Page 39 of Virtuous Lies

“Stand up,” he whispers.

I slide off his lap, my legs shaky and my eyes blurry. I turn to face him.

He’s the epitome of sex. A man seemingly unaffected by carnal touch,ifyou couldn’t read the fire in his eyes. He sits lazily upon his throne, chest surging with restrained energy. He has not a hair out of place, but one look at him, and you know he’s been doing impure things.

“You’ve made a mess of my pants, my sweet, little whore.”

I cast my eyes to the ground, but hetsksme. I lift them immediately.

“Lick it off.”

I gulp.

“Bianca,” he warns. “Be a good girl and get on your knees.”

I drop quickly, grunting at the sharp pain that shoots up my legs at the heaviness with which I do so.

“Lick your cum off my pants.”

Moving toward the crotch of his pants, the wet patch of my climax sits to the side of his zipper. I can see the outline of his hard cock nestled heavily against the material, and I’m embarrassed to admit how much my mouth waters.

“Don’t be shy.”

Tongue out, I drag it up the material, tasting the salty evidence of my excitement.

His cock jerks at the feeling, and I whimper, my hands reaching for his zipper. “No.”

“No?” I question, taken aback by his rejection.

“I can’t be certain I’d be able to control myself tonight.”

“Control yourself?” I ask dumbly.

He stares at me, and I stare back, my hands held tightly to his knees.

“I want to fuck you in a way that will leave bruises, and I won’t allow that.”

I swallow down my apprehension, shocked at the excitement that skates under my skin once I move past my shock and uncertainty.

“Won’t allow that?” I repeat his words, the broken whisper clouded by lust.

“Not the first time,” he murmurs. “You deserve more than that.”

ten

The cabin is dark as I make my way through it. Tree branches tap the windows, the wind blowing loud enough to whistle through the darkened space and echo off the glass. Shards of moonlight light my path as I tiptoe on bare feet, afraid of disturbing the nocturnal sounds of nature. It’s after two in the morning, Vincent hasn’t come to bed, and the cabin shows no sign of human life. We’ve been married for just under two weeks, and he’s never slept beside me. I find slumber before he does and wake after him. His side of the bed remains made no matter the time of night, so while he’s finding rest in some shape or form, it’s not beside me.

The room he’s claimed as his office for our time here is cast in darkness, but I push the door open anyway.

He sits behind his desk, body turned in his chair to face the window. He’d only see a silhouette of his own reflection, yet he stares. His body present but his mind elsewhere.

“Will you ever sleep in our bed?”

He doesn’t startle at the sound of my voice, but he looks away from the window, eyes scanning over my body. The moonlight shows the way his eyes fire with lust, but his face remains passive. “It’s not our bed.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Will you ever sleep next to me?”

His right shoulder lifts lazily.

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