Page 99 of His Deadly Lies

I saunter to his desk, each step slow and smooth, before I drop into his chair and swivel around. “You went with power colors. It’s very masculine,” I reply. Opening my legs inch by inch, wide and inviting. “Would you love it if I was here for you? Every day?”

Vincent watches me, and it’s hard work not to stare at his crotch and the growing hardness there. He reaches down and rubs the area suggestively. “I can’t wait to have you,” he growls. “I’ll have you every single fucking day, Mia. Yes. In every way.”

Whether I want it or not.

“Close the drapes,” I urge. “I want it to be the two of us. No one else should watch. Yet.”

Vincent hurries to do as I ask, and I reach for the letter opener nestled next to a stack of papers, sliding it into my bra. By the time he turns around, I’m standing, walking toward him, and looping my arms around his neck.

I make the first move, kissing him, swallowing revulsion at the press of his thin lips against mine. His stubble burns across my skin. Not like Carter’s. Not anything like Carter, in any way. Vincent tastes of stale wine and garlic from the pasta, if I have to guess.

“I wish we had a bed,” I whisper against him.

He grips my ass, squeezing it tight enough to make me gasp and pulling me against his erection. He grinds his dick against me suggestively.

“We don’t need a bed. The carpet will work.” Vincent grins and turns me around in his arms before pushing me so that my hands touch the floor, my ass out.

I drop down to my knees and crawl away from him with my ass still in the air. A glance over my shoulder shows him unzipping his pants and whipping out his dick, his hand around the base. Small, hard already. He strokes a hand along a shaft that’s mostly hidden by foreskin. I swallow bile, the thought of being intimate with another man, especially Vincent, forcing me closer to the breaking point.

“I’ll take you from behind,” he groans out, stroking himself faster. Like the dirty talk is somehow supposed to make this hot. “Bury myself in that sweet cunt of yours. So deep, baby. So deep.”

“I’d much rather ride you,” I insist. Keeping it sultry. Strong. “I’ve heard it’s easier for virgins to be on top.”

I nearly shake my head at the flow of bullshit. But he’s got no argument. I’m willing. At least for now, that’s what matters.

“A fucking virgin,” he mutters. “That pussy is mine.”

I shift back so that I’m still on my knees but craning my back, hair touching the floor near my toes. Giving him a great view of my cleavage from that angle.

I’ll give him this; Vincent doesn’t put up any sort of struggle. He kicks off his shoes, pausing only to shove his pants down to his ankles and throw them aside as well. Then he’s on his back with his small dick wagging in the air like a gnome with a hat.

“Come ride this dick, Mia.”

I can’t do this.

I can’t fucking do this.

The letter opener burns between my breasts as I go to straddle him, my clothes still on. He fumbles for the buttons on my pants, and I bend down to kiss him, sliding my tongue along his.

“God, yes.” He bucks against me, his cock bobbing back and forth. “Give me that virgin cunt.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely have a part of me.”

He grabs my hand and brings it to his dick. My stomach heaves. He rips at the shoulder of my top and tears the material, baring one breast.

“But not the part you want,” I finish.

I grab the letter opener with my free hand and stab it down into the side of his neck in the next breath. Before he has a chance to react, anything more than a widening of his eyes in utter shock, I grip the handle and drag it across his throat with as much force as I can muster. The pointed tip digs into his skin and skims along muscles and tendons. My first stab hit an artery.

Vincent’s blood sprays out, and I struggle to drag myself off of him, my bodysuit hanging off my shoulder. He gurgles and chokes, pressing his hands to the wounds even as the light dies from his eyes.

Dead. His last breath squeaks out of him, and he’s still.

Vincent Accardi is dead. My hand shakes hard enough that I drop the letter opener. Vincent is dead, and now I have to try to find my way out of here.

I stand and turn away from the body just in time for the office door to burst open in a shower of splinters.

27

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