Page 10 of Cunning Lies
But with Kenzo, theywantme to be here, and I have no doubt that he can kill me with a flick of his finger. He’d probably convince me to beg him for the opportunity.
Kenzo is the biggest red flag of them all, but I’m still here.
“Call me ‘Vi,’” I whisper.
“That’swhat you want from me?”
I want this night to be over so that I can forget that you ever dressed me up like your little doll, or that for a brief second, I was actually attracted to a yakuza gangster.
“Sure,” I say.
“All right. Vi,” he says.
There’s an announcement, and Kenzo whisks me away to the Boulevard Ballroom. There’s so much food and conversation that I sit back while Kenzo takes the lead. The other guests comment about how beautiful I am, and I switch between sips of champagne and water, hoping the buzz in my head won’t drown me like it always does. But it doesn’t feel like drinking with Uncle Jay and Patrick. It’s fainter than usual, but still a welcome mist over the evening.
After all, this is way out of my comfort zone.
A server places the main course in front of us: oven-roasted salmon for me, and a filet mignon for Kenzo. We’re almost through our dinner when Kenzo cuts a bite of steak, then holds it up to me.
“Open your mouth,” he says, his voice commanding me. My cheeks burn. It’s just a piece of meat, but it seems so much more phallic than it is. Kenzo smirks; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Give it a taste, Vi.”
I melt inside, but I open my mouth. It’s medium rare, seasoned to perfection with pepper and garlic, and it tastes like heaven. I close my eyes in satisfaction, and an amused grunt comes from Kenzo. I flake off a piece of my salmon, lifting it to him, but he grabs the fork from me, beaming as he chews.
So he can feed me, but I can’t feed him? I don’t understand what he’s getting from this.
“Kenzo,” one of the other guests says. “What’s going on with the Flamingo? Is Samurai Corporation really in talks to buy it out?”
“We’re courting Caesars Entertainment, sure,” he says. “Not sure if it’s the Flamingo we like, but—”
He brushes aside the fabric of my dress, the slit sliding open, exposing my thighs. His palm grazes my skin and my mind goes blank.
Why is he touching my thigh?
He’s just touching me,I tell myself.It’s not a big deal.And that’s the truth. I can move his hand, but I don’t. Maybe it’s the champagne. Or the gourmet food. Or the fact that I’m living on adrenaline right now because I’m on a date with a man from the yakuza and yet we’re surrounded by sophisticated investors. Everything tumbles inside of me. Kenzo’s lips move, orchestrating the people around us with his charm. He turns to me and winks while seamlessly continuing the conversation.
My throat drops to my belly, and a flush crests over my cheeks. His hands rub back and forth on my thigh and I take my last bite of salmon, stuffing my mouth so that I don’t have to acknowledge the way he’s making me feel. I’m not a virgin, but my sexual history is limited, so this—whatever his hand is doing—is weird.Notan unwanted sensation, but different. It’s possessive, like he wants me to know that heownsme. And yet, it feels good too. Like he’s reminding me that he’s by my side.
Maybe I like being held this way.
“I hear the president booked your celebrity suite,” another guest says.
“That’s a funny story,” Kenzo says, wiping a napkin across his mouth with his free hand. “He actually—”
His touch moves higher, and higher, until he’s cupping between my legs. I hold my breath. Everything is tight there, like I’m squeezing to fit inside of the tiniest lingerie imaginable. But when his fingers gently press my folds and the fabric of my underwear is the only barrier between us, my cheeks redden.
What is he doing?And here, of all places?
One of the guests looks at me. “It’s so good, right?” she asks.
What?
I blink up at her, and Kenzo fingers snake underneath my panties.
“What?” I ask, my voice squeaking higher than usual. Is she talking about what Kenzo’s doing to me? His fingers are warm between my thighs and I’m basically a human tomato. I must be soaked.
“The salmon,” she explains. “I’m going to sneak into the back and see if they have anymore.”
“Really good,” I mutter.
