Page 87 of Filthy Lies

“And if something happened to you—” I can barely form the words. “If they took you from me?—”

“They won’t,” she gasps. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I claim her mouth again, silencing her promises. She can’t know that. Can’t guarantee it.

But right now, in this moment, I can feel her. Taste her. Mark her as mine in the most barbaric way possible.

Her first orgasm takes us both by surprise, her body clenching around mine as she cries out against my mouth. I don’t slow. Just drive her through it and toward another peak immediately.

“Mine,” I repeat. “Fucking mine.”

“Yours,” she agrees.

It’s what I wanted. But it’s not enough—I need more. I need her to feel my ownership in her bones.

I drag her from the wall and throw her face-down onto the table. Wine glasses shatter. The Bordeaux spills across white linen like blood, staining everything it touches.

I don’t care. The only red I want to see is the marks my palms will leave on her skin.

“Hands behind your back,” I command, pressing her cheek against the table.

She complies immediately, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. I pin them there with one hand while my other hand tangles in her hair, smashing her head down on the table. The position arches her back, presenting her ass to me like an offering.

“You think you can go behind my back?” I thrust back into her, harder than before. “You think you know better than me how to handle the FBI?”

She moans, unable to form words as I pound into her. The table shudders beneath us, creaking with each savage thrust.

I tighten my grip on her hair, yanking her head back just enough to see her profile—eyes closed, mouth open in ecstasy.

“Answer me,” I bark, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint.

“No—ah—Vince—” Her voice fractures as I hit a spot deep inside her.

“No, what?” Another slap, harder this time. The pale skin of her ass reddens instantly under my palm.

“No, I shouldn’t—” She gasps as I drive even deeper. “I shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“You shouldn’t have goneat all.” I release her hair, reaching around to find her clit. My fingers circle the swollen nub, feeling how slick she is from her first orgasm. “This is what happens when you play with fire, Rowan. You get burned.”

I rub her clit in time with my thrusts, feeling her body tremble on the edge of another climax. Then, right when she’s almost there, I stop, denying her at the last second.

“Please,” she whimpers, trying to push back against me. “Please, Vince, I’m so close?—”

“You don’t get to come until I say so.” I withdraw completely to leave her empty and wanting. “You don’t get to decide when you talk to the feds, and you don’t get to decide when you come.”

She just moans helplessly.

“You want to come?” I trace the curve of her spine with my fingertips, savoring the way goosebumps rise in their wake. “Then tell me you were wrong.”

She squirms beneath me, still bent over the table, still denied. The brutal heat of her desperation makes my cock throb.

“I was wrong,” she whimpers.

“Not enough.” I slap her ass again, harder, watching the perfect handprint bloom like a crimson flower on her skin. “Tell mewhyyou were wrong.”

Her breathing is ragged, her body trembling. “Because I should have trusted you. Because I should have told you.”

I press my thumb against her wetness, collecting the slick evidence of her arousal. Then I move higher, to the tight ring no one has ever touched.

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