Page 173 of The Liar's Reckoning

His gaze drops to my lap like his thoughts are going to the same place. “I’m not asking for less,” he says. “If she won’t pay, you both know what’s gonna happen. I don’t have anything left to lose, Senator.”

I swallow hard, dreading the nightmare he seems eager to drag me through. I don’t think Avery was exaggerating about her husband’s unwillingness to pay a sum this high to make it all go away. He’s a surgeon, not a titan of industry, and who knows how much Avery still has from the divorce settlement.

“Please, Silas. This is between you and me. Don’t drag her into this.”

“Are you asking to be blackmailed?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Wow. I thought there was no way I could think less of you, but you keep managing to surprise me.”

“Is there anything I can do to?—”

He cuts me off with a derisive laugh. “You want to work it off? That’s sweet. Ironic, but still, I’m sure Avery would appreciate the effort.”

Heat floods my face, the idea too appealing to my sex-starved soul. “Is that a real offer?” I find myself asking.

He shakes his head, his look of disgust unmistakable. “In your fucking dreams.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me with a desperate ache in my groin and saliva pooling in my cheeks.

53

SILAS

I’ve been living in vengeance mode ever since the night Lilah and I got drunk on tequila and hatched our plan, but seeing Graham caught me off guard. I shouldn’t have crossed the street. I wish I could say why I did, but I don’t think I’d like the answer if I delved too deep.

It’s perverse and humiliating that I’m still so drawn to him. Like my sense of self-preservation goes out the window. How can he get me hard just by sitting there being pathetic? But he does. I’m halfway to my apartment before my erection flags. Huge apologies to the woman whose ass it brushed on the subway. I was so embarrassed, I switched cars. I never switch cars.

My stalker is waiting for me when I get home. There’s something entirely unsurprising about seeing him leaning on a bike rack with his head down in front of my building.

I guess I’m not the only one with a tendency toward self-destruction. I don’t speak to him, but I do hold open the door. He follows me inside, and for a brief, glittering second it’s like old times—the way we used to enter his Chelsea apartment before I had a key. I could do without the sudden rush of tenderness, butit’s gone quickly enough when I remember what he threw away in service to his career.

The bottom line is I have a needy dick and a revenge fantasy. Both are eager to come out and play. I haven’t had sex in more than two weeks. Gil isn’t sure what to make of the fact that I “got fired.” We’ve texted a few times, but I haven’t seen him since I’ve been an independent contractor. Winning this lawsuit will keep me from having to figure out a way to sell myself online, and I’m counting on that. Working for Katia gave me a veneer of legitimacy—a step above a common prostitute, but that false protection is gone.

I didn’t except Gil to react the way he has, but I accept it, even if it hurts and leaves me feeling even more alone. It fuels my anger, and I blame all of this for the fact that I’m letting Graham into my apartment with every intention of making him suffer as much as I have.

He waits in the living room while I grab the bottle of tequila from my kitchen counter and take it into the bathroom with me.

I turn on the shower and strip off the suit I’ve been sweating in all day. I set my phone on the toilet lid before stepping into the hot stream of water. I don’t expect to be alone long, and I resent how deeply, how well, I know the man I left in my living room.

He knows me too. The instant I’ve washed off, I see him through the shower curtain, like the muscle memory of how long it takes me to clean myself is still ingrained in him.

A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I reach for my phone, sure to keep it out of the spray of water. He enters, naked, and immediately drops to his knees. I adjust the shower head to aim the water at his head. As I do, the sheen of his steel cage catches my attention. Good. I want him to hurt. I want him to ache. I want every second of this to be as shameful and humiliating as he made me feel when he denied ever touching me.

I aim the phone’s lens at him as he stares up at me, my cock standing stiff and ready between us. Once I’m recording, I nod.

He grips my shaft and sucks my crown between his slightly parted lips.

My toes curl, and I bite back a curse as I try to keep from buckling through the initial burst of intense pleasure. My eyelids droop as I watch him watching me, his eyes never leaving mine, acting like the camera doesn’t exist.

“Show me your tongue, puppy,” I say.

He pulls off with a gasp and sticks out his tongue. Water spills over it and still, his saliva creates thick strands that cling to his chin. My heart thuds suddenly, and it hurts. Like a blow to a broken bone. I don’t want to want him, and I certainly don’t want to miss him. Therefore, that can’t be what this is.

I wrap my free hand around the nape of his neck and force him back down on me, thrusting deep into his throat. He chokes, and I hold myself there while he struggles to adjust.

His muscles work around my cock, bringing me straight the edge, but I force myself to remember that everything that was good between us is long gone. “You’re acting like you don’t want it, Senator. But you do, don’t you?”

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