Page 99 of All The Pretty Little Lies

I arch into him, wanting, no, needing more. My hands roam over his broad shoulders, down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. Talon groans, the sound vibrating through me, igniting sparks of pleasure low in my belly.

His lips leave mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down my neck. I tilt my head back, offering more of myself to him. His teeth graze my pulse point, and I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Talon," I breathe, his name a plea on my lips.

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. His breath comes in short pants, matching my own rapid breathing. I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his gaze dark with desire. The intensity I see there makes me shiver.

"God, Vesper," he murmurs, his voice rough with want. "You have no idea what you do to me."

I'm about to respond when I feel the car slow to a stop. The spell breaks as we hear Alex's door open. Reality crashes back in, reminding us of where we are and what we're here to do.

Talon pulls away, his hands gentle as he helps me sit up straight. His fingers brush against my cheek as he wipes away the smeared lipstick from my now swollen lips. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the heated passion of moments before, making my heart clench.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice low and steady, the mask of our act sliding into place.

I nod, taking a deep breath to center myself. Talon exits the car first, his movements fluid and controlled. I watch as he straightens his jacket, running a hand through his hair to tame any evidence of our heated encounter.

He comes around to my side of the car, opening the door with a flourish. As I step out, I feel the cool night air against my flushed skin, a stark reminder of the heat we'd generated inside the car.

Talon reaches into his pocket, retrieving a delicate lace choker. At its center hangs a tiny silver hoop, diamonds glittering in the streetlights.

Talon's fingers brush against my neck as he fastens the choker, sending shivers down my spine. The cool metal of the hoop settles against my skin, a constant reminder of the role I'm about to play. I catch my reflection in a nearby window, the diamonds glitter in the streetlight, a delicate contrast to the daring cut of my dress.

"I did some research," Talon murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "This is expected for someone in your position." His voice catches slightly on the last word, a hint of his true feelings breaking through the mask.

I swallow hard, feeling the slight pressure of the collar against my throat. It's both thrilling and terrifying, a tangible symbol of the dangerous game we're playing. Talon's hands linger on my shoulders, his touch grounding me.

"Remember," he says, his voice low and intense, "no matter what happens up there, I will protect you. We're in this together, Vesper."

I meet his gaze, seeing the fierce determination in his eyes. For a moment, I allow myself to lean into his strength, drawing courage from his unwavering support. Then, with a deep breath, I straighten my spine and nod.

Talon's demeanor shifts subtly as he offers me his arm. The warmth in his eyes cools, replaced by a calculated charm that would fool anyone who didn't know him as well as I do. I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the solid muscle beneath his tailored jacket.

We ascend the steps to the French restaurant, the click of my heels on marble echoing in the night air. The facade is all gleaming glass and polished brass, exuding an air of old-world elegance. As we approach the entrance, the scent of fresh-baked bread and rich sauces wafts out, making my mouth water despite the nerves twisting my stomach.

Talon pushes open the heavy door, ushering me into a world of soft lighting and hushed conversations. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in crisp white linen. The walls are adorned with impressionist paintings, and splashes of color that draw the eye.

We approach the host stand, where an impeccably dressed man greets us with a practiced smile. Talon gives his fake name, his voice smooth and confident. I watch as the host's eyes flicker to the choker at my neck, a fleeting look of understanding passing over his features before his professional mask slips back into place.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Blackwood," the host says, his French accent adding an extra layer of refinement to his words. "The other member of your party is already waiting. If you'll follow me, please."

The host leads us through the main dining room, a labyrinth of white-clothed tables and soft candlelight. The air is thick with the aroma of seared meats, delicate sauces, and freshly baked bread. My stomach clenches with a mix of hunger and nerves as we weave between tables, the weight of curious glances prickling against my skin.

We're guided towards the back of the restaurant, where the lighting grows dimmer and the atmosphere more intimate. The host pushes open a heavy wooden door revealing a private dining room. The space is smaller, cozier, with only one table nestled within its dark wood-paneled walls.

As we step inside, a woman sits alone, her posture perfect, one long leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her red hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, the color vibrant against the muted gray of her tailored pantsuit. As we approach, she lifts a glass of deep red wine to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

Her eyes, a startling shade of green, lock onto Talon as we near her table. A smile curves her lips, equal parts welcoming and predatory. She stands from the table as we approach. "Charles, darling," she purrs, her Russian accent thick and rich like honey. "How wonderful to see you again."

Talon's hand tightens almost imperceptibly on my arm as he returns her smile. "Natasha," he greets her, his voice smooth and controlled. "The pleasure is all mine."

I keep my eyes lowered, as I've been instructed, but I can feel the weight of Natasha's gaze as it shifts to me.

I can feel the weight of her scrutiny, probing for any hint of weakness, any crack in the carefully constructed facade. Her eyes linger on the curve of my neck, the swell of my breasts barely contained by the daring neckline of my dress, the expanse of leg exposed by the high slit.

"My, my," Natasha murmurs, her voice a silky purr. "What a lovely collar." Her perfectly manicured fingers reach out, brushing against the choker at my throat. The touch sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I keep my eyes lowered, my posture submissive, even as I feel a flare of defiance in my chest. Talon's hand on the small of my back steadies me, a silent reminder of our roles in this dangerous game.

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