Page 30 of Twisted Truths

My back arches off the seat, and I groan.

Obsidian looks at me, eyes black as midnight. “Only good girls get to come, Ariana. Are you going to tell me who he is?”

I almost slip. I almost let the words fall from my mouth, but I won’t satisfy him. “No.”

He increases the pressure on my clit until I’m at the brink, one second from crumbling. Then he yanks his hands from between my legs, and I groan. “Then you don’t get to come.”

A wounded animal cry whips from my throat. “No!”

“Tell me who he is, and I’ll let you finish.”

What a prick.

He flicks his gaze at me with a self-satisfied smirk, probably thinking he’s got me. Not today, asshole.

I bring my own hand between my legs and rub circles over my clit.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. He’s obviously displeased, but at the same time, he keeps peeking at me, jaw tight. His foot presses on the gas until I’m pushed back into the seat by the force, and I come on a cry, rocking my hips into my hand as I reach my peak.

It’s not as satisfying as if he’d made me come, but it’s enough to relieve the ache.

Obsidian says nothing as I catch my breath.

“Bastion is my brother.”

His body tenses then relaxes.

We don’t speak the rest of the drive back to Midnight Manor, and when he drops me off in front of the door, then races off into the night in his expensive car, I do my best not to worry about how this changes things.

Chapter

Thirteen

OBSIDIAN

Ipull the vehicle to a stop in front of the hotel in Washington, DC, trying not to think of the last time I was driving a vehicle with Ariana as the passenger, though those images have been circling my brain constantly during the couple of days that have passed.

That woman shocked the hell out of me when she finished herself off after I refused to. She’s fucking stubborn. Why wouldn’t she just tell me the guy was her brother when I first asked?

Because you were an asshole about it.

There’s more to Ariana than meets the eye, that much is obvious.

We haven’t talked about what happened. It’s almost as though we’re playing a game of chicken, and the first one to bring it up loses.

The valet comes to collect the keys for the car I had waiting at the private airport for us, while another opens Ariana’s door.

“Leave everything in the car. They’ll bring it up,” I tell her as I walk past.

Today she’s wearing a navy skirt and a white sleeveless blouse. Though there’s nothing inherently sexy about the outfit, she looks sexy in it. The expensive fabric falls over her curves to perfection, and it’s never been more obvious that this woman belongs in a better lifestyle than the one she’s been afforded.

The manager meets me in the lobby, as always. This is a Voss Enterprises property after all.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Voss. The suite is ready for you.” He hands me two key cards for the presidential suite.

“Thank you, Rory. This is Ariana Clarke.” I motion to Ariana at my side. “She’s my personal assistant. Anything she asks for is like getting a directive from me, clear?”

He looks at Ariana and nods, giving her a polite smile. I can see the curiosity on his face since I’ve never been here with anyone else while conducting business. “Of course, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”

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