Promiscuous Lies (Vengeful Lies #2)

19. Posie

CHAPTER 19

Posie

“ A nd you are?” I turn in my chair to find a man standing at the door, looking at me expectantly. I’ve been coming into work for the last two weeks without anyone else being here. Usually, by the time I leave, a few of the staff working that evening are coming in. But that’s the extent of it. Sometimes Paula is in earlier in the afternoon, but those days are few and far between.

I was so focused on scheduling the social media that I didn’t even hear the man enter the office. I’m assuming he has keys—I fucking hope so anyway. He’s far too attractive to be a thief.

How rude of him to ask for my name before he offers his own; it reminds me of a certain asshole boss.

“Sorry. Do I know you? I didn’t know anyone else was here,” I say cautiously because I was supposed to be the only one in today.

“You’re in my son’s office. Does he know this?”

Ohhh. My eyes widen, and I stand from behind the desk, gathering my things and roping in my sassy attitude.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be coming in here. This office has the best internet connection, so I thought I’d work from here since he’s out.”

“And he allows that?” he asks.

I take a moment to really look at him. While he looks a lot like Dutton, with high cheekbones, eyes that seem to stare straight through me, and dressed impeccably, he also gives off a warmer vibe than his son. Dutton is cold, even when his head is between my legs. And that’s saying something.

I want to slap myself. I have to stop thinking about that night. It happened over a month ago.

“Yes. I received his permission while he was in Italy. He’s not here today if you’re looking for him.”

“He told you where he was? Interesting.” His expression turns thoughtful. “You don’t have to leave on my account.” He waves at my belongings as he takes a seat on the other side of the desk. The chair looks far too small for his bulky frame. Much like his son, he has an aura around him that seems to suck in everything and anything within its reach.

I stare at him in confusion. He crosses one leg over the other and leans back. “And your name?”

Okay then… I start putting my things back down and sit across from him.

“Posie.” I offer him a smile.

“And what is it exactly that you do here?” he asks his gaze just as penetrating as his son’s.

“I do admin and handle the social media accounts,” I tell him.

“And your relationship with my son?” My hand freezes on the piece of paper I was about to pick up. His gaze flicks to it quickly before focusing on my face again. I don’t like how much he notices; he’s just like his son in that way. Notices fucking everything.

“Relationship?”

“Yes, what is it?” he asks.

I hear a loud noise coming from outside the room, and my gaze darts to the open door.

“He’s my boss,” I reply, returning my attention to him.

“That’s good to know,” he says, standing again.

We both turn at the sound of footsteps stopping at the door to find Dutton standing there. Comparatively, Dutton is slightly taller and more muscled than his father. I can tell where Dutton gets his immaculate taste in clothing from now.

“Son, you kept me waiting.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.” Dutton gives me a quick glance. His father notices, and a slight tug of his lips indicates he sees more than he lets on. “You weren’t meant to be in today,” Dutton says, and I realize he’s talking to me.

“Yes, sorry. I had to finalize a post and was just getting ready to leave.” I finish grabbing the papers and look back at Dutton’s father. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He gives me a warm smile, and Dutton seems wildly pissed, his gaze narrowing on his father. A palpable tension fills the room, and I decide it’s best to ignore whatever is going on with these two. I walk past his father, but when I reach the door, Dutton hasn’t moved to let me pass. His cold eyes look down on me, and I don’t understand why he looks pissed. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or his father. He steps to the side wordlessly.

Well, okay then.

Finally escaping the suffocating energy in Dutton’s office, I find Paula walking in. She smiles at me, and I give her a wave.

“I’m just heading out. Also, Dutton’s father is here,” I inform her, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. “Tension is high in there, so I’d avoid the room.”

Her eyes go wide. “Strange. He never comes here, but thank you for the heads-up. From what I heard, Dutton has a good relationship with his family. “Oh well, not our problem,” she says with a casual shrug.

I head to the back of the room to collect the rest of my things as Paula takes a call. She curses under her breath, and I look over at her worriedly.

When she hangs up, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

“No. That’s the third dancer tonight to call in sick. I think there’s a virus going around, but we’re way too short-staffed for a Saturday night.” She pulls at the back of her neck. “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She looks at me then and bites her bottom lip. I know what she’s going to ask before it even leaves her lips. “Could you work the floor for one night? Even if it’s only for a few hours. One dance and the rest on the floor?”

I groan, not at all wanting to do that. Nor am I obliged to. But I know Paula wouldn’t ask unless she was desperate, and I’d rather not say no to the woman who’s helped me so much.

“There’s no one else?” I ask. I’d have to call and see if Amy’s available.

“I wish there was, unless you want this old hag dancing on stage.” She waves a hand at herself with a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it.

“I’ll do it. But only for tonight. Let me check with my babysitter.”

She grabs both of my arms. “You’re a lifesaver, Posie. Thank you.”

I roll my eyes as I make the call—Amy is more than willing to help out since her plans for the evening were canceled.

“Only this once!” I tell Paula. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” I wave to her before I finally escape.

It’s busy, which only means one thing. My efforts in my new role are working, which makes me proud.

I told Paula I would only stay for one dance and then work the floor for two hours. She was just happy that the empty slot had been filled.

“Haven’t seen you for ages,” Samantha says as she comes off the stage. I smile at the pink lingerie she’s wearing—the set I gave her. It’s obviously her new favorite.

“And you’re looking amazing. Thanks again for agreeing to do the photo shoot,” I reply. She gives me a wave as if it’s nothing.

“You didn’t even include my face, so it’s a win-win. And you photoshopped my tattoos. So even those closest to me won’t know it’s me.” She winks. The music changes and I know that’s my cue to go out onto the stage. “Good luck,” she yells as I hurry past her and stand behind the curtains. I wait a few breaths as the music drops to a lower beat, then I make my move. Relaxing my jaw, I saunter out, one foot in front of the other.

I’m wearing a lingerie set Dutton gifted me. I didn’t know what to do with the pile of skimpy items. And even though I don’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, I was very partial to this set studded with diamonds. So if I’m dancing one more time, why not wear it? I certainly feel hot as fuck in it.

Tonight, I’m wearing black leather—a short skirt and a top with a cutout at the breast area. My high-heeled boots are black to match the attire, and I’m wearing fishnet stockings. When the music picks up, cheers start, and I sashay around the pole, one hand wrapped around the cool metal, making eye contact with the men.

My gaze lands on a set of cold blue eyes, and immediately, I know I’m in deep trouble. But I don’t care because I don’t answer to that asshole. Okay, technically, I do because he’s my boss, but not on matters where he’s treating me differently from the others. There’s only so much fuckery I’ll accept.

Besides, I’ve always lived by the philosophy of asking for forgiveness over permission. My boss doesn’t look happy, scowling in his seat beside the twins. I smirk, and even from here, I swear I can see his left eye twitch.

I can’t help but fill with mischievous delight at pissing him off as a friendly reminder that he doesn’t own me.

Dropping down to my hands and knees, I crawl to the edge of the stage. The twins are warily looking at Dutton. The bulkier one, who I’ve come to learn is named Hawke, can’t help but stare, and I smile. His brother punches him in the arm, and he curses, rubbing it.

Dutton looks like he’s about to burn him alive.

He better tip me.

“Hey.” I wink as I get up on my knees. Lifting my hands to my shirt, I pull it open and expose my lace bra, which gives hints of my nipples underneath. This time, I only look at Dutton. His gaze dips only once before coming back to my face. He’s seriously pissed.

“Stop,” he grits.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I only answer to tips,” I smirk.

I keep eye contact with Dutton as I throw the shirt onto his lap. Usually, I would never do that, but I know I’ll get it back from him. His fists close around it, and I feel too smug at how he looks like he wants to teach me a lesson.

I switch positions, grinding down sensually until my back hits the floor.

“Get off the stage, and do not remove one more piece,” he growls.

I smile sweetly, and that’s when Hawke nudges him.

“You still haven’t tipped her,” Hawke whisper-shouts.

See, his friend gets it.

I bring my heels together and pulse a few times before sensually standing up again. I sway my hips as I walk to the pole and climb it, gripping my legs around it and flicking my hair over my shoulder. When my feet hit the floor again, I’m about to readjust my grip and position, but I’m grabbed around my waist and pulled backward.

“Hey!” I scream as I’m flipped over a broad shoulder.

“I warned you. Do I not pay you enough that you have to resort to dancing again?” Dutton says as he carries me out. I kick and scream as he drags me off the back of the stage. I’m having serious déjà vu right now. I take a glance back at the audience, who seem baffled. The twins appear to be the most stunned of all.

When we reach the backstage area, Paula looks mortified and shocked. She can’t speak as he charges us toward his office.

“I’m a woman; we love money,” I say as I kick and elbow him. Okay, I knew this would piss him off a little, but this is some stupid macho shit.

He enters his office and slams the door shut behind us. As he slides me down over his shoulder and onto my feet, he snaps, “Cover up. And you aren’t allowed to find the nearest weapon and hit me with it. Do you understand me?”

The moment my heels touch the floor, I shove him hard enough that he has to take a step back. “I don’t hit you,” I seethe, fuming. I know I antagonized him, but I didn’t think he’d literally drag me off mid-performance. Again.

“No, you just grab things and chuck them at me,” he replies. And although his tone is neutral, I can tell he’s livid beneath the surface. It’s evident in the way his blue gaze turns shades darker. “You enjoy pushing your luck, don’t you?”

I scoff at him as I turn away and move to his desk. I scan the items littering the surface, contemplating what I might enjoy throwing at him. “You just cost me heaps of money,” I accuse, leaning against the desk and crossing my ankles. He can’t help but look now that we’re in private, his gaze roaming up my legs appreciatively.

“I don’t appreciate you displaying the gifts I give you to other men.”

“I thought this was for work,” I say sassily.

He kicks up a humorless smirk as he crosses the distance between us. He’s in my space, looming over me with a hand on either side. I have the urgent desire to grab the stapler and smash it over his head. I don’t like how he fills my space and consumes me. But my core floods with an entirely different type of urgency and need.

Fuck my treacherous body.

Sometimes, I wonder if I do these things because I want to see his reaction.

Because I want him to want me.

And that’s toxic as fuck.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want in tips for that little stunt out there, but you only show your body and lingerie to me.”

He opens a small box on his desk, barely moving around me, and then sets a stack of freshly printed bills in my hands.

That heated liquid sensation churns in my stomach. I try to do everything I can to push his effect on me away. Is it because I haven’t seen him for two weeks that the magnetizing pull feels intensely epic tonight?

“Aww, you love me. Shall I call you sugar boss?” I taunt, fluttering my lashes.

“No.”

Tension ripples between us, and I can’t move, don’t want to move, because I’m scared of what I might do. There’s a good chance I’ll grab for him.

I hated it when he first started texting me. I ignored most of his messages, but now I find myself laughing at his responses and know that the relationship with Dutton is anything but a professional one.

“Okay. Now that I’ve made my tips, I’ll just go home.” I try to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. I fall back against the desk and notice how tightly he’s holding the edge as if doing everything in his power to restrain himself.

“You’re not going home in that,” he growls. I daringly dip a gaze to the front of his pants because I can feel the effect I have on him. He’s on his fucking last nerve, and it rattles me with desire and need I haven’t felt for a very long time. Well, not since we were in the back of his car.

I think about the orgasm he gave me, and my pussy starts greedily throbbing.

“I’ll wear my jacket,” I tell him. “I’ve done it dozens of times.”

“Posie.” His voice is like gravel, and a vein bulges in his neck.

“Yes, boss?” I tack on the “boss” because one of us needs to say it. This is to remind us of the precarious situation we’re clearly putting ourselves in. And I’m not entirely sure I have the self-control or desire to push him away. After all, I enjoy getting under this powerful man’s skin. I love defying him in every way. And all I’ve been thinking about for the last month—no matter how much I try to deny it—is how I can get beneath him again.

“I want to taste you again,” he states, but his tone is a mixture of that earlier frustration and barely-there discipline to not touch me without permission.

I go to speak, but my mouth closes again.

I’ll regret it, won’t I? Nothing good can come from submitting to a man like this, but fuck me, how I want to.

I can’t look away, and as I stare into his eyes, all the memories of that night come flooding back. I was drunk then, but I’m not now. I’m dead sober, and yet the electricity crackling between us feels the same.

“I think I can arrange that,” I whisper, shocked by my honesty. His blue eyes darken, and this time, his frustration is replaced by voracious lust. His gaze is so intense that I’m certain I’m going to crumble beneath it. But, fuck, is he good with his mouth. My gaze dips to his lips.

“Good. Tonight?”

Amy said she could stay all night since I haven’t used her much lately. She’ll also be looking after Bentley tomorrow because I’ve made other plans. So, I could go with him tonight, but what will that mean? Will our dynamic change more than it already has? And will I be okay with that?

I know it might ruin me, and his tendency to dominate might kick up a level. Or he might get bored of me once he has another taste, and I can just get a wild fucking night out of it. The risk is high, but I’m not thinking straight when my body is screaming for his cock.

“Just a taste?” I whisper.

Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me tighter against him. His mouth lowers to within a breath of mine as he says, “No. The whole fucking thing. Top to bottom, with my mouth, then my fucking cock. And you will take it all.”

“Will I?” I question, not able to look away from his lips.

“Yes. And you’ll enjoy it.”

“The possibility is there,” I reply with a tilt of my head.

He smirks, and before I can say another word, he leans down and touches my lips gently with his, no tongue, just his lips. They’re soft and firm at the same time as he applies pressure. And just before I can push for more, his lips disappear, and he pulls back.

“First taste complete.”

Motherfucker. When did this dominant fucker turn into a little tease?

“Here in your office?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not here because the noises you’re about to make will make anyone think I’m killing you. Let’s go. I live close by.”

“To your house?” Surely not. I don’t like the idea of anyone thinking I’m being treated differently than them, even though it’s true at the moment. But also, I’ll do whatever is necessary to better my situation and Bentley’s when an opportunity presents itself. Me fucking the boss is an entirely different matter. I almost wish Dutton was a middle-aged, balding man because it would be much easier to say no to him.

“Do you have an issue with that?”

“I just…”

“It’s okay, Posie. I’ll make sure your body remains intact. Well, mostly.” He grins as he backs up, grabbing my hand and dragging me out the door.