Page 111 of Beautiful Liar

A series of epithets fly from his lips. “Jesus…Oh, fuck. Motherfucker!”

My empty pussy creams shamelessly with each helpless curse. I raise myself onto my elbows and his masked face slips into the crook of my neck. Q fucks me deep and long and hard. He slows down long enough for me to slide into a screaming orgasm, then picks up the punishing pace.

I lie beneath him and take every greedy second of it.

Time ceases to matter. We’re caught in a cycle of wrath and cruelty and sex.

He’s unleashed his darkness, and I’m the sex-hypnotized recipient of all of it. Even after he roars his climax, he keeps going, keeps flaying me.

I probably pass out again. At some point my mind ceases to be my own. Like my body, my brain waves are absorbed by him…into him.

When I collapse, he catches my head and turns it sideways so I don’t suffocate. But he doesn’t stop. He never stops. Not until my vision turns black again.

The second time I wake up, I’m in my own bed in my wing of the mansion.

Bright light filters through the gap in the curtains. I blink for a few dazed seconds, then raise the covers to glance down at myself.

My hips, thighs and breasts are covered in dark pink bruises. My ass feels like it’s gone ten rounds with Godzilla, and I can barely lift my legs.

But I’m filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. Almost as if…as if I’ve never been more sated in my life.

I’m absorbing the disturbing revelation when Stephanie knocks and enters the room, carrying a breakfast tray. It’s heaped with all my favorites—bacon, eggs, waffles heaped with whipped cream and strawberries, and a bowl of diced fruit.

She sets it down on my lap with a smile. “Did you sleep well? You were pretty out of it last night.”

My face flames and I pretend to be absorbed in pouring a glass of orange juice. “Yeah,” I murmur.

She crosses to the curtains and throws them open. Then returns to me.

“The boss mentioned you might be a little stiff. Would you like a light massage when you’re done with breakfast?”

My cheeks burn hotter, and I shake my head. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “I’ll go and run you a bath.”

I force the food down a throat clogged with embarrassment and when she returns to take the tray away, I catch her eye. There’s no point beating about the bush.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Sodomy? Deep throating? A soupçon of Shibari, perhaps? I find myself holding my breath.

Stephanie smiles. “Nothing.”

“I…what?”

“Nothing. The boss has left.”

I’m totally unprepared for the breath stealing pummeling that attacks my insides. “He’s left?”

She nods. “Fionnella will be in touch at some point today with further instructions. Until then, you’re free to just chill.”

She sails out with another smile.

I pull the sheet up to my chest, acutely aware that the light has just gone out of my day.

And bracingly aware too, that this feeling is totally, fucking, wrong.

***

The soothing bath turns out to be anything but. I’m on tenterhooks, wondering why Q has left. Wondering if I crossed a line last night with my over-the-top porn star narrative. Wondering why, if that was the case, he left twenty stacks of ten thousand dollars instead of ten. Would he pay me double if I displeased him? Why would he pay me double at all? Was it his way of telling me to fuck off?

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