Page 69 of Tell Me Lies

But it didn’t resume flight. A bell sounded, and I looked up. To him. To Mr. Miller.

In a moment, he was in my personal space, caging me in against the chrome walls. My heart lunged in my throat, and my whole body rippled. Oh, God. Was this really happening? I wanted it to be true.

“I’ve thought of you every day since we met,” he growled the admission against my neck, the hot heat of his breath setting me on fire.

I whimpered. But I couldn’t say a word. A coherent sentence eluded me. I only knew what I felt. And it was desire. It was desperation. It was agony. It was dejection because he would drop me right when I was certain he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I waited for it.

Our eyes met, and there was a wanting so terrifying a tear fell down my cheek. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop myself, and I couldn’t stop him. This force between us defied what was natural and safe. Nothing was benign between us. It was danger and chaos.

But then he did the last thing I expected. He lifted the hem of my maxi-dress and kept lifting it, his gaze on me, waiting for a response. A no, perhaps. But he wouldn’t get a no from me. I wanted this. He had all my yeses.

I didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t hike up my leg, and I didn’t give him any resistance. He moved his large palm up my thigh and slid over the top of my panties. I sighed, waiting for him to cross the boundary I didn’t think he would. He himself said he’d never do it. But there we were, giving into the unstoppable attraction between us.

His eyes remained on me, glowing and bright neon green. I bit my lip, and he drew in a breath. His hand didn’t stop the ascent to the elastic band of my panties. The heat grew steadily, and the walls caved in—the focus was just him and me, and his hand slipping inside my panties to the delicate flesh underneath. I was so turned on I wanted to explode. I wanted to cry out in pleasure and urge him on. But he wanted to be in control of me, and I would allow it.

Mr. Miller dropped his forehead against mine, the ache of his skull crashing against my brow bone shot through me, straight to my bare toes. He groaned, and then his whole large hand cupped me, softly rubbing against me at first. But he knew I was swollen and begging for him by the sharp hiss on his lips.

Before I could take in a steadying breath to brace myself for what was to come, he burrowed his finger inside me, curses on his lips. I was too stunned to respond. I’d done this before. I’d let one boyfriend get this far with me. But this wasn’t what I expected. The motion of his finger, the shape of it, the masculine weight of it, was like fucking. At least I thought it might feel like that. A fullness settled in below, deep inside, and I wanted to buck my hips. I wanted to swivel and writhe against his hand.

“Is it what you thought it would feel like?” His question penetrated the thick, pulsing tension straight to my ear.

I sighed, my head lolling. I felt so many things. “Better.”

He groaned and took the pace to another level. Before I could catch up with him, feeling the sensations to the fullest, he slid in another finger, and I was done. A heaviness and a bursting sensation concentrated in my core, and I whimpered, halting my breath at the release—the free-falling liberation—that came after I orgasmed.

I opened my eyes, meeting his, dark and storming. He was tortured. I’ve always known it. And I knew why.

He stepped back, and I adjusted my garments. The elevator alarm blared now. My gaze shifted to the alarm button and then back to him.

“We need to talk. And not about class.” I don’t know how he heard me over the sound.

He moved toward the elevator button panel and depressed the red button he’d pushed what seemed like ages ago but was only minutes.

“I know.”

Chapter Ten

Ursin Miller

Anya and I didn’t have our meeting. How could we after I risked everything in the elevator? For her. And for my demented need to control her. But she gave in to me, and I had to wonder, was she the one in control and not me?

There was another layer of complication. I ruined her family. Indirectly, of course. Her father’s choices ruined her family. And mine. My mother had a broken heart until the day she died five years ago, as would I.

I thought of these dark things while waiting in my library for Anya. A glance at my watch and I noted the time. Seven in the evening. I’d been waiting here for hours for her, scripting the conversation. The thing was, this time, I wasn’t sure what she’d say. I always knew what people would say, and I always crafted my responses. I crafted ways to get people to speak. It was a skill that served me well as an attorney. This was why I was the youngest DA in the county’s—and state’s—history.

But now, I felt like a neophyte. Like a wobbling deer out of its mother’s womb figuring out the world it had been spat into.

The doorbell rang, and all my ruminations, my inner voice flagellation stopped. I turned my gaze to my opened laptop. There, I’d found the home monitoring app and there she was, standing at my front door. Anya wasn’t in her stupid tie-dyed maxi-dress as she was earlier. She’d changed into something plain, fitted. Jeans or denim shorts, I couldn’t tell. She wore them for me.

I stood from my desk chair and walked on bare feet to the door. Like Anya, I also wasn’t in my lecture clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt gave me the freedom to move, though my blazer was my armor. What weapon could she unleash on me to require the protection? Not nearly the painful truth I would unleash on her. She should have worn her fighting clothes.

At the door, I paused a moment. My heart thrummed in my chest, and I took in a deep breath. Setting my jaw, I unlocked and opened the door.

I took her wrist and pulled her inside. “I can’t have anyone see you coming here. Did you park down the street like I told you?”

I closed the door and relocked it. God, I was so paranoid. But I should be. This was wrong. We teetered on ruin, especially me and my career, yet I trusted her implicitly. I truly was insane.

“No one saw me, Mr. Miller.”

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