Page 11 of Cunning Lies
His finger slides between my folds again, and it’s so obvious. Iamwet.Humiliatingly wet.He’s touching me underneath a table while we’re surrounded by people. Their eyes float between Kenzo and me, and I swear, one man stares a little too long.Like he knows.Like they allmustknow what we’re doing right now.
I’m only doing this for Uncle Jay,I tell myself.I’m doing this for our dream house. On the beach—
But it’s not just that.
Kenzo presses his finger deeper, but he doesn’t enter completely. He’s teasing me. My body aches for more and my skin prickles.
Am I making it obvious?
I’m supposed to be a virgin.
I lower my eyes to my lap, but Kenzo readjusts his grip between my thighs, and it only makes me hotter. Am I supposed to push him away? Is that what a virgin would do?
But what if I don’t want to push him away?
“What do you think, Vi?” Kenzo asks. Everyone waits for me to answer, but Kenzo doesn’t stop playing with me. He pushes the tip of his finger inside, and my walls constrict around him.
“Really good,” I say.
“I didn’t think you liked the crab cakes,” another person says. “You hardly touched them.”
“Oh.”
Sweat covers me. My face must be as wet as my thighs. Kenzo kisses my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. Between my legs, his palm skims my hair as his finger slides another inch deeper inside of me.
“So you liked your dinner, then?” Kenzo breathes.
I expect to find my salmon on my plate, but I find half of a cheesecake. I don’t even remember eating it. I’ve been so distracted by Kenzo’s hand between my legs.
“It was great,” I say.
“They outdid themselves this year,” Kenzo says to the group.
“So good,” another guest says. She turns back to me. “That salmon, right?”
“Really good,” I say again. I feel so stupid repeating myself like that, but it’s all that comes to mind. They keep talking and my mind whirls into nothingness as his finger presses inside of me, filling me up. Everything is sensitive and throbbing, and I swear everyone is judging me for being some kind of yakuza skank. But I don’t move. I don’t want to. And Kenzo acts like he’s doingnothing.Like he’s simply entertaining the room. Like he has nothing to do with why my brain is in a fog. I survey each of the guests with a strained smile. What do they know? Can they read right through me? A pressure builds inside of me, scorching my cheeks, and a small moan escapes my lips. I smack a hand over my mouth.
“Excuse me,” I say, pretending I burped.
“Too much champagne?” one of the guests jokes.
“Maybe.”
“Coffee?” a server asks. Kenzo’s hand slips out from between my legs.
“Please,” he says.
The conversation moves on, and I’m disappointingly empty. The server pours his cup. No one seems to know what he did; they must have thought his hand was on my thigh—nothing more than a romantic gesture. He cups his face, like he’s wiping his mouth, but I swear he licks the edge of his finger, tasting my need right in front of everyone. It’s disgusting. And… maybe a little hot.
Okay, maybe it’sreallyhot.
I sink inside of myself, my entire body aching for him. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like I need his hands on me right now.
“Coffee, Vi?” Kenzo asks.
“Coffee,” I repeat. “Yes, please.”
His smug expression makes my insides burn, and part of me hates him for being like this. For putting me in this bind. The server pushes my coffee forward and I cross my legs so tightly that my thighs go numb. But that ache doesn’t go away. Kenzo puts his arm around my back, dragging his fingertips along my bare shoulders, covering my skin in goosebumps. He has so much sensual power over me; it’s embarrassing. How did I let it get this far?
