Page 11 of Lie With Me

Shaking his head, he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Where have you been all my life?”

Living on the wrong side of the tracks.

“Why don’t you show me what it’s like to be Mrs. Ken for the rest of the night?” I don’t give him the chance to answer as I slip into the back of his town car and tell the driver, “We’re going to his place.”

Ken is a gentleman in the car on the way to his house. Never mind that I want to straddle him like a high schooler in the back of a limo on the way to prom. He stays on his side of the backseat and asks me idle questions.

Where do I work?I forget the name of the building. I just started at a new place.

Am I from New York?No.

Where was I headed when we ran into each other?A friend’s.

The budding anticipation is almost too much to bear. He angles toward me, elbow resting on the head of the seat, hand tangled in his curls. His smile is suggestive, eyes sinfully playful.

It’s foreplay for him. Watching me grow hotter with each block we pass. Maybe it’s all the wine, but the pressure between my legs is begging to be released, and I’m worried I might come the second he touches me.

When the car pulls up to his building, my hunch that Ken does more than justfinance—like he told me at dinner—becomes a reality. It may be tucked awayin a quiet cul-de-sac near the river, but this is still the Upper East Side.

Ken reaches for my hand to help me out of the car, not letting it go as we walk into the red brick building. The floors shine like they’ve just been freshly polished, and the concierge nods politely as she types away at something on her computer.

I’m half expecting him to hit the giant PH for the penthouse level when we get into the elevator, but the call button lights up a few floors down.

“I should warn you, her shit is still splashed all over the place. I haven’t cared enough to redecorate.” He sounds reproachful, like he fears his admission will change my mind.

It’s been a year and he hasn’t gotten rid of her stuff? Either he’s majorly still hung up on her, or she tried fighting him for the place.

“Are you not over her?” I’m blunt. Straightforward and to the point. His answer may or may not affect my decision to stay, because the last thing I want is for him to fuck me while he’s thinking of her.

Even if it’s a one-night stand.

I’m a leading lady—not an extra.

My eyes remain forward, but I can see him turn to look at me through my peripheral. “I’m over it,” he says softly. “I’m just too nice of a guy to throw her things out. And even though it’s almost been a year, she hasn’t bothered to send for them.”

The inside of his place is ten times the size of my little apartment in Chelsea. It’s all classic creamy walls with oatmeal accents and rich walnut floors.Dusky blue accents kiss the surfaces everywhere, from decorative pillows and throw rugs to paintings and random vases filled with vibrant green plants.

There’s even a custom blue Steinway with the lid lowered in the living room.

“Home sweet home,” Ken says as he helps me out of my jacket before taking my purse.

I slip out of my shoes, shrinking three inches to my normal five-eight. “As much as I don’t want to admit this, it’s a beautiful home.”

He laughs, and after hanging our coats in the closet in the foyer, takes my hand again and leads me through the open-concept layout to a chef’s kitchen. “Would you like a drink? Another glass of wine?”

As he grabs glasses and surveys his built-in wine cooler, I feel the overwhelming need to scrub Emily’s existence from his home. Eyeing the Steinway, an idea pops into my head, and I reach behind my shoulder to grab the zipper of my dress.

Slowly, I pull it down, the unmistakable sound causing Ken to freeze mid-pour even though I never answered whether I wanted a drink or not. By the time he turns around, his restraint looks like it’s about to break.

I’m not glass. You won’t break me.

We lock eyes as I step out of my dress, revealing the lacy black set of lingerie I’m wearing. Gold-flecked green slowly inches down my body as I take slow steps backward to the piano. “Do you play?”

His Adam’s apple bobs hard as he swallows. He responds with a slow shake of his head as he beginsto stalk toward me. He reminds me of a panther. Sleek and graceful. Ready to pounce.

The outline of his cock against his pants is impressive as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and asks, “Do you?”

With a shake of my head, I step onto the bench and sit on top of the piano, the keys letting out a shrill cry beneath my feet. I rest my weight on my hands behind me, and my pussy clenches as Ken looks between my spread legs, nudging the bench out of the way with his leg as he unbuttons and removes his shirt. My sex on a stick has a six-pack and a V-line that cuts so deep I want to crawl inside it and stay there forever.

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