Page 86 of Pretty Little Threats

Hard as a rock.

Thick.

Pulsing.

Mine.

My own thighs press together, but my resolve never wavers. “There he is,” I purr, squeezing hard enough that he grunts. The sound curls my lips. I brush my nose over his and release him. “Be a good husband and hurry up. I don’t want to be late.” And on shaking legs, I leave.

For the next two weeks, Dare and I continue the dangerous dance, both of us coming closer and closer to crossing the line.

The news of Eric falling overboard his expensive yacht broke the same week the news of our wedding did. No one seemed to question what happened to Eric, and I’ve been avoiding social media and calls from old friends trying to get the inside scoop. I learned the hard way to never trust someone who randomly slides in and claims to be your bestie.

Everyone is a vulture when it comes to news like this.

Dare’s employees openly stare when he and I are together, but I can’t blame them. Our marriage was the last thing anyone expected. Most of my time is spent at Vista Holdings, save for the gym, the grand opening of Futurum, and a few important meetings for JD Miller & Co.

Futurum is off to a great start and pride warms my chest. A few artists have already started using the collaborative space to work on their pieces, and a few paintings have sold. As for JD Miller & Co, Dad has everything well in hand. I’ve been cut out of a few client meetings, and though it hurts, Dad told me not to worry about that and to focus on Vista Holdings.

And I have been—only, my attention seems to snare on the CEO more than trying to dig up dirt. Almost every minute of my day is spent with Dare. He spends most of his time taunting me, and I spend most of my time trying to keep from lashing out.

I’m not doing a good job.

Dare knows how to press my buttons, and I’m nearing my breaking point.

The only time both of us seem to call a truce is at lunch, with Remy watching over us. Our conversations begin innocent enough, with simple questions to get to know one another, but soon enough, I tell him things I’ve never told anyone else, simply because no one has ever asked.

I learn that he’s afraid of wasps.

He doesn’t like brussels sprouts.

His favorite movies are romantic suspense.Really?

He loves to trade every frigid NYC Christmas for a tropical adventure. So do I.

Dare loves the gym. I enjoy working out and feeling strong, butloveis a strong word. He’s surprised to find I like kickboxing and accuses me of being violent again.

But maybe he’s not wrong. I like the sense of power that comes to me after I finish a good class.

The careful exploration of getting to know one another goes on and on. The reprieve from the tension building between us is quickly becoming my favorite part of the day, and today, when he rises from his desk and arches his scarred eyebrow, I’ve already locked my computer.

“Where are we going?”

He strides toward me. “Are you trying to torture me with that dress?”

I glance down, not understanding at all. It’s a simple, dark green dress with a V-cut neckline. It’s form fitting, but nothing different from what I’ve worn every other day of the week.

Dare’s finger lifts my chin. “All morning, I’ve been imagining what those gorgeous tits would look like painted in my cum.”

“Dare,” I warn.

“And those fucking tights,” he nearly growls.

A thrill runs through me. He’s so horny. I love it because it means I’m not alone in this torture.

“They’re just tights.”

“The seam up the back makes me want to bend you over my desk and yank them down so I can spank that pretty ass.”

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