this charade going to keep him distracted long enough to put my plan in motion. I will need a new identity. I will need a place to stop to change my appearance before I get on a bus, leaving New York behind. Taking a flight is too risky. I still don’t have enough money saved. I need a little more time.

I don’t moan when his tongue circles mine because I’m enjoying this. Wetness doesn’t drip between my legs because I want him.

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