Page 85 of Beautiful Liar

Twenty-four hours buried fully inside her. The idea isn’t without its enticing merits.

I toss the idea in my mind as I watch her toss and turn.

She’s not resting comfortably. I want to think it’s because she still feels my presence between her legs—Jesus, she was ridiculously small—but I caught her expression when she walked out of the bathroom and saw the first installment of her payment.

Like the confirmation of the one million dollar payout during her second interview, she didn’t react predictably to the sight of the money. Her predecessor had leapt with joy, tossed a handful of the bills in the air and then quickly darted around, gathering them up before, God forbid, they disappeared.

Lucky merely shut the case, looked around the room for a secure place and ended up shoving it on the high shelf in her dressing room. She totally missed the typed note on top of the first stack, recommending she put the money in the bedroom safe and instructions for using the safe.

Whatever she needs the money for, it isn’t for personal satisfaction. Or perhaps it is deeply personal?

I step away from examining that unpredictable reaction and return to what happened in the south wing bedroom. To certain facets that need analysis.

Purely on a pleasure scale—because there’s no other parameter for me to measure—fucking her was a singularly gratifying experience. She’s reminded me again how much I like to fuck. How much I enjoy that sweet place between a woman’s legs. And that’s a tick in her favor. Hell for a minute, I might even manage to let myself indulge.

The next few weeks will be bearable because of it. The reminder of why I’m doing this does very little to cool my jets. I’m still as hard as fuck, growing harder with each passing second. She turns again, murmurs in her sleep. She tucks one hand beneath her cheek and other between her thighs. The one part innocent, one part filthy action sends me to my feet. I toss back the rest of the drink and slam the glass down.

I should turn the monitor off.

Same as I should’ve stopped myself from issuing that ultimatum back in my office about her coming back to me.

But the compulsion now, as it was then, is total.

I want to storm through the dozen rooms separating us. I want to wake her up. I want to pound into her until I’m drowning in her cum, then come inside her over and over until we’re eyeball deep in filth.

Then I want to start all over again.

The possibility that I’ll damage her irreparably is high—Q has already decided against taking his shrink’s advice—there will be no saving Lucky from him. As for Quinn… I mentally shrug. My cracks have gaped wider in the forty-eight hours since I talked to Adriana Nathanson, so the risk to Lucky is greater.

Adriana was right. My father’s presence in the city has triggered an escalation of the darkness inside me. Enough for me to contemplate whether I should remain here for the entire time I need with Lucky or try and handle a few more birds with one stone.

For one thing, Delilah has redoubled her efforts where I’m concerned. She needs to be dealt with. Ignoring her for much longer means risking the potential to blow this thing wide open.

Maxwell also needs to be handled. He’s still not thrilled about the Miami situation. He’s going to be even more pissed when he realizes I’ve given away two more of his precious properties. And although my consenting to participate in his campaign has slowed down the flames racing toward the inevitable nuclear meltdown, the end result hasn’t altered. He may be Governor of New York State, a post that is demanding at the best of times, but he’s also a Blackwood. Keeping a finger on the pulse of the empire he’s no longer king of, but holds a good portion of, is a must. Especially when he’s making secret moves to regain that kingdom for when he’s no longer governor.

It’s not a great time to be out of New York. But I have a little leeway.

My gaze returns to the monitor and I walk closer. She’s turned again, lying on her front, the spill of caramel blonde hair brushing her delicate spine.

My cock throbs harder.

Three days.

No. Four.

I need four uninterrupted days with my firecracker. Minimum.

Then I’ll take the short break I need to ensure my enemies remain in my crosshairs.

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