Page 113 of Loving the Liar

I forget my own existence as he brings more wetness from my entrance to my needy nub, and I wrap my legs around his neck. I don’t even know how he breathes from how tightly I keep him against me. I never want this to end, and I get closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.

My entire body freezes in surprise when the alarm from my phone rings. He stops it right away so we don’t get in trouble.

And he pulls back from me.

“No, no, no,” I pant. “W-wait.”

“Wait? I said five minutes, Sweets.”

“I know, but…”

“But you want Daddy to make you come, don’t you? You want me to soothe the ache and take care of you?”

I nod, licking my lips. “Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.

“My poor slut. Always so desperate for me.”

He slowly unwraps my legs, puts my feet back on the step, and grabs me by the waist. “Let go.”

I release the ladder, and he carries me down, setting me on the floor. My legs tremble for a few seconds, my head swimming from the feeling of my pleasure still hanging above nothingness.

“Wobbly, are we?” he chuckles as he holds me a little longer.

I nod, my brain barely registering that I’m agreeing with a man I usually categorically refuse to agree with.

He leans forward, dropping a kiss just under my ear. “You feel warm.”

Numbly, I nod again, not sure what I’m agreeing to. All I know is I need to go home and do something about the pulsating need he left in me.

He straightens quickly, puts a hand on my forehead, and his face falls into a serious scowl. “You feel too warm. You have a fever.”

I shake my head. “Seriously, at this point, you’re worse than a dad. It’s just a little cold.”

“Go home and get some rest. Now.”

“I was going to go home anyway. I’m not doing it because you’re telling me to.” I feel like that’s something that needed to be said.

He smiles softly. “Fine. As long as you go home.”

My phone vibrates in his hand, and he looks down with no scruple.

“Privacy, Christopher,” I groan. “Can I have some?”

“No. And you know that, so don’t bother asking again.” As his eyes move across my screen, his face falls.

“What?”

“Don’t go.” It’s a stern order I don’t understand.

“Don’t go where?” I snatch my phone from his hand and look down.

Unknown: Aphrodite, your presence is required at the temple tonight. A car will pick you up at 8:30 p.m. You may not be late. Yours, Prometheus.

A rock solidifies in my stomach, and I look back up at Chris.

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“The whole point is that I have no choice.”

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