Page 16 of Dirty Deal

If those were fireworks, this is a towering inferno. It sweeps through every inch of my body, shuddering my muscles and making my nerve endings spark, turning everything to ash. I’m ravaged by it, buffeted by burning waves of pleasure, until the only thing grounding me in space and time is the weight of Weston’s rock-hard shaft in my mouth.

It jerks against my tongue, and distantly, as though down the end of a bad phone line, I hear Weston grit out a low curse. He tugs my hair in warning, but I couldn’t pull off of him right now even if I wanted to. I’m locked in place, coming harder than I ever have in my life, as spurts of hot liquid fill my mouth.

I drink him down.

God, I swallow every single, salty drop like it’s manna from heaven.

Then, when I’ve settled back in my body and my ears have stopped ringing, I sit back on my heels and show Weston my clean tongue. He slumps against the wall above me, breathless and staring, like I’ve delivered a killer blow.

I wink, then wobble to my feet.

“Well, that was fun.” My hands tremble as I yank my cocktail dress straight, but I play it off, tossing my ponytail back. “Where shall I clean now?”

Weston pinches the bridge of his nose.

* * *

My parents are still awake when I get back to the townhouse, sent home early by an agitated Weston. He claimed a migraine, said he didn’t want to babysit my ass all the way until dawn, but we both know it was down to my awesome blowjob. Point to me!

I sucked out his freaking soul, and I don’t feel bad for one single second. All’s fair in love and war, right? And Weston picked war.

“Thanks,” I tell the driver, closing the door of a glossy black car. God knows why Weston insists on sending me home with his driver each night after torturing me, but I’m not gonna question it. It’s not like we have tons of money lying around for cross-city Ubers right now.

The man nods and pulls away from the sidewalk, having graciously ignored my reddened lips and mussed hair for the whole journey. A true professional.

My steps are pensive as I climb to the townhouse door, and I take my time sliding the key into the lock. The lights are on inside, and already the butterflies flapping around my insides are faltering at the thought of seeing my parents like this—with Weston’s salty taste still on my tongue.

There’s nothing else for it. Can’t sleep out here on the steps, can I? And I’ll have to face them sooner or later.

The townhouse door swings open on oiled hinges without a squeak, and for the hundredth time tonight, I thank myself for not wearing heels. My steps into the lobby are quiet, and I hold my breath as I tug the belt of my trench coat undone.

“Lena?” my mother calls.

I exhale and slip my coat off, hanging it on a hook. So close, yet so far.

“Lena? Is that you?”

“Hey,” I call back, my cheeks warming at the scratchy note in my voice. My throat sounds well-used. If my parents have even an ounce of observational skills between them, I’m screwed. “Where are you both?”

“Kitchen.”

They’re both sitting on stools at the kitchen island, a bottle of red wine open between them. Their glasses sparkle in the overhead light, and there’s a fancy takeout bag in the middle of the island. When I tilt my head, I can make out the name of one of the fanciest restaurants in the city.

My stomach sinks and curdles.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Eating dinner,” my father says, like it’s a dumb question. He tops off his own glass before offering more wine to my mother. “Are you hungry, princess? We over-ordered. There are a few dishes we haven’t even touched.”

My hands and feet are so cold. Like all the warmth in my body is drawing away from my limbs, gathering in the center of my chest to smolder in a hot, angry coal.

“No,” I say, “I meanwhat are you doing?Ordering from an expensive restaurant and drinking–” I check the label “—vintage wine, when you’re so deep in debt. When I put my life on hold to come back here and help you.”

When I made a devil’s bargain with Weston James, letting the man I’ve pined after for years humiliate me for his own entertainment. I’ve chipped away at my pride, my heart, mysoulto help them, and for what?

My father scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lena. We still need to eat.”

“There’s food in the refrigerator.” Food that I bought withmyearnings, from the jobIleft for them.

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