Page 16 of Liar's Heart
“I don’t know. I’ve been here all day,” I say, keeping my tone light.
“Mm-hmm. Here in your office with the door locked. You're watching her, aren’t you? Ya perv.”
Goddamnit. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
He raises his eyebrows and steeples his fingers, waiting for me to answer the question.
“She’s working,” I grind out.
He smirks. “So it’s not unreasonable that you'd be in here rubbing one out.”
Glaring at him, I say, “I'm not fucking doing that here. Especially during business hours.”
He doesn't need to know how bad it is at home though. Nightly showers take twice as long as they ever have. If I wasn’t miserable enough, she sleeps in these tiny little nightgowns—lace and silk that look more like gift wrapping than pajamas. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to sleep next to her every night if I don't take the edge off before she curls up inches away from me, warm and soft under the blankets. Self-control has never been an issue for me, but my god, if anyone could lead me into temptation, it's her.
It was a hell of a lot easier to keep my hands to myself when I wasn’t married to a woman made for sex. Try as she might to ice me out, she does a terrible job of hiding how hot her blood runs. All it took was her hair in my fist to make herpurr for me, the sweetest little kitten mewling into my mouth. And Merrick’s hair was made for pulling, like her lips were made for biting. Her hips were made to be squeezed, to have fingerprint-shaped bruises blooming in arcs across the lush curves of her ass from being pinned down and fucked over and over again. I just know my fist has nothing on the tight squeeze of her cunt, but my fist is the only consolation I have, even if it barely takes the edge off anymore.
Ro playfully squints at me, letting me know he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said before moving on. “I also got Harding Group nailed down for Monday at eight a.m. our time. Do the usual?”
Harding Group is a company based in London that wants to consult with Typhon on a full security audit, and this meeting’s been in the works for a few days now. They’re not our first international client, so normally, if we have meetings at odd hours, we’ll hold them in my study. That way, we can set up ahead of time and won’t be interrupted by overnight cleaners. Ro has a room at my house for this kind of thing, so he’ll probably spend the night Sunday and save himself the early drive. “Works for me. Thanks for getting that scheduled.”
He raps his knuckles on my desk twice and stands up to leave. “No problem.” Right before he opens the door, he throws out over his shoulder, “Happy stalking!”
The asshole makes sure he’s gone with the door closed behind him before I can flip him off. Whatever. Rolling my eyes, I bring the camera feed back up and find my wife still working at her desk, right where I left her.
It’s not long before Merrick gets up from her chair, stretching as she stands. She checks her phone before slipping it into her back pocket, then walks out of her office. Knowing where she's likely heading, I flip through different cameras and follow her path to my study.
She’s been doing this at least once a day, going to mystudy. Sometimes, she just walks by, even if it’s out of her way. Other times, she stands for a minute, staring at the door like there’s a puzzle to solve to get it open. But she never touches the thumbprint scanner on the wall or even tries the handle to see if it’s locked.
I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but it’s clear whatever it is, she thinks it’s in there.
I wonder how long it'll take her to ask me to let her in.
Probably as long as it'll take me to ask her the same.
So we’re both fucked.
Goddamnit.
Today must be a ponder day because Merrick stares down the door for a few minutes, chewing on her bottom lip, a habit of hers that drives me crazy. If anyone’s going to sink their teeth into that pouty lip of hers, it should be me.
Eventually, she releases her trapped lip and leaves the door, looping back to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water before heading to our wing. The only places in the house where I don’t have cameras are private bedrooms and bathrooms, so I can only watch from the hall when she goes into our bedroom.
She doesn’t close the door behind her, so I zoom in on the doorway. I don’t see anything for a while, but I can hear her quietly moving around the room, opening and closing drawers, I think. She comes back into view, her long, black hair now piled into a messy bun. Disappearing again, she returns a moment later with the book she’s been reading. I follow her down the hall to our den and watch her settle into her spot on the couch, with her drink and phone next to her on the end table and a blanket tugged off the back of the couch over her legs. I make sure she’s settled in and reading before shutting everything down and heading home for the night.
Thirty-five minutes later, I’m walking into the house, heading straight for the den. We have a more formal living room, but the den in our private wing is a more casual spacemeant just for us. It’s the room where you’ll find the furniture meant for lounging, books meant to actually be read for fun, board games, the television, and throw blankets. It’s like my own personal apartment tucked inside the mansion.
Merrick looks up from her book and gives me a faint smile in greeting. I close the distance between us and kiss the top of her head. “Hey. How was your day?”
She shrugs, sticking her bookmark in between the pages and partially closing it. “It was okay. Boring. How was yours?”
“Good. Finally got a meeting set up for a client I’m really excited about for Monday.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. They’re out of London, though, so it’ll be first thing in the morning. Ro’s going to spend the night Sunday, and we’ll work from my study Monday,” I explain.
Her face remains impassive, like it has every time I’ve spoken to her since we left that fucking party. It’s killing me. Anything would be better than these stone walls. Crying, screaming. Anything to show at least part of her cares. “Is that okay with you?” I add when she doesn’t respond.
