Page 157 of Sinful Lies

“I thought you were the one cooking, Angelo,” she said, twirling a forkful of linguinecacio e pepeinto her mouth.

She dumped so much Parmesan on top that, as an Italian, I almost had a heart attack.

Alongside the pasta, there was bruschetta and chicken Parmesan.

For dessert, I kept it light with lemon tiramisu, a little sweetness to balance all the cheese.

“I did.”

She shot me a look. “Liar.”

“I told you I have many tricks up my sleeve, Miss Whitenhouse. You might see me as just your boss, but trust me, I’m a man of many talents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? What’s one?”

I leaned back. “Thought four orgasms in one night was already overdoing it,” I said, letting my voice drop low. “But I guess I underestimated you. You’re harder to satisfy than I thought.”

“Hmm… is that so?”

“Trust me, you haven’t even come close to getting what you really want. But I’m more than happy to keep proving it.”

“Prove it, then, Lazzio.”

I stayed quiet, a sly grin tugging at my lips.

She has no clue what’s coming for her.

Dinner dragged on, but my focus was shot.

We talked about the masquerade ball tomorrow—paintings instead of sculptures—but honestly? I didn’t care.

All I saw was her.

The way her lips parted with each bite, the quiet hum of satisfaction as she savored her food.

It wasn’t just her beauty—though,fuck, she was stunning.

It was the way she carried herself: effortless, confident, impossible to ignore.

And thatfuckingdress.

Black lace, sheer enough to tease, clinging to every inch of her body with ruthless precision. No bra, no shame—just bare skin and a challenge that dared me to look and lose.

That dress wasn’t sexy; it was sinful.

Jade Whitenhouse was the devil put on this earth to test me.

And boy, did I fail.

She didn’t just step into the darkness—she commanded it, a queen of something wicked and dangerous, ready to ruin me with a single glance.

Jade wasn’t my type. She wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet—she was fucking impossible.

But impossible was exactly what had me hooked.

Those dark eyes, bloodred lips, every calculated move—she was destruction wrapped in lace. And I wanted every piece of her, even if it killed me.

When dinner ended, I handed her a slice of lemon tiramisu and a cup of sweet mint tea to help her relax.

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