Page 49 of Beautiful Liar

“I’m surrounded by your pictures, Lucky. Your face reflects your mood beautifully, your body even more so. Your voice is merely another conduit of your emotions.”

“Or I could be a very good actress.”

“I don’t think so, but if you insist, I look forward to discovering which version is more accurate.”

“I have time to practice my poker face then.”

“Good luck.”

Like all his words, there’s a thin trace of cruelty in them. I should be disturbed. But I find myself clutching a plump cushion, and when I turn my head, I realize I’m reclined on the sofa, the T-shirt I wore to bed now resting just beneath my panty line. “So, did you…did you like all of the photos?”

“Every single one. But one in particular captured my attention.”

My breath catches. I suddenly feel too hot, and I want to peel the T-shirt over my head, but I don’t want to move. “Which one?” I whisper, half of me hopes my voice is too low for him to hear and the other half yearns for an answer.

“You’re seated. Your knees together, feet apart. You look…conflicted. Like you’re fighting something you want to give in to, but won’t allow yourself.”

My chest vibrates with the strength of my agitated breathing. Beneath the T-shirt, my nipples are stiff, ravenous peaks. My stomach is hollowed out, and a wholly involuntary twitch of my hips clearly outlines my bare pussy against my thin, white panties.

“There’s also a touch of guilt,” he continues, “as if you don’t think you deserve what you’re not allowing yourself to crave.”

“Wow, all that in one picture? You do fancy yourself a clairvoyant,” I dare to tease.

I hear a clink of ice against glass. “Tell me which part I got wrong,” he commands.

I can’t, of course, so I don’t answer.

“There will be no guilt when I fuck you, Lucky. No guilt, no fighting, only your complete surrender.” The statement seethes with purpose, and I’m caught in the web of sensation so strong I experience the tiniest of releases between my legs.

My hips twitch again and I turn and bite the cushion. Hard.

Fuck.

“Do you understand?” he demands.

I blink to try and regain focus. “Y—yes.” My voice is a shamelessly turned on croak.

“Lucky?”

God, the way that electric current vibrates through me! “Yes?”

“Time to head to bed.”

My gaze roves over the room, takes in the stairs leading up to the bedroom. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Why not?”

Because moving will ruin what the sound of your voice is doing to my clit.“I’m…comfortable right here.”

“I see. The sofa is comfortable enough, but I’d prefer it if you don’t make a habit of it. Uninterrupted rest when it’s mandated will ensure your continued health.”

I should be pissed that he’s instructing me on where I should sleep. But the thick river of lust moving through my body is too delicious to ruin with a fight.

I tug the folded cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and drape it over me before I snuggle deeper into my makeshift bed.

“Right. Noted. Thanks for your understanding, Q.” Saying his name makes me smile.

“Goodnight, Lucky.” I imagine I hear faint amusement in his voice, too.

I turn my head and search for the black box. It’s still on the floor where I dropped it earlier. The green light is still on. I stare at it as languor sweeps over me.

My sleep is thankfully dreamless. When I wake four hours later, my eyes immediately zero in on the box. It’s still where I left it.

But the light has gone out.

And I’m once again left wondering if it was all a hallucination.

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