Page 146 of Sinful Lies

The bastard turned, that wicked grin spreading across his ugly face as he brought his cigar to his lips.

After our weekend in the Hamptons—one of the greatest fucking nights of my life—who would’ve guessed that screwing my gorgeous, annoying-as-hell employee, whose pussy almost made me lose my mind, would lead to me coming on her tattoo and nearly passing out?

The morning after, I’d fucked her in the shower, pinning her against the wall, hands gripping her ass as I’d pounded into her. Hot water had streamed over us, her head thrown back, nails raking my skin as she’d gasped for air.

We’d spent the rest of the day eating, playing Uno, and watching the kids tear into their gifts. My eyes had never left her—not for a second.

When the kids screamed with joy, her laugh almost joined them—but her hand tightened around her glass, and her eyes drifted toward the ocean like it held all the things she couldn’t say out loud.

I couldn’t read her fully, but when her eyes had locked with mine, I’d seen it:sadness.

Later that night, in the helicopter on our way back to New York, I’d grabbed her hand, kissed the top of it, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

When I asked her why, she shrugged like it didn’t matter, and told me to forget it.

Like I could ever forget something like that.

We landed on the museum’s rooftop, and I drove us to her favorite Japanese restaurant. Over the years, I’d learned about her obsession with sushi, and knew she often would order takeout from this place.

We ate, and she was back to her snarky self, making fun of me every chance she got—how I held my chopsticks, how I used too much wasabi, or not enough soy sauce.

She said I was embarrassing her, but it had only taken a minute before I’d had enough.

I slid into the booth beside her, wrapped my arm around her shoulders, and whispered, “Then feed me.”

She did, wordlessly, avoiding my eyes.

I leaned in, kissed her neck, then turned her face toward me, catching her lips with mine. She let me—just for a second—deepening the kiss, her tongue flickering against mine before pulling back, breathless.

“I want something sweet now,” she said.

I smirked. “Me too.”

She shot me a glare. “I meant ice cream, Lazzio.”

I got her some vanilla ice cream, drove her home, and we made out in my car until she slightly pushed me off, breathless.

I let her go.

She didn’t invited me up.

She just opened the door, gave me one last look, and left.

It had been a week since that night.

The employees had the week off for the holidays, and I hadn’t seen her—didn’t need to, or at least that’s what I told myself.

But the truth? I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not even for a fucking second.

The minute I’d stopped seeing her face, I had felt the burn of withdrawal, and it pissed me the fuck off. I should’ve been focused on other things, like Greg.

The bastard needed to be put in his place. But even with all the shit I had to do, I couldn’t get her out of my head.

The way she’d looked at me, like she had fucking known exactly what I had been thinking. The way her body had felt against mine. The way she had moaned my name. The way she’d tasted—fuck.

---