Page 129 of Beautiful Liar

I want to say no. I’m dying to say yes. On the one hand, I’m certain I won’t survive the experience. On the other, I can’t wait to get started. My head shake lasts two seconds before it bobs into a nod.

He laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that. We’ll reassess in a minute. Get rid of that towel and lie back for me now, baby.”

Refusing doesn’t cross my mind. It’s what I want, too. I lie back and spread my legs like he taught me to.

His hiss of approval flows through the room. I get the sense that the camera is either above me or directly in front of me. But the loft ceiling is too high, with thick beams where he can hide a camera. So I stop looking.

“You know how much I wanted to fuck you again before I left?”

My breasts are heavy. I cup and squeeze them. He groans. “Why didn’t you? Your body, your pussy, right?” I half tease.

“You were sleeping like an angel. Against my better judgment, I chose to leave you alone.”

“Why against your better judgment?”

“Because now I’m aching for that tight pussy. Touch it, Lucky. Open yourself wider and show me what I’m missing.”

One hand glides down and into my folds. My back arches as sensation buckets down on me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, low and hoarse. “Work that clit for me. I want to see you come.”

I go to town on my body. The fact that he’s watching me ceases to disturb me. I revel in his low hisses and thick groans, use it to shamelessly ramp up my own arousal until I’m past the point of no return. I scream as my release tears through me. I hear Q’s harsh breathing as I settle back into normal rhythm. Sublime lethargy drifts over me and I want to surrender to it.

“Lucky.”

I groan in response.

“We have something else to discuss.”

My eyes drift shut. “What?” I slur.

“The subject of your friend?”

I become instantly alert. “Uh…yeah?” I sift through the cadence of his voice. Is he pissed off? Indifferent? “You okay with me having him over?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you like him?”

I frown. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care if you intend to fuck him.”

“Does liking automatically equal fucking?”

“Don’t women think so?”

“What about men? What about you?”

“I like fucking you. A lot. Enough for me to wonder if you’re planning on giving that body I own to this friend who’s coming over.”

“No, I don’t plan on fucking him.”

“Tonight or at all?”

I shrug. His tone suggests he’s not pissed. But there’s something there. Q is fucking with my mind again. “Not while I’m yours.”

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