Page 67 of Marry Lies
I can’t look away.
Watching his body convulse, watching the way his hips snap up and into his hand, watching as his darkened eyes pierce mine during such an intimate moment…
I take one step backward, and in the next instant, Miles is jumping up, cleaning himself off, and tucking himself away.
Turning, I walk quickly back to the stairs, and I hear Miles’s dress shoes slapping against the stone floor behind me.
“Estelle,” he says loudly, his voice a thunderous growl. I’m just about to ascend the stairs when his hand wraps around my wrist, pushing me back against the wall and caging me with both arms. “What thefuck,” he snarls.
I attempt to get out from under him, but he lowers himself so I can’t move. “I could say the same thing,” I retort, my voice shaking.
He sighs and runs a hand over his mouth. “How the hell did you get down here?” I hold his stare as I pull the spare key from my front pocket. He snatches it out of my hand. “Happy now?”
I shrug. “It depends. What was that?”
He spreads his legs slightly, almost looking surprised that I’m not recoiling in horror. “What?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t be coy. You know what. The glass room. The couple. Do you know them?”
His jaw flexes a couple of times before he looks away. “I’m a voyeur,” he says simply. “I find pleasure in watching others engage in sexual acts.”
I scoff. “I got that part.”
Rolling his jaw, he rubs the back of his neck, looking almost uncomfortable. “I don’t know them. I pay couples to fuck so that I can watch them. They know they are being watched, but they don’t know by whom—the room is a two-way mirror, so they only see themselves. It’s all consensual. They sign an NDA and get two-thousand dollars, and I get to come.”
I cross my arms as I consider his words. “Do you ever join them?”
“No.”
“How come?” I ask, curious.
He takes half a step closer to me. “Because, despite what you originally thought of my playboy tendencies, I don’t like to fuck in person unless I’m fully clothed. It can be cumbersome to explain to people, so it’s easier if I don’t.”
Those magazine stories about me are trash. They’re almost never telling the truth. Just because I have a woman on my arm or lipstick on my cheek doesn’t mean I’m fucking them, Estelle.
“Because of your scars?” I ask quietly. His expression hardens slightly, and he only nods. I look down at the floor, feeling silly. This, while unusual, is not something that would ever scare me away. I’m sure we’ve all had the fantasy of being watched–or watching. The latter sends a shiver down my spine.
“If you’d like me to stop for the duration of our marriage, I will,” he says slowly.
I snap my eyes to his. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like you’re sleeping with them.” Expecting him to look relieved that I’m not reprimanding him, I’m a bit thrown off when he moves closer still—so close that his abdomen brushes against mine.
“And what did you think of it?” he asks, his voice low. His lips are so close to my neck that I can feel his breath feather against my skin. I nearly stop breathing as he reaches up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. Realizing what his hand was doing not even a minute ago, I stiffen.
“It was interesting,” I tell him honestly.
His eyes are glittering with something I can’t decipher. The hardness is gone, replaced by something tender.
This means a lot to him, I realize. Me accepting this part of him. I continue to speak.
“Tell me more,” I ask him.Beghim.
His lips brush against my neck and I close my eyes. “How about I tell you everything tomorrow?” He takes a step back, and the room is spinning slightly, making me dizzy from being so close to him. “I should make sure they know they can leave.”
It takes me a minute to process his words. “Tomorrow,” I repeat.
Not tonight?
He nods. “Yes.” Gesturing to the door we came through, he gives me a soft smile. “I’ll be up a little later.”
