Page 128 of Marry Lies
“I believe there’s another entrance for me,” I purr, going up on my tip toes and kissing his cheek. “Go wait for me on the sofa, please.”
“Estelle—”
I walk away from him before he can change my mind.
I’d asked Luna to help me with this part of my plan, and I was delighted to discover the secret passageway from the back of the castle to the glass room. The way Miles built it was ingenious—it’s discrete and private, ensuring the people performing are comfortable.
I walk back upstairs, saying a quick hello to a few of the people who were at our wedding reception.
I walk out the back door and around the side of the castle to the discrete, nondescript entrance to the glass room, trying to quell my shaking legs. Walking down the stone passageway, I think about how Miles said he loves me. How I admitted I love him, too. How this was all so convoluted and backward, but how it felt right, somehow.
From that first day in the fountain—to now. How my interest in him never wavered. How our chemistry was always off the charts.
As I open the door to the bedroom, I take a deep, steadying breath.
This feels right.
“I had Luna reconfigure the speaker system so we can talk,” I say out loud.
“Did you?” Miles voice replies, coming out of the new speaker she set up on the bedside table.
I grin. “I figured you could tell me what to do.”
The low growl comes through the speaker and sends a shiver down my spine.
“Fuck, Estelle,” he grits out. “You’re going to kill me.”
“What do you want me to do first, darling?” I ask, kicking my shoes off and walking over to the part of the mirrored wall that I know faces the couch.
“Strip for me, butterfly. Let me see that perfect body.”
I swallow as I hook one finger under the strap of my dress, letting it fall to my shoulder.
“Fuck,” Miles rasps. “I’m already touching my cock. You make me feel out of control.”
Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I do the same thing to the other strap, letting the top of my dress fall past the bright pink bustier I have on.
“Christ,” he says hoarsely. “I need to see you without the dress. Take it off.”
Reaching behind my back, I unzip the dress the rest of the way, letting it fall to a pile at my feet. Stepping out of it, I twirl around once slowly, showing off the bustier and matching high-rise thong.
Smirking, I bend over to pick up my dress slowly, and I hear a low growl come through the speakers.
“You’re lucky that punishment isn’t my thing, butterfly. Stop taunting me and take everything off.”
“Are you sure?” Twisting around, I turn to face him, my hand reaching back to unclasp the bustier. Slowly—slow enough to torture him a bit.
I wonder where he is in there.
I wonder if he’s sitting on the couch.
Is he touching himself?
“Are you sitting on the couch?” I ask, unhooking the clasps but not letting my bustier fall just yet.
“No.” Suddenly, I see the outline of a hand right in front of me, but because this room is lit and the cellar is dark, I can’t see anything else. “I’m right in front of you.”
My heart races inside of my chest as I pull my bustier off, discarding it on the floor.
