Page 67 of The Deception: Hercules Valentine and I
Dinner with Heartly
Paisley Grove
Hercules snores gently against the back of my neck. I love that sound. I’ve pulled my hair up and over my shoulder so that I can feel his wind spreading across my skin.
I slide my palm across the back of his hand. I can feel the heat of his skin against my belly. My back side is fastened to his front side. I can’t imagine separating from him.
I can’t fall asleep. The excitement of being near Hercules Valentine is too high. Plus, as long as I’m living a lie, it’s hard to rest. At this very moment, I want to shake him awake and tell him the truth. My lie is vexing.
But there are a lot of other things about Hercules that make me uncomfortable. He’s such an adult. His bed is huge and has a black leather tufted headboard. It’s sexy and comfortable, a lot like him. His sheets smell like him too. And every part of the apartment is so exceptionally decorated. The furniture appears custom-made and handpicked with ambience in mind. He likes artwork too. The piece he bought from Lake isn’t outside his range of taste. There are a lot of abstracts hanging on the walls, which I find interesting.Why not more representational pieces?Because Hercules has never been an on-the-nose person. He’s always been hard to figure out. He’s indeed the embodiment of an abstract painting.
His snore cracks against my neck. He pulls me closer to him as his hand travels up my sternum. “Soft,” he whispers.
I gasp when he seizes one of my breasts then kneads it and gently pinches the nipple to make it harder. I guess he’s waking up. And then when he rubs his hardening manhood against my ass, I know exactly what he wants.
“Baby,” he whispers as he carefully guides me onto my back.
I part my thighs for him and wrap my arms around his broad, strong back. Yet again, I am full of Hercules Valentine. Yet again, I’m in sensory overload, trying to keep my tears from rolling as his manhood glides in and out, in and out. I’m so wet.
Mmm…
* * *
I blink slowly.Sunlight intrudes into my eyes as I stretch my arm, reaching for Hercules. I don’t make contact with his hilly chest or solid biceps.
I slide my palm up and down the mattress.I’m alone.
The haziness dissolves from my vision as I flip onto my back.
“Good morning,” Hercules says.
I’m not alone.I sit up. Hercules is standing at the foot of his bed. He’s wearing a navy-blue tracksuit that makes him extra scrumptious.
“Good morning,” I croon and stretch. I can feel traces of his manhood pumping through me, and it’s making me horny—that is, until I become cognizant of the glum expression on his face as he checks his watch.
“I’m going for a run. I’ll take you home when I get back,” he says.
I hold my breath then let it out. “Okay.”
Hercules doesn’t kiss me before he walks out of the room, nor does he give me a second look. Something is wrong.
I kick the heavy duvet off my legs.What could’ve happened between when he last entered me and now?My gaze zips around the room, seeking clues. I take notice of his floating dressers and the decorative wall panels behind the headboard. I only now notice the five panels of artwork that form a scene of evergreens at the base of snowcapped Rocky Mountains. The same old feeling of being outlived by Hercules overwhelms me. I never should have let Max lock me away in his house in Palo Alto. I’ll never live that way again. When this is all over, I’ll make my own adult life.
“Maybe he’s not a morning person,” I whisper as I flop back down against the mattress. And then…
My purse.
I roll over. It’s not by the side of the bed, where I thought it landed.
“No,” I gasp and press my hands over my mouth.
My judgement lapsed as soon as I rode up on his special car elevator. I left my purse in his car, I think. I hoist my legs over the side of the bed and rush down the wide hallway. His marble floors are warm against the bottoms of my feet.Hercules would have heated flooring.I make it to the living room. The curtains are open. The sky is gray, but Hercules’s penthouse comes with a breathtaking view of the city rising around Central Park for miles on out. I'm too anxious to stop and relish the sight that’s obviously meant to dazzle. No matter what, I have to get back into that garage and secure my purse.
I start to turn away from the large windows, but then I see it sitting on an end table made of black stone. My feet are glued to the floor as my heart sinks. I surely didn’t put my purse on top of that gorgeous piece of furniture last night. Hercules must have done it.
I walk slowly across the room. When I’m standing alongside the table, I stare down at my little red bag.Why the hell did I bring it in the first place?I pray that I smartly left my cellphone at home.
I pick up my purse and open it. I close my eyes and sigh with dread.My cellphone.I take it out.It’s powered on.My chest hurts. I have one missed call from Treasure, but I don’t have her name in my contacts, just the number. I received another call while I was away from my purse, though—from Max.
“Oh no,” I whisper. Max’s call was not missed.
I search over my shoulder.I have to get the hell out of here.
* * *
