Page 22 of Master of Lies

“It’s a much better plan,” I offered boldly. “It’s my wildest dream come true.”

“There’s a cot over there, with blankets. Go wrap yourself up and keep your mouth shut. I won’t touch you, and I’ll get you someplace safe as soon as I can, but listen. If you try to fuck me up, I swear to God, I will tear you to pieces. Are we clear?”

I processed that. Those was some impressive mixed messages. On the one hand, I was perfectly safe. On the other, his enormous dick was denting out the denim of his jeans. And if I was bad, he would tear me to pieces. It was enough to make a girl dizzy.

Well. Sandee was dizzy by nature. I revved up the seduction machine, drifting closer. “I would never fuck you up, James.” I undid the top button of my sweater. One button, pop. Two. Three, revealing my cleavage. Four and five showed the fastening of the blue silk balcony bra. So far, so good.

I pulled the last ones free. The sweater hung wide open.

“Sandee. Goddamnit.” His voice had a grim, warning tone. “Don’t.”

“I can tell you want me.” My voice shook, and so did my legs, but I took a tottering step forward. “I mean, the evidence is way out there. Or it would be, if you opened up those jeans and let it out of its cage. Let me see it. Let me…touch it.”

“Forget it,” he said curtly. “Not gonna happen.”

“What, are you afraid of me?” I fluttered my lashes. “I want to feel your cock inside me. I’m so wet. I’m aching for it. You can do whatever you want.”

Wow, where the hell did that come from? It scared me. As if I was becoming Sandee for real. Desperately overcompensating for my lonely, tragic, hard-luck story.

Onward. I tossed my mane of bleached hair and unfastened the front clasp of the bra, letting the cups drop. Breasts bared, nipples tight in the chilly air.

I arched my back, cupped my own breasts for him, caressing them, delicately pinching my nipples, sliding my fingers over the heavy under-curve. Lifting them for his inspection. Eyes heavy-lidded. Heart thudding double-time.

“Touch them,” I said, breath coming short between my open lips. “Please.”

He slowly shook his head, but he was riveted by the spectacle, so I upped the ante. Sliding my hand down to the vee of my mound, rubbing myself through the skirt. Lifting it over my bare thighs. Inch by inch. He couldn’t look away.

Which was gratifying, I had to say. His eyes had glanced over me without stopping when I was a teenager with the frizzy hair, bad glasses, braces, puppy fat. But now, oh. The look on his face. As if he was afraid of me.Yes.

His eyes were hot. His hands clenched, flexed, shaking. I should be scared, but I’m not. Or, at least, Sandee’s not. I shrugged off the sweater and bra, putting my shoulders back.Take that, buddy. In your face.

I reached for the hook of the pleated wool schoolgirl skirt. With one hand, I undid it, and let it fall around my ankles. I wore just a silk thong and red ankle boots.

“Sandee,” he whispered. “Holy shit. Really?”

“I told you at the prison how much I wanted you. Did you not believe me?”

“I think you need urgent psychological help.” His voice sounded strangled.

I kicked the skirt away. “Oh, yes, I need help, James. The kind that only you can give me.”

He held his hand up. “Back off. This is not happening.”

“Actually, it’s already well under way.” I reached out to run my finger, tipped with an opalescent blue fake nail, up the length of his stiff cock, still trapped in his jeans. Mmm, a big wet spot. Very promising.

I grabbed his belt buckle, tugged it loose. Undid the buttons. His face was a mask of tension. Blood had scabbed on the cuts on his cheekbone.

His feet were bare. Beautiful. Long, strong. But something about his naked feet, his bruises, the marks on his face…it made him seem almost vulnerable. I didn’t like that at all. It was confusing. I tugged his pants down. His cock sprang out.

Oh, whoa. He was truly hung. It stood up high and proud, flushed a hot red, the veins along the shaft dark and distinct. His cockhead shone with pre-come.

He let out a thick, gasping sound as I grabbed it, milked it, squeezing out some of the silky-slick liquid and spreading it over his glans with my palm. I felt his heartbeat throb against my caressing hand.

“Sandee. You don’t have to…” His voice broke off, panting. He cleared his throat. “I told you. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do I look like I’m not enthusiastic?” I gave him a voluptuous squeeze and a long, caressing stroke, root to tip. “Because you certainly seem, well…up for it.”

“Cool it. Please. I am on a hair trigger.”

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