Page 42 of Promiscuous Lies

I nod decisively and step out. I’m still wearing my stripping clothes. The jacket covers all but the high heel boots, but if anyone saw us, they might assume I’m a hooker. I have no issue with the profession, but it makes me wonder how many women he’s brought here. Perhaps I’m just one of many.

He escorts me up the staircase, his hand resting on my lower back as if he’s afraid I might run. When he unlocks the door and opens it, I’m shocked by the beauty of the interior. If I thought the neighborhood was pretty, it has nothing on this. Rough brickwork acts as a feature wall against the deeply polished wooden walls and floors. A circular staircase goes to the next floor, with room on either side of the entryway. One has a piano and chessboard. The other has what looks like a living space with a library and fireplace.

It’s more… homey than I expected, but it feels like it’s missing that personal touch. Maybe because its owner doesn’t necessarily have a heart, but it smells like him—all-consuming and rich, with a light hit of citrus.

He locks the front door behind me.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks as he removes his jacket. He then rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, keeping his gaze solely on me.

“No.”

“What would you like?” he inquires arrogantly, bending over and dropping onto one knee to undo his shoes and remove them.

I think about that while he looks up at me through thick eyelashes.

What would I like?

Well, I am here for a specific reason.

Because I’ve missed having his mouth on me, and I would greatly like it back there. Once just wasn’t enough.

I remove my jacket, letting it slip off my shoulders, and fall to the floor. We remain in the entryway, him staring at me, his throat constricting as he swallows. I lift a booted foot and place it on his chest, dirtying his white shirt with the footprint.

“Undo it,” I order. His hand slides up my knee-high boot until he reaches the top, then he unzips it slowly and pulls it from my leg, discarding it to the side. We repeat the process for the other boot, and he doesn’t once look between my legs. If he did, he could easily see my panties due to the shortness of the skirt.

“What would I like?” I say as he pulls the boot off. When I put my foot back on the floor, he doesn’t move, remaining on his knees expectantly.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dutton Taylor is on his knees.

I’m so shocked at first that I can only stare down at him. Then he reaches up my skirt, grips the top of my stockings, and slowly pulls them down my legs and off each foot.

“Posie.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m hungry now, and you’ll behave, right?”

“Behave?”

“Yes. Keep your hands to yourself, and I’ll reward you. And the word ‘no’ does not exist in this home.”

I raise a brow at him. “As long as you don’t give me a reason to say no, and your hands are on me, keeping me distracted.”

“They’re already on you,” he reminds me as he squeezes my legs.

It feels like electricity runs up my body. The intensity of this man’s gaze devours me, but I don’t look away, learning from my last experience with Dutton that he doesn’t like it if I don’t remain purely focused on him.

“Hands to myself. Noted.” I clear my throat.

His palms glide up my legs painfully slowly, as if he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. When he reaches my underwear, he tears them from my body, shredding them at the seams before grabbing my ass and squeezing the flesh there.

His gaze finally dips to the juncture of my legs. He squeezes my ass again and pulls me closer until his face is directly between my thighs. He kisses my clit, then moves lower, between my folds, his tongue tasting. I almost immediately melt into him.

It’s scorching hot, and I can’t help the moan that leaves me. My hands lift of their own accord as his tongue flicks, and I, at the last moment, remember his order not to touch him.

Do. Not. Touch him.

But that’s a challenging instruction to follow when I don’t have anything around me to grab onto but him. The wall is too far back, and the door isn’t within reachable distance.

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