Page 45 of Dirty Little Secrets
Emery blinks, scoffing as she nods down at the menu. “The sort of people who’d pay $500 for a bottle of wine.”
Quin snorts. “Yes, but it isgoodwine.”
“It’s grapes, Quin,” she says deadpan. “Fruit.”
“Then, I probably shouldn’t tell you about the time I bought a Yubari King Melon for twenty thousand dollars,” he says, grinning at Emery. My blood boils. Where the fuck is the waiter?
“You spent twenty thousand dollars on?—”
“We’re ready to order,” I state, flagging down our server, thankful his presence has put a pause on Emeryand Quinton’s thrilling discussion. Fruit. They’re talking about fucking fruit?! Once the table orders, I straighten my posture, taking command of the conversation. “How’s business, Quinton? Is your father enjoying retirement?”
He waves me off, sighing. “Please, the last thing I want to do right now is talk about work.” He takes a small sip of wine, his riling gaze darting between me and Emery. “I’ve been meaning to ask… How did you two meet?”
I place a reassuring hand on Emery’s crossed leg. “At an interview.” Quinton lifts a questioning brow. “Emery is our new CFO.” I catch a glimpse of a grateful smile. “She starts on Monday.”
“Smart girl.” Quin muses, licking his lips. “And so young too.” He leans forward. “Tell me, darling, how does one secure an executive position at the mere age of,” he purses his lips in thought, “twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
“Easy,” she says, casting him a sultry smile as she side-eyes me. “You fuck the boss.”
Quinton perks up a brow. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm,” Emery hums, licking her lips. My eyes widen slightly as her hand travels up my leg, and she subtly scoots her chair closer to mine. “Tell me, Quin…” I stiffen, controlling my breathing as she draws controlled circles around the outline of my dick. “How does one become the CEO of a multinational pharmaceutical conglomerate at age…” Her wily fingers find the zipper to my dress pants and pull it down.What the fuck is she doing?!“Thirty-five? Four?”She bites her lip, maintaining her focus on Quin as she reaches inside my pants and dips under my boxer briefs, the cool sensation of her hand around my cock sending a shocking bolt down my spine. “Is it nepotism? Or did you just work really,reallyhard?”
Quin stares at the minx sitting beside me, and my hips buck under her sensual hold. Keeping her eyes on Quinton, Emery strokes my growing cock, blood rushing to the tip as I fist a fork on the table, refusing to look at her as I reign in a growling moan.
Holy fuck. And she saysI’mcrazy?!
“Our world runs on nepotism, Emery darling,” Quin notes, leaning back into his seat. “It’s the oil that keeps the engine running.” He glances at me. “Ask Cavanaugh. He can tell you all about it, can’t you?”
“What happened to not discussing work?” I grunt as Emery’s yanks get more aggressive, more rhythmic, more torturous. I glance at Quinton’s date. “How about you, sweetheart? What do you do for work?” Anything to take the attention away from me. Andher.
She blinks at me, unashamed as she says, “I fuck wealthy men for money.”
Quinton grins. “She does such a good job too.” He turns to Darla. “And you love it, don’t you, baby?” He squeezes her chin. “You love fucking me for money.”
“I do,” she breathes, squirming in her seat. I feel Emery uncross her legs beside me.
Darla wraps her arm around Quinton’s neck and tugs him toward her, whispering something in his ear. I take the opportunity to look at Emery.Fuck. Her eyes are coated with dirty lust, her lips somehow redderthan they were before, and I know, I just fucking know, she’s soaked between those thick little thighs of hers.
Her heady gaze meets mine, chest rising and falling as she scoots to the edge of her seat, the stretchy velvet dress bouncing up to her thighs as she spreads her legs, daring me to touch her, to break my own rule, to say fuck it to the contract, any contract.
“Business or pleasure?” she whispers, and I no longer have any control.
My fingers plunge into her pussy, and like a good girl, she swallows her screams.
THE FABLE
EMERY
I’ve always beengood at strategy games. Think three steps ahead. Know what your opponent might do, might think. Despite his protests, I had a feeling Damon’s reserve was fickle, capricious. He made it seem like his word was platinum but it’s not. It’s gold. Malleable. Pliant. Weak, really. I knew that given the right circumstances, the right atmosphere, and the right spectators, he’d bend.
But what I foolishly didn’t account for was his vindictive and cruel counterattack.
“Emery…” Damon’s fingers swirl around my sex like they’re conjuring a whirlpool, and I grip the base of his shaft tighter, my core pulsing from his calculated ministrations. He grunts under his breath, stacking his hand on mine and forcibly pushing it away. Fuck. “Why don’t you tell Quinton all about your education and background, hmm? Since he seems to doubt your qualifications.”
Bastard.
When I don’t say a word, Damon flicks my clit with his thumb, the pressure causing me to let out a whimper. Quinton casts me a suspicious look, his gaze flitting to Damon.
