Page 38 of The Truths that Deceive

I lean forward. “Could have been for me. Not you.”

“Was it?” She stills, a small gasp escaping her lips. “Who are you?”

It’s how she phrases it, like she’ll keep picking until she learns everything. It’s not going to happen, so I feed her nothing and the truth.

“A man with a lot of enemies, a lot of money, and a lot of power.”

“Then let me go. You don’t need the payout from handing me over.”

I settle back in my seat and gaze at her. We’ve got hours of flying ahead of us, and apart from the pilots and flight attendant, we’re alone. “Interesting that’s what you lock on to. The money aspect.”

She blows out a breath.

Calista’s hair looks good. It makes her look her age, maybe a little older, more polished, like the clothes. And maybe I’m a little perverse in the fact that I miss the silver-blond and colorful hues streaking the cut.

Looking like this, like a chic, sophisticated young woman, Calista would be someone my Smith Hunt cover persona would date and even consider marrying. And then he’d likely go and fuck a whole lot of hot, available pussy, the kind that likes to be fucked in a sex club, likes to play games with them in public places.

But the real me? I don’t cheat. I rarely have relationships. They come with baggage, strings, and weights. I have no need or desire for any of that shit.

But Smith Hunt, the persona who likes to fly around in a fancy fucking jet and marry shiny, young pussy that’s well-behaved, is going to cheat.

The fucking punch in the gut is if I was him, I’d cheat on this woman with the hacker girl inside of her.

Because me and my alter ego want both versions of her.

Now I’m the one scraping a hand over my face.

“Feeling bad you kidnapped me?”

I flick a glance at her. “Fuck no. Feeling bad I didn’t bring a gag.”

“You’re a real funny guy. Please,” she says, deadpan, “bring some surgical tape because I’m coming apart at the seams.”

“Get your ass over here.”

Her eyes go hard. “I’m on a fucking plane with you. I’m here.”

“No. Get over here. To me. On the floor.”

She gets up, which half shocks me, taking her time to unbuckle the seat belt, and she crosses from her luxury seat opposite mine.

But she doesn’t sink to her knees. Instead, she rests a hand on either side of my head and leans in. “I’m not getting on the floor.”

I’m not buckled in. Grabbing her by the waist, I flip her down so I’m on top of her, nestled in against the heat of her denim-covered pussy. Deliberately, I rub up against her. “You’re not real good at following instructions.”

“I’m not real good at being humiliated. Or being told to suck an old cock.”

I laugh, nipping her throat, making her arch up into me, her soft moan negating her words.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you’ll love sucking my cock, and I didn’t say anything about humiliating you.”

“It’s what you get off on, right?”

“Do you?”

“I just said?—”

“We both know your words and your reactions are galaxiesapart.” I kiss a line down her throat as I skim my hand up under her top to expose her lace-covered breast. I find that hard little pebble of a nipple, kissing my way down until I can take it in my mouth, hold it between my teeth, and run my tongue over it.

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