Page 64 of Marry Lies
“Is this for telling you one of my truths, or is it a part of your physical chemistry game?” he asks, his voice tentative—as if he’s testing me.
“Maybe a little bit of both,” I tease, smiling. “But really, thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me.”
To my surprise, he brushes a thumb along the underside of my palm, and the feel of his calloused skin against mine makes my skin break out in gooseflesh.
His eyes look down at my hand over his, and then he gives me a small, lopsided smile. “I have an idea for our little game.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means when he turns his hand over and holds mine against his, tugging it slightly.
“Come here.”
I don’t let go of his hand as I stand, and before I know what’s happening, he’s tugging me onto his lap. Just as I’m about to protest, the chef comes back in with pudding.
And it’s eclairs.
Oh, fuck me.
It’s almost unfair–like he’s slowly seducing me with food.
“I believe these are your favorite?” he asks smugly.
“They are,” I grumble. I’m sitting stiffly on his thighs, and I go still as he reaches to the plate, holding an eclair in his hand, offering it up to me.
“Take a bite, butterfly,” he murmurs.
That nickname is going to be the death of me.
I lean forward, my skin buzzing where we’re in contact—namely, my back and arse against his warm thighs. I suck in a breath as he wraps an arm around my middle, pulling me closer as I open my mouth and take a small bite of the eclair.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, chewing as my eyes roll to the back of my head.
And then I feel something underneath me. Something long, hard, and thick…
My eyes widen. I adjust myself slightly so I don’t feel it—all the while hoping he doesn’t realize I can feel it.
I move again, this time trying to get closer to the edge of his knees. He sets the eclair down with his other hand, and the next thing I know, he grips my hip and holds me still. His lips come to my ear without being able to see him, and his low voice sends shivers down my spine.
“Stop moving,” he commands.
A small smile plays on my lips. “Why?”
“Either stop moving like that or be ready to go ten out of ten tonight, wife,” he growls.
I stop moving. Stopexistingat his words. I am deceased. My eyes flutter closed as he squeezes my hip once more in warning. Everything is hot–from my hair to the tips of my toes.
Did he just insinuate…
No.
An idea forms in my mind, and it’s mean and wrong, but I can’t help myself. Rolling my hips slightly, I lean back and push my chest out so that my arse grinds right against his erection.
Something low and angry rumbles in his chest. He pushes me off him, throwing his serviette down on the table and giving me a chagrined look before walking toward the door.
“Goodnight, Estelle. I’d say that was a three out of ten, yes?”
And then he’s gone.
I reach into my front pocket and grab the key to the cellar.
