Page 20 of Promiscuous Lies

But, fuck, she tastes fantastic.

CHAPTER 10

Posie

My face is red with embarrassment; I know that much. No matter how much I had to drink, it was not enough to dull the humiliation of what just occurred. How can I go from not having had sex for six years to getting caught by the police, half naked, and being eaten out by my boss in the back of a car? And Dutton—the fucker who barely ever smiles—has the audacity to smirk about it.

I will admit, he sure knows what to do with his mouth. This isn’t surprising, considering he owns a strip club, and his dad pretty much sells sex for a living. When my ex used to go down on me, it would take him a very long time to get me anywhere close to my goal. It got to the point where he just didn’t bother trying, blaming it on me, so eventually, I started lying about getting off because I was bored with his head between my legs.

I’ve never been with a man who asserts such complete domination, and the intensity of looking into his eyes the entire time was both intimate and shattering. It felt like he was seeing every part of me, not just my body, and that type of connection is something I definitely avoid.

He gives off the vibe that he knows exactly what to do with a woman’s body.

I’m so glad I tested that theory.

Even if I’m going to regret the aftermath.

“Goodnight, Posie,” he drawls as he approaches my house. I’m already grabbing my bags and opening the door before he even comes to a complete stop. Before I step out of the car, I look back at him, willing that knowing fucking smirk off his face.

“This”—I wave a finger between us—“will never happen again.”

“If you say so.” His arrogant smirk never even twitches. I don’t bother arguing with him as I get out of his car and enter the house.

I find Amy asleep on the couch and throw a blanket over her. She prefers to go home most nights, but I don’t like to wake her when she’s sleeping. She’s young and in college, so I think any extra sleep she can get is a bonus.

I lean against the doorframe of Bentley’s room, taking a moment to watch him as he sleeps. He’s cuddling the new teddy Amy bought him for his birthday. I smile as I tiptoe into the room to kiss him on the forehead and lift the blankets over him. He’s a restless sleeper like me, so the blankets end up in every direction.

I head to the kitchen, trying to do anything to block out what unfolded in the last thirty minutes.

As soon as an image of Dutton’s head between my legs pops into my mind, my core starts to throb, and I immediately shut the image out and try to focus on something else.

I pull out my new phone. My current one is rundown and has been dropped one too many times. I’m surprised it still works, but it covers the essentials like making appointments for Bentley. I don’t have any social media accounts, not since I fled from Bobbi. I didn’t want to risk any chances of him finding us or keeping tabs on me.

But for some reason, I think that’s about to change. I’m not going to post a bunch of photos of myself and Bentley or anything, but I want to feel like I’m a part of the world again. If I’ve learned anything since working at the club, it’s how stagnant I’ve become. And I thought I was okay with that. For the most part, I am. But it doesn’t mean I can’t have a few moments to myself, even if it’s scrolling on social media.

I change over my phone, and I can’t believe how easy and quick it is. I assumed it would be difficult to install. I then open my new laptop and, feeling inspired, download the software program I used to enjoy graphic design.

Although I’ve never studied graphic design, I’ve always enjoyed it and seemed to have a knack for it. I made money doing it until I sold my laptop. When I worked at the café, I took over their social media account, and I miss it—not the small amount of pay I received for it, but the design aspect.

When I look at the time, I realize it’s already two in the morning, and I stifle a yawn. I strip down to nothing on the way to the bathroom, pausing to swipe the clothes piled on my mattress onto the floor. I haven’t bought myself a bedframe because it doesn’t feel essential. As long as Bentley has everything he needs and I have cash saved, I’m happy.

I yawn again, and then something purple on my inner thigh catches my attention in the reflection of the mirror. I look down and gape at what I find. The fucker marked me with a hickey.

I scrub my hands over it as if that will help remove it. When it doesn’t, I click my tongue, irritated. He should know better than anyone not to leave marks.Not that I was complaining at the time.

I’m going to have to cover it with makeup to go on stage.Fuck. He’s the asshole who stipulated in our contracts that we refrain from receiving love bites to give the illusion that we’re not taken. It builds into our clients’ fantasies. If I had hisnumber, I’d sure as shit be giving him a piece of my mind right now. I sigh, realizing he’d probably enjoy it. I don’t know what the fuck my boss is thinking… ever. But antagonizing me seems to be a hobby of his lately.

Stepping into the shower, I stand there for what feels like ten minutes. Closing my eyes, all I see is his head between my legs.Damn it.The memories are flooding back with a vengeance.

I hate that I feel like I’ve been missing out on something. I could go another five years without fucking another man if it means my son and I are safe. But a small part of me feels like I’m being seen as a woman for the first time in a long time. Not just as a sexual object at work. But for me.

And that’s fucking terrifying as much as it is unwanted.

So I tuck it away as a one-night fling, appreciative of the orgasm.

CHAPTER 11

Dutton

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