Page 43 of Make Me Lie (Rich Demons of Darkwood 1)

“No, that’s more Cain’s department,” he said. “I just like giving you what you want.”

“I don’t want this.”

His hard cock pressed against my ass, as if he wanted to finger-fuck me in front of all these strangers no matter how much he pretended this was out of the kindness of his heart. “New rules, little devil. There are consequences if you lie to me.”

I shook my head, rejecting the ‘rules’ he was making up on the fly.

“You might like the consequences,” he murmured into my ear, and my back arched despite myself, pushing my throbbing core down harder onto his waiting fingers. His teeth caught my earlobe and pinched it, and I bit my lip, holding back the moan that came to my lips. “If you pretend you don’t want me, little devil, if you try to hide how you feel in public—well, I’m going to make sure everyone knows.”

His hand swept up the front of my jeans, working against my button and fly. As much as I wanted him, I shook my head. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Yep.” His lips grazed my throat again, alternating between pressing kisses and sucking my skin hard enough to bruise.

I glanced down at the table, which had to block my jeans from view. People were pointedly not looking our way now, as if they were afraid to earn Remington’s ire, too. They’d seen what he did to the girl who pushed herself on him.

His hand delved into my jeans, into my panties, and his warm fingers pressed against my clit. I let out a gasp, wiggling helplessly against his grip as he continued to stroke me. Heat washed through me, my core melting into liquid warmth, my toes curling inside my sneakers.

“You’ve got an exhibitionist streak,” he murmured into my ear. “Ohh, we’re going to have so much fun together, Aurora.”

I pressed my lips together, holding back both my denial and the moan that came to my lips. I had a feeling if I pushed Remington, he might very well just throw me down on the table. His hand rested against the bare skin of my waist, pushing my t-shirt up, and his lips kept teasing against my throat. I tossed my head, feeling my hair lash against his face, finding myself squirming hungrily against his fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Come for me right here.”

I shook my head, or maybe I was just tossing my hair. I certainly wasn’t trying to escape him anymore. His fingers worked steadily against my clit, then two of them plunged inside me, pressing against my g-spot, and my hips jerked. I almost came off his lap before he yanked me against him, reeling me in.

“Come for me,” he whispered, and I couldn’t help it anymore.

I let out a long low moan as I shattered, grinding down against his fingers, my thighs opening wide. My head found his shoulder as my back arched, his long, deft fingers playing me like a violin as the world around us blurred, as pleasure flooded every part of my body.

I collapsed against his lap, breathing hard. He turned his face into mine and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Good girl.”

I blinked as if I were waking up, coming back to life. Everyone around us was staring fixedly at their books.

“Ohh, Remington,” I groaned, and he grinned. “I can never come back in here again.”

“Bullshit. You’ll be fine. Who cares what the sheep think.” He withdrew his hand and popped his fingers into his mouth, absently sucking my juices off his fingers. “Come on. Let’s go use the library at the society house.”

I bolted off his lap, my clit still sore and aching from that orgasm as I fastened my jeans again. “Why did you bring me here, then?”

He gave me a sunny smile that was all innocence before he stood and took my hand. “My own amusement.”

Remington was a terrible person.

But the ache between my thighs suggested that my body didn’t agree with my mind.

11

Aurora

Iwas drowning. Water flowed constantly over my nose and mouth, and I choked and sputtered.

He finally peeled back the cloth covering my face, and the world brightened. I tried to draw in long, desperate, gasping breaths, then rolled over and vomited. It still felt like my lungs were full of water and my sinuses were burning, filled with water themselves. I covered my face, pressing the heels of my hands hard into my eyes, trying to fight back tears. I’d just come so close to death, I could feel it.

“Stay calm, Delilah. You’re so ugly when you cry.”

My father was obsessed with calm, with molding me into the perfect predator who never faltered, never felt fear. My shoulders shook once, then relaxed, as I finally mastered myself. I dropped my hands and turned to face him.

“So what do you think?”

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