Promiscuous Lies (Vengeful Lies #2)

21. Posie

CHAPTER 21

Posie

I left my car at the club, and now I’m sitting in his passenger seat as he rounds the hood to my side to open the door. I’m not sure what I expected when I agreed to go back to his place. I knew he had money, which is evident from the car he drives, but the brownstone I’m currently staring at proves it. Not only is it in a good area, it’s far from my subpar house. The neighborhood oozes wealth, the type I’m not used to.

Shit, I would’ve felt better with an average hotel, so the reality of what I’m about to do wouldn’t be so unnerving. I’m about to sleep with my ridiculously wealthy and attractive boss.

“Do you plan to get out?” he asks, holding the passenger door open for me.

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t need to flaunt his wealth around me, but I think it’s more so the fact that once we do this, there’s no coming back from it. I want to fuck him. Just once. But it might change everything going forward, even if it’s just sex. I can’t help but have my guard up around this man and the unknown way he might react.

“You know why; we both do. Now, please get out.”

Just get out of your head, Posie. Not everything and everyone is out to get you.

I nod decisively and step out. I’m still wearing my stripping clothes. The jacket covers all but the high heel boots, but if anyone saw us, they might assume I’m a hooker. I have no issue with the profession, but it makes me wonder how many women he’s brought here. Perhaps I’m just one of many.

He escorts me up the staircase, his hand resting on my lower back as if he’s afraid I might run. When he unlocks the door and opens it, I’m shocked by the beauty of the interior. If I thought the neighborhood was pretty, it has nothing on this. Rough brickwork acts as a feature wall against the deeply polished wooden walls and floors. A circular staircase goes to the next floor, with room on either side of the entryway. One has a piano and chessboard. The other has what looks like a living space with a library and fireplace.

It’s more… homey than I expected, but it feels like it’s missing that personal touch. Maybe because its owner doesn’t necessarily have a heart, but it smells like him—all-consuming and rich, with a light hit of citrus.

He locks the front door behind me.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks as he removes his jacket. He then rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, keeping his gaze solely on me.

“No.”

“What would you like?” he inquires arrogantly, bending over and dropping onto one knee to undo his shoes and remove them.

I think about that while he looks up at me through thick eyelashes.

What would I like?

Well, I am here for a specific reason.

Because I’ve missed having his mouth on me, and I would greatly like it back there. Once just wasn’t enough.

I remove my jacket, letting it slip off my shoulders, and fall to the floor. We remain in the entryway, him staring at me, his throat constricting as he swallows. I lift a booted foot and place it on his chest, dirtying his white shirt with the footprint.

“Undo it,” I order. His hand slides up my knee-high boot until he reaches the top, then he unzips it slowly and pulls it from my leg, discarding it to the side. We repeat the process for the other boot, and he doesn’t once look between my legs. If he did, he could easily see my panties due to the shortness of the skirt.

“What would I like?” I say as he pulls the boot off. When I put my foot back on the floor, he doesn’t move, remaining on his knees expectantly.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dutton Taylor is on his knees.

I’m so shocked at first that I can only stare down at him. Then he reaches up my skirt, grips the top of my stockings, and slowly pulls them down my legs and off each foot.

“Posie.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m hungry now, and you’ll behave, right?”

“Behave?”

“Yes. Keep your hands to yourself, and I’ll reward you. And the word ‘no’ does not exist in this home.”

I raise a brow at him. “As long as you don’t give me a reason to say no, and your hands are on me, keeping me distracted.”

“They’re already on you,” he reminds me as he squeezes my legs.

It feels like electricity runs up my body. The intensity of this man’s gaze devours me, but I don’t look away, learning from my last experience with Dutton that he doesn’t like it if I don’t remain purely focused on him.

“Hands to myself. Noted.” I clear my throat.

His palms glide up my legs painfully slowly, as if he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. When he reaches my underwear, he tears them from my body, shredding them at the seams before grabbing my ass and squeezing the flesh there.

His gaze finally dips to the juncture of my legs. He squeezes my ass again and pulls me closer until his face is directly between my thighs. He kisses my clit, then moves lower, between my folds, his tongue tasting. I almost immediately melt into him.

It’s scorching hot, and I can’t help the moan that leaves me. My hands lift of their own accord as his tongue flicks, and I, at the last moment, remember his order not to touch him.

Do. Not. Touch him.

But that’s a challenging instruction to follow when I don’t have anything around me to grab onto but him. The wall is too far back, and the door isn’t within reachable distance.

He removes one hand from my ass and wastes no time sliding a finger inside me.

It’s so sudden and purposeful that another moan slips from me.

My hands are clenched at my sides, dying to touch him as his tongue works even faster and more persistently.

“Dutton.” His name slips from my lips, and he pulls back for a moment. I’m confused, and I look down at him expectantly.

“That’s the first time you ever called me by my name instead of boss or asshole, Mostriciattola .”

My brow furrows in confusion because, although I’ve overheard him speaking fluent Italian, I have no idea what he just called me.

“I told you not to give me a reason to tell you no,” I growl; I don’t want him to get sentimental or show he has a slither of emotion in him just because I finally used his name. It’d be a total buzz kill to the hard fucking I expect.

He smirks and plants his lips back on my clit, the suction pacifying me and pulling out a deep hunger. I fall back as much as I can into the bliss. Small whimpers escape me as I let him worship me and let all my worries and concerns fall by the wayside. This man breaks me apart in ways I never thought possible.

Then he pulls back and stands, and I instantly miss the feel of him. My eyes snap open, and I expect him to reprimand me for not staring at him like he had last time, but instead, he begins unbuttoning his shirt. I follow his lead, reaching behind to unhook my bra, leaving me in just the leather skirt.

When his shirt hits the floor, I have a moment to appreciate his muscles. He’s fucking stunning. Lean with six-pack abs and arms that easily carry my weight over his shoulder. But there are also cuts and scars all over his body. A sensation of danger tingles through me, a reminder that this man is not someone to be trifled with. I, more than anyone, should know better than to mingle with a man like this. And yet I gravitate toward him like a moth to a flame.

I realize then that Dutton has done his best to try to be professional, except for, of course, when he’s acting like a caveman and dragging me off stage. Because in all the times and ways he’s looked at me, his gaze has never lingered at work. But now it’s all-consuming.

He admires me, which I appreciate. I’m very much used to men admiring my naked body. It’s how I earned money before Dutton gave me my new job. But having a man admire me after he was just between my legs? Well, that’s a new experience for me, and I really fucking like it. Especially how his gaze greedily takes me in, like he’s seeing more than just my body. It’s like he’s seeing all of me.

My boss might be an asshole, but right now, he looks as if he’s under my spell, and I want to see what might happen if I try to break the cool intensity of his control. He’s so used to having everything go his way. I want to make him break apart.

“My turn,” I purr as I drop to my knees and pull his belt free, discarding it before I unbutton his pants and lower the zipper. When I do, his straining cock springs free, and I can’t help but admire it. He’s bigger than Bobbi, who was the last person I was with. And that was before Bentley was born. I wonder if it will hurt. I’ve only used toys during the previous five years, and they’ve done the job well enough, but I know they haven’t prepared me for this man. Not with a sizeable cock like that.

“I don’t need you to please me. I told you, I’m here to taste and consume all of you, Posie.”

“Yes, but we take turns,” I say charmingly, looking at him in a way that most men can’t deny. “Do you not want me to touch you?” I whisper. I put my hands behind my back and lean forward to kiss the tip of his cock. He mumbles something under his breath, and I look up at him.

“No touching.” I throw his words back at him. The tendon in his neck looks like it’s about to snap. He must fucking hate me when I tell him what to do, but he permits me to touch him with one curt nod of his head.

Leaning forward again, I take his cock in my mouth and suck while swirling my tongue around the tip. He groans, and I move my head up and down, pleased at the sounds vibrating through him.

I keep eye contact because I know how much he needs that, and the intensity of it is staggering. Tears well in my eyes, but I continue taking him to the back of my throat. He speaks in Italian, and I’m sure it’s mostly curses. His arms and pecs flex as if reminding himself to keep his hands behind his back.

“Stop.” I’m surprised at the harsh demand, but I sit back on my heels. He steps out of his pants, now completely naked. “Stand.”

I try to hide the smile begging to bloom on my lips. Of course, this man can only give away control for a few minutes. But I do as he says, and I’m curious to see what else he might do to me.

When I’m on my feet, he circles me, his fingers sensually caressing my bare skin as if appraising me. As if wondering what to do with me.

“What do you want?” I ask when I can’t handle the tension anymore. I swallow hard when I get another glance at his massive cock.

“You, Mostriciattola .”

“Then why aren’t you taking me?”

I can sense his smirk as he comes to a stop behind me, and I’m surprised by the warm touch of his lips on the back of my neck. He trails kisses along my shoulders while one hand snakes around my stomach to pull me against his hard cock, causing it to poke against my asshole. He cups my breast and then squeezes, and I shudder at the stimulation of his aggressive hands and marking kisses. I’m not used to this type of attentiveness.

“Do you want me to stop?” he growls.

“I’ve been told I can’t use a certain word in this house,” I reply huskily.

His mood shifts as he comes around to face me. “Do I intimidate you?” he asks. I think about that question as I glance at his hand possessively gripping my hip. I can sense the moment he puts that ice wall between us. I don’t mind it because I’m so used to doing it myself with everyone else. But right now, it feels easier to speak truths than lies.

“Maybe a little,” I confess.

“You hide it well,” he says, then spins me to face him. He picks me up, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist. When he walks me up the stairs, I notice a lounge area with a large black couch and a TV mounted on the wall. He’s staring at me, and it’s hard not to stare back at him. Words unsaid. Intensities matched. A fire that I want him to put out between my legs, but I’m positive it’ll only create an insatiable craving instead.

I would never admit it, but I like the way he carries me. It makes me feel small, almost protected, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Instead of a mother or a stripper, I’m simply a woman being carried in a man’s arms. Not just any man’s arms either.

I lean back and meet his gaze. “Do I intimidate you ?”

He turns left and strides into a dimly lit room, which I’m assuming is his bedroom. When he lowers me, my ass lands on something soft, and I realize it’s his bed. He doesn’t bother turning on a light as he reaches into the drawer and pulls out a condom. I almost think he’s not going to reply to my question as I watch him rip it open with his teeth and then slide it on. When it’s in place, he looks back at me.

“More than you could ever understand.”

My eyebrows raise, but before I can digest that, he’s on me, kicking my legs apart and positioning himself between them. He doesn’t immediately push inside. No, instead, his mouth finds my nipples, and he does as he told me he was going to do—he tastes me. Biting my nipples before he sucks his way down to my belly and back again. Each time he gets to my neck, I reach my hands behind him and try to pull him closer. It’s a game of teasing, and he’s an expert at it. The pounding of desire is a living, breathing, feral creature beneath my skin, and if I don’t have him soon, I may just claw his fucking eyes out.

“Dutton,” I growl, irritated by his purposeful teasing.

“Yes, Posie?” he answers, and although I can’t see him clearly, I know he’s intentionally fucking with me.

“Fuck me already,” I grit.

He chuckles. And it’s the rawest version I’ve seen of this man. Not the monster beneath the mask. Not the boss. Not the perfect businessman. Simply Dutton.

“As you command,” he says, and his mouth comes back to mine. He still hasn’t kissed me fully. Yes, his mouth has tasted my lips and my skin, but his tongue has never tasted mine. So when our lips meet, I open my mouth in invitation, and he slides his tongue inside. And as he does that, his cock finds precisely where it needs to be and slams straight into me. I gasp, but he doesn’t stop kissing me, doesn’t pull away, as if needing to devour my every hitched breath.

I focus only on him as I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him deeper into me as if he’s my only anchor to this moment as I relax around the size of him.

His hips start moving, and I drag my very sharp nails down his back. He grunts and begins to fuck me harder with each thrust and kiss. The shadow of his beard tickles me as he ravages me, and I don’t know where he begins, and I end as I match him thrust for thrust, the loud slapping of our skin echoing through the room.

I moan and wince under the pain and pleasure. His hand comes up to my throat as if keeping me in place while he hits that spot inside me over and over again. I can barely squirm beneath him, brought to new heights every time he slams into me.

I squeak—an unusual sound for me to make—as I greedily try to cling to him as he constricts my airflow. This fucking man.

The pressure begins to build, and I whimper, so close to climax.

Oh fuck.

How is this possible?

“Dutton,” I whimper, almost scared of what this climax will rip out of me. It’s been so long. My body is in overdrive, and tingles rise along my legs as I cling to him for dear life.

“Scream for me, Mostriciattola .” He grunts.

I grip his hair and pull, but it does nothing to deter him from taking my lips as he completely cuts off my air. A moment of panic strikes me but mixes with the high of teetering on the edge.

I yank my face to the side, a breathless moan passing through me as the pressure builds. His mouth then shifts to work on my neck; his cock keeps pounding into me, and his hand slides down where his fingers circle my clit.

How can he…?

Oh my God.

What in the ever-fucking hell is he doing with his hands and his cock?

“See what a good girl you are?” he croons, and I nod my head, unable to do anything else.

He leans back and pulls me to the end of the bed by my knees. He’s now standing, looking down at me as he fucks me, releasing his grip on my throat ever so slightly so I can gulp for air. But it’s not enough. Not enough oxygen in the world will save me from drowning in the sea of pure bliss I’m experiencing right now. I grip the sheets, unable to stop what’s happening.

No one I’ve ever fucked before comes close to Dutton.

No one.

And I’m afraid he’s ruined me for this life and the next. When I come, I see stars. And I mean, I come so hard that when I open my eyes, even in this dark room, bright pinpricks of light flash in my vision.

In the middle of my orgasm, I feel like I’ve pissed all over him. That’s when I shockingly realize that I’m squirting. I’ve heard other women describe it, but I’ve never experienced it. I didn’t even know my body was capable of it.

Until now.

He jerks into me, and I watch his silhouette, his powerful form going from rigid to fluid as he gives himself to my body entirely, and it fills me with a satisfaction I haven’t had with another lover.

“Fucking perfect,” he says with a sigh as he slowly pulls out and repositions himself so his face is between my legs again, licking everything, tasting, and eating. Devouring my sensitive clit. I have the urge to push him away because of how sensitive I am, but it’s not so intense that I can’t handle it. It’s a lazy type of aftercare, but it’s one that’s already slowly building my desire all over again.

Urgently demanding my fill once again.

Oh fuck. This man really has ruined me.

I’ll forever compare any other lover to him.

I can’t speak, so I roll my hips into his face, languid with his lazy control.

And I realize this man is going to break me apart all over again, and the only thing to keep me here is… him.