Page 104 of Beautiful Liar

My mouth twitches. “Neither do I. I’ll work something out.” I step back and adjust her on the table so her head isn’t hanging anymore. Bending forward, I place a kiss on her flat belly. “Stay.”

I zip myself up and head to the bathroom next door. I grab a couple of towels, run them under warm water and return to the dining room. Lucky is lying on her side, her lips caught in her teeth as she suppresses a moan.

The sight of her rings all my sexual bells. Loud and hard. Already, I want to fuck her again. I hit the remote to stop the filming and clean her up.

“Q?” Her voice is soft and languid.

“Hmm?”

“Can I take the vibrator out?”

My body is still recovering from my orgasm. I should give her time to recover too. “No. Not yet.” Told you I’m not nice. “But I’ll decrease the vibration.”

I lower the setting and she stops shuddering. “Thank you.”

I stare down at her. My cock is waking up again. I want to fuck her ass, like right now. But her soft body on the hard table also jars. “Would you like me to make you comfortable, Lucky?”

Her nod slides her silky hair over the table. “Yes, please.”

I look around. Tonight’s shoot was set to happen in here. But I can improvise a little. Sliding my hands under her, I pick her up, carry her into the living room and place her on the sofa. There are no lit lamps in here, but there’s enough light spilling from the dining room that I catch her shiver, despite the ambient temperature.

“Are you cold?”

She shrugs. “A little.”

The robe she was instructed to leave outside the dining room door is on the floor. I retrieve it and drape it over her shoulders.

“Would you like a drink?”

She swallows and a tiny moan falls from her lips. “Umm…Q?”

“Yes?”

“The…the vibrator—”

“It stays, firecracker. So does the plug. Drink?”

She nods.

I pour myself a whiskey in the dining room and fix her a light alcohol-based cocktail. From the way she reacted to the champagne on the plane, I can tell she’s a relative lightweight. I don’t want her drunk for the next session.

When she senses me coming toward her, she holds out her hand. She’s mastering adjusting to the deprivation of sight. Were I of the inclination or if I had the time, I would enjoy training her into my little slave. A smile twitches my lips and I choose to keep that morsel away from my firecracker as I place the drink in her hand.

I retreat to the end of the living room and take the armchair by the darkened fireplace.

She takes a sip of her drink, licks her lips. After a moment of silence, her hand drifts up to touch her blindfold.

My release has taken the edge off my savage anger, so I change tactics again.

“Do you still want to see me, Lucky?”

Her body stills. She’s probably trying to work out if it is a trick question. “This isn’t a you-can-see-me-but-then-I’ll-have-to-kill-you scenario, is it?” she ventures tentatively. There’s a throb of anticipation, but there are also many terrible emotions in that question.

“No. It’s far less lethal than that.”

“Then, if you don’t mind.”

I mind. And yet the alien need to give needles me. Enough so I remain silent, sipping my drink while I contemplate the emotion. The last person who triggered a need such as this was—

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