Page 109 of The Liar's Reckoning

Graham rolls over drawing my attention to his cage where his dick is purple and shiny with clear precum. “I didn’t ejaculate. It was like—all inside. Has that ever happened to you?”

I shake my head stupidly.

“It was…Fuck, Silas.”

I grin and reach down to caress his cage. “Take. This fucking thing. Off.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’m not sure I can walk yet.”

“I want a key,” I tell him.

“Fine,” he grumbles, snuggling up next to me, his arm locking around my waist. He kisses my neck long and slow.

I sigh into his hair and shut my eyes again. He feels so good. I love him so much. And then, slowly, I remember. “Are you okay, though? Really? Was that what you needed? Did it even help?”

Stupid fucking questions.

But he nods. Hums. Kisses my neck some more. “You’re all I need to be okay.”

A warm glow fills my chest, as light and cozy as the sunlight in this apartment. “I want that,” I tell him.

“What?”

“To be with you. For this to go on and on. I want to love you whenever and however I can.”

“Then you should move in here.”

“Seriously?”

“You make it feel like home.”

I touch his jaw and lift his face. “I?—”

He kisses me to shut me up. “I love you,” he says, stealing the words from my mouth. “I love you so fucking much.”

It’s wonderful and horrible. Impossible and miraculous. It makes me want to laughandcry. But I just kiss him again. “I love you, too.”

We share the chicken and dumplings, eating from the same bowl in bed. He tells me it’s the best he’s ever had. I think it’s pretty good, so I don’t challenge the assessment. Before he leaves I give him the other gift I promised him. A slim leather bracelet that fits snugly above his right wrist bone. Inside, the words I had burned into it areProperty of S.M. He loves it and promises to get me one almost exactly like it.

It’s one more thing to look forward to. But mostly, I just want him to come back.

34

GRAHAM

“Iwish I could figure out how to get an invite to the Met Gala.”

I’m stirring cream into my coffee, distracted by my own thoughts as Avery scrolls her phone and picks at a parfait across the island from me. She’s had a few weeks to recover and is physically “all better.” To look at her, you’d never know she’d gone through what she did. It’s her presence that carries all the weight. I can feel a disturbance in the air whenever she approaches, before I even hear her coming.

I wouldn’t say there’s a pall over the apartment. It’s too sunny and cheerful for that. But there’s a vibe shift. While there’s always noise—from the Alexa or the television, there’s a stillness, too. It’s peaceful. Like my parents’ living room once the Christmas decorations are cleared away. The slate wiped clean for a new year.

The theme seems to be “moving on.”

“Do you know anyone in fashion?” I ask.

“Not really,” she says, still scrolling. “I need new friends, though. And I know your mom goes to all those charity things, but if it could not be Catholic, that’d be amazing.”

I manage to huff a laugh. “I don’t know if I can swing tickets to the Met Gala this year, but the Ballet Gala is coming up.”

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