Page 86 of A Secret and a Lie
Leaning back in my seat, I take yet another drink, nearly draining my glass at this point. The alcohol swims in my brain now, and wading through my thoughts has become like trudging through wet concrete.Just as I’d hoped.
“Would you rather have something else?” Ford asks after several moments.
I set my lips, shifting my eyes to his. “I’d rather drink my meal tonight.” After a moment, I snark, “Besides, it’s a hard adjustment from the shit prison calls food.”
He stares back at me, the flex of his sharp, flawless jaw the only indication that he heard me. Tearing my gaze from the seductive oceanic pool of his irises, I toss back the rest of my martini, moving to the bar to make another.
I’m being prickly, and we’re both aware of that fact, but I can’t find it in me to give a damn.
As I compile the ingredients, Ford speaks again. “I’ll have the remainder of your things brought here from your place.”
I shrug, even though my back is to the man. “Why? It makes no difference to me. I have no attachment to those things.”
The closet of the guest room is already filled with more than enough clothing to supply me for the foreseeable future. It’s all my favorite pieces, too, which is presumably Corinne’s doing. I never truly moved into my place, never bothering to make it a home. It had what I needed and nothing else. I spent all my time at work, anyway, so that’s where I chose to spend my money. I’m far more concerned with the state of my office, which is something I plan to check out as soon as possible.
“Because we’re married.”
Married.There’s that word again.
I whirl around to find his attention already on me. Maybe it’s the gin, or maybe prison has changed me entirely, but I find my mouth moving before my sluggish brain can catch up. “For how long?”
There’s an end to this at some point. Right? It won’t be necessary to keep up appearances in five or ten years. The world would’ve moved on by then, so we can, too.
“Forever.” Firm resolution is etched into his stony expression.
Rationality clearly isn’t on the menu tonight. Neither is finishing this meal together now that theF-wordhangs between us.
When I’ve finished pouring my martini into an icy glass and garnishing it with four olives, I mutter something about wanting to take a bath.
Inside mytemporarybedroom, I close the door and sag against the cool wood as I blow out a breath. My gaze connects with the ring I still haven’t removed. The sparkly diamonds catch the warm lamplight, casting a rainbow on the wallpaper. It really is a beautiful piece of jewelry and exactly what I would’ve chosen if I’d had the chance.
But none of this isreal. It can’t be.
I broke my cardinal rule, and he betrayed me. It doesn’t matter who he was to me in a past life. The Genevieve who crawled for Grady Blandon is dead. That woman who trusted freely is long buried.
I knew better when I kneeled in Ford’s office, yet I did it anyway. I won’t do it again.
The rug gives way to hardwood then tile as I make my way to the bathroom, drawing a luxurious bath using the lavish tinctures I find in the cabinets. When I finally sink among the bubbles, I take a deep breath, forcing the tightness in my chest to ease.
As I sip my martini, I find my mind wandering to my clients and the damage control that’s in store for me tomorrow. I have no doubt that Henry will still be interested in seeing me, but considering what I’ve been through, how will I be able to tap into the powerful, dominant side of myself?
I’d never admit it aloud, but a sliver of me that was once whole feels utterly broken, and no matter how hard I fought to glue those pieces back together in prison, they never seemed to fit as seamlessly as they once did.
I set my martini on the little side table, next to where I placed mywedding band, the water molecules transforming from gas to liquid as they form droplets and slide down the exterior of my cool glass. Closing my eyes, I plunge my arms through the pile of bubbles and into the warm water. Tilting my head back, I try to center myself, my fingers deftly beginning to caress my breasts.
It’s been ages since I evenconsideredgetting myself off, and the last orgasm I had came from Ford. I wonder if a climax or two might help tape a few of my shattered pieces back together. After a few calming breaths, I formulate a mental image, one that usually does it for me.
A faceless man on his knees, naked with his cock engorged, swinging freely between his legs like a creaky sign swaying back and forth in the wind as he crawls toward me. My black leather boots squeeze my legs like a collar.
My stance is wide, the delicate tails of the galley whip in my hand skimming the surface of the floor with the fluid grace of a serpent. When he reaches me, he sits back on his heels, his face pointed toward the floor as his palms rest face-up on his thighs.
I drag the whip over his back gently, and his breath hitches, my pussy fluttering as I circle his kneeling form. Behind him, I order, “Straighten up. Brace yourself.”
Moaning softly, I tweak my hardened nipple between two fingers, my other hand gliding through the fragrant water, skimming my stomach until I reach the apex of my thighs.
The pad of my middle finger circles my clit sensually, teasing myself. I arch my back, leaning into the pleasure beginning to ripple through my body.
The good boy sits up on his knees, his toned, muscular backside on display. I draw the whip back and let it fly.
