Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 47

Chapter

Forty-Seven

“The phoenix must burn to emerge.”

― Janet Fitch

Jade

“I never thought I’d say this, but… I’m going to miss you, Miss Whitenhouse. Who am I going to gossip about now that you’re leaving us?”

I let out a scoff as I packed my things into cardboard boxes for the movers. The office was almost empty now—just a few picture frames, mirrors, and personal knick-knacks left behind.

Six years in this office, and I’d be lying if I said leaving wasn’t tugging at my heart. But the adventure ahead was far more exciting.

“Grace,” I sighed, sitting back behind my desk, my heels tapping against the floor. “We may have hated each other over the years, but I need to be honest with you.”

Her brow arched, curiosity piqued.

“You make the best chocolate muffins ever.”

Her eyes widened in realization. “ You were the one stealing them from Mr. Lazzio’s fridge?”

Oops. I’d definitely just screwed up.

I cleared my throat, suddenly fascinated by the contents of my bag. I rummaged through it, searching for… nothing, really. Anything to dodge the flames of her wrath.

“You little devil!” she practically shrieked. “Were you also the one stealing the chocolates my husband got him every year for his birthday? The ones filled with?—”

I snapped my bag shut with a decisive click and bolted to my feet. “Oh, would you look at the time! Totally forgot—I have an appointment with the accountant. Bye, oldie!”

I made a beeline for the door, her indignant curses trailing behind me like a bad perfume. By the time I reached the elevator, I was frantically tapping the button like my life depended on it.

When the doors slid open, I ducked inside, safe for now.

Today was my last day here, and if I was leaving, I was doing it on my terms—with a bang.

Or, more accurately, by annoying my boss— or soon-to-be ex-boss —one last time.

It had been a month since our trip to Bay Village. Three days of strolling through my childhood memories—my old school, the house I’d grown up in (now home to a sweet couple with twin daughters), the spot where I’d gotten my one and only tattoo, and even the place where I’d had my first kiss.

Naturally, Angelo asked for a name.

Naturally, I didn’t tell him.

I wasn’t about to hand him a reason to hunt down some guy who didn’t even remember me.

I asked him about Luciana, his uncle’s wife, and why he had helped her vanish into the shadows. He said it was to free her from the weight of her demons, to give her a chance to breathe in a new life.

I told him he had done the same for me, and he kissed me—deep and wet—whispering against my lips that I was the one who had saved him from his own.

I also introduced him to my Aunt Krissy and Uncle Jack, and the reunion was… heavy. Emotional, guilt-ridden, bittersweet.

The way they looked at me—shocked, hopeful, hurt—was something I’d carry with me forever.

But it had brought a strange kind of closure, too.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until I stood there, watching my past collide with my present.

When we’d gotten back to New York, Angelo had returned to work, and I’d asked for some space to think things through. Of course, “space” didn’t mean what you’d think. Before I left, he had me pinned beneath him in bed, arms trapped above my head, fucking me into a promise I’d stay in the city—and most importantly, not run off to Scotland.

Honestly, I was so close to coming, I would’ve promised him my kidneys if he’d asked.

Since then, I’d emptied my apartment. I’d cleared out the room where years of resentment and bitterness had festered, burning paperwork, files, and pictures until there was nothing left but ashes.

Angelo lasted three days without me. On day four, he showed up at my apartment, unapologetic as always, and declared he couldn’t sleep without me. He told me if I needed space to think, I could do it during the day—but at night, he was staying. I didn’t argued. Amazing sex, nightly massages, and breakfast in bed? That hadn’t been space—it had been a bribe.

And I wasn’t complaining.

But today was different. Today marked the end of this chapter.

I was packing up my life and preparing to step into the unknown, but not before making sure I’d left my mark here—on him, on this office, and on the memories we’d built.

The elevator dinged at his office level, and I stepped out, my heels clicking against the floor.

I strode down the corridor, pushing the door open without a second thought.

But what—or more accurately, who—I saw froze me in place.

“Hello, Miss Whitenhouse.”

My throat tightened, but I swallowed it down. “Hello, Mrs. Greg.”

Laurie Greg.

James Greg’s wife.

The wife of the man I’d killed—coldly, without hesitation, and without an ounce of remorse.

Angelo’s voice broke the charged silence. “Please, sit, Miss Whitenhouse.”

I moved on autopilot, walking to the couch and sinking down beside him. He didn’t look at me, but the way his hand brushed against mine as I settled was enough to steady my nerves.

Laurie Greg sat in the armchair across from us.

Her presence filled the room, cold and immaculate. She was the kind of woman who didn’t just wear vintage Chanel, but made it feel like it had been designed just for her—a pale pink two-piece that should have softened her, but didn’t.

Her hair was twisted into a tight bun, her features sharp and striking, every line of her face etched with a beauty that hadn’t faded with age, but had only grown more lethal. She had to be in her early sixties, but the years had done nothing to dull her.

If anything, they’d made her more dangerous.

Her eyes—icy, pale blue—cut to me first, then Angelo, her lips curving into a smile that wasn’t really a smile.

“My husband,” she began, her voice smooth as silk stretched taut, “has been missing for over a month.”

The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable like a stone sinking deeper into my gut.

Angelo leaned back, his arms folding across his chest. “We’re sorry to hear that.”

Laurie let out a laugh—a quiet, hollow sound that managed to be both elegant and vicious. “Sorry?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Funny choice of words, considering you two are the ones who got rid of him.”

Her gaze flicked back to me, cold and assessing, like she was peeling back my skin to see what was underneath.

Angelo didn’t blink. “That’s a serious accusation, Laurie.”

Laurie leaned back in her chair, her smile growing wider and somehow crueler. “Oh, it’s not an accusation,” she said softly, almost sweetly. “It’s the truth and… I wanted to thank you both.”

What?

“James,” she continued, her tone smooth, almost bored, “was a bastard. Cheated on me with anything that had a pulse. Beat me, insulted me—stripped me of every shred of dignity, until I didn’t recognize myself anymore.”

The way she spoke made it sound like she was commenting on the weather, but there was venom under it, seeping into every word.

“I used to lie awake at night, fantasizing about killing him. How I’d do it, where I’d leave him. But…” Her gaze darkened. “I never had the guts to follow through. Not until you two stepped in and tied up my loose end.”

My stomach tightened, but I kept my face as blank as I could.

“So, you’re thanking us,” he said, his voice low, even, dangerous.

Laurie tilted her head, the smile on her lips sharpening. “Oh, Angelo, not just thanking you. I’m here to… express my gratitude.”

“Gratitude?”

“Yes, Miss Whitenhouse. Gratitude. For doing what I never could. You’ve given me something no one else ever has.”

Angelo shifted slightly. “And what exactly is that, Laurie?”

Laurie’s smile didn’t falter. “Freedom.”

Freedom.

If I had felt even a sliver of it when I had ended her husband—the man responsible for so much of my own pain—then I couldn’t begin to imagine the weight that must have lifted off her shoulders, knowing he was gone.

She rose gracefully, her manicured hand reaching for the Chanel bag resting on the seat beside her, and she adjusted it over her arm.

Her kitten heels clicked softly on the floor as she turned to leave.

But just as she reached the door, she paused, glancing back at us over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her tone as smooth as polished glass. “Your secret is safe with me. I told the feds that James ran off to Thailand with his mistress after I ‘found out.’ They won’t come looking for him. But then again…” Her gaze flicked to Angelo, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I know the dirty feds are already in your pocket, Lazzio. Impressive work, I must say.”

And with that, she strolled out without a second glance.

I exhaled, a nervous laugh escaping my lips as I glanced at Angelo.

“Damn,” I muttered, leaning back as he closed the distance between us. “That woman… she’s something else.”

Angelo chuckled low and deep.

Then, without warning, his hands found my waist, and before I could even think to protest, he lifted me effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing at all, and plopped me onto his lap. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck to steady myself.

His face dropped in the crook of my neck, his lips grazing my skin as he growled softly, “I missed you.”

I let out a hum, shifting slightly. “We saw each other this morning though.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, pressing me against him as he grinned, lips teasing my skin.

“Too long ago,” he muttered, then kissed my neck.

I let my fingers slide through his hair, tugging him closer as I tilted my head back, giving him full access to my neck.

“I finished getting all my things,” I breathed out. “I’m officially boss-Lazzio-free.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, before he leaned in and sucked hard on my neck. My nails dug into his scalp as I fought to hold back the moan threatening to escape.

“Would you like one last promotion before you leave, Miss Whitenhouse?” he murmured.

“Actually, there is something I’d like, boss.”

I smiled slightly, pushing him back playfully and getting off his lap. I reached for his hand, not missing the way his eyes darkened with interest.

He arched a brow, but didn’t hesitate, his long fingers wrapping around mine as he stood and followed me.

My fingers traced the edge of the table, tapping lightly against it.

“I’ve always liked this room, even if meetings dragged on forever. The way the sun breaks through the window, the oval shape of the room, the plush chairs…” I tilted my head, letting the words hang in the air. “It’s the perfect place for my little promotion.”

Angelo settled back in his chair, facing away from the window, looking like a king waiting for his subject to either beg for forgiveness, or beg for freedom.

He leaned back, legs spread wide. “Tell me more, Miss Whitenhouse.”

My nails clicked against the table, the sound deliberate and sharp.

I reached behind me, fingers brushing the zipper of my dress.

I pulled it down slowly, letting the movement drag, watching the way his eyes followed every inch. His tongue flicked over his lips, barely a whisper of a reaction.

The dress slid down, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of it, just as a low curse slipped from his mouth.

I’d been planning this, had it all figured out this morning. A little fantasy come to life—being fucked in this meeting room. The windows were all glass. Anyone who came up here would see us.

I was in a black thong, garters pulling my stockings tight against my skin, bows at the back of my legs. Nothing on my tits but two heart-shaped stickers on my nipples, barely covering anything.

I crawled onto the table, slowly, making sure he saw every inch of me.

The cold surface under my knees only made the heat between my legs tickle.

I stopped in the middle, sinking into my knees. My hands slid up my body, grabbing my tits, squeezing them together, fingers gently brushing over the heart-shaped stickers.

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze head-on, a flicker of challenge in my eyes.

He exhaled sharply. “Come closer.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Not yet, boss. I haven’t finished my presentation.”

I pushed up onto the table, hands dragging along the surface—legs, hips, tits, my fingers combing through my hair as I moved. Every shift was slow, making sure he caught every detail, the way my body curved and swayed.

His jaw tightened, eyes following me.

I tilted my hips, swaying from side to side. “I’ve been working hard to get your attention,” I said. “Guess it’s finally paying off, huh?”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes darker than ever. “You’ve always had it, Miss Whitenhouse. But now? Now it’s all yours.”

I turned away, letting my black hair fall like a veil, fingers brushing through it before I swept it to the side, showing my tattoo.

My naked back was exposed, the curve of it teasing him as I glanced back, catching the way his eyes ran down my spine.

He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat.

Angelo Lazzio was turned on.

Very turned on.

The bulge in his pants was practically giving me a standing ovation.

“You know,” I whispered, “sometimes I’d spend extra time in your office—pretending to go over your files—just to feel your eyes on me. I’d drop something, on purpose, just so you could watch me bend over. Just so you’d get a peek at my ass.”

I gave him a slow, wicked smile, my fingers brushing over the soft curve of my waist. Then I slowly slid my thong down my hips, letting it pool around my heels before stepping out of it.

“Would you like a demonstration, boss?”

His gaze was locked on me, a slow nod of agreement.

I parted my legs and bent forward, my wetness slipping down my thighs, my pussy warm under his watchful eyes.

I knew he could see everything .

I straightened up, a smirk playing on my lips as I turned toward him, dropping to my knees.

Then, I gripped the edge of my thong between my teeth and, with a devilish smile, slowly crawled toward him.

His gaze never left me as I stopped at the edge of the table, settling on my knees. I took the thong in my fingers.

“Open your mouth.”

He obeyed without hesitation, and I slipped it between his lips.

With a smirk, I positioned myself at the edge of the table, letting my legs hang loosely, parting them slightly as I leaned back on my hands, so he could see how excited I was.

His hands immediately roamed up my legs.

I whispered, “You can fuck me now, but there’s one thing you need to do first.”

His brow furrowed, curiosity and need written on his face. I straightened up, pulling the thong from his lips and tossing it behind me.

“I want your lips on mine.”

He leaned in, but I stopped him with a single finger.

“Not those, Angelo.”

He growled, his gaze locked on mine as I leaned back on my hands again, parting my legs further, inviting him closer.

And he did, so fast I gasped. He buried his face in my pussy, his tongue so warm against my folds I couldn’t help but moan loudly.

My hand brushed his hair away, my fingers lingering in the strands.

“Look at you,” I giggled softly, watching him. His hands gripped my thigh as he sucked on my clit. “Such a good boy, listening to me.”

He chuckled darkly, but didn’t have time to say anything because I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back a bit, his face glistening with my wetness, which he licked from his lips.

“Say it, Lazzio.”

His eyes narrowed. “Say what?”

“That you’re a good boy.”

A flicker of something dark crossed his face. “Jade?—”

“Say it. Please. It’s my last day, remember?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I’ve been… such a good boy, Miss Whitenhouse,” he said roughly, the sound sending heat to my pussy. “So please , let me fuck you, now.”

I released his hair with a soft chuckle, a hint of a blush creeping up my cheek.

Damn.

He really had been a good boy, and I knew forcing him to say it out loud was going to get me punished for it.

Hard.

And I couldn’t wait.

“Go ahead.”

He stood up quickly, and pulled me to my feet.

Without warning, he turned me around, pushing me down onto the table, my chest pressed against the cool surface, my cheek resting to the side.

In one swift motion, he shoved my thong into my mouth.

Before I could even process it, I heard a zipper drop, and he slammed into me, making me gasp.

His grip on my hip was bruising, his fingers digging into my skin as he pounded into me with unrelenting force. Each thrust was a punishment, each one harder than the last. The sharp crack of his hand slapping my ass echoed in the room, the sting spreading heat across my skin.

“There,” he said breathlessly. His hand gripped my hair for some support. “That’s my fucking reward.”

I tried to push back against him, to meet his rhythm, but he was relentless.

He slapped my ass again, harder this time, making me cry out against the fabric stuffed in my mouth.

His hand snaked around my throat, pulling me up, his lips brushing against my ear.

“Want me to stop, amore ?”

I shook my head furiously, desperate.

“Good,” he rasped, his teeth grazing my neck before biting down just hard enough to make me shiver. “Cause I want you to ride me now.”

He let go of me and sat back in his chair, the smug bastard, as if he hadn’t just fucked me senseless. I turned around, taking my thong out of my mouth. I ran my fingers through my hair, like I wasn’t shaking inside, and stepped over him. His cock, still hard and glistening, twitched as I straddled his lap.

“Ready?” I asked, grabbing him firmly, my grip making him hiss.

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

I sank down onto him slowly, my lips parting as he stretched me wide. Inch by inch, I took him, my thighs trembling as he filled me to the hilt.

I gasped, my head falling back. “God, you’d think by now I wouldn’t feel like I’m splitting in half.”

His hands clamped down on my hips, his breathing harsh. “You talk too much.”

I rocked my hips once, a slow, deliberate grind that had him biting back a low groan. “And you love it. Admit it, Angelo—what’s better, fucking me or shutting me up?”

“Both. But if I had to choose…”

He thrust up hard, filling me so deep I swore I saw stars.

I gasped, clawing at his shoulders for balance, and his eyes darkened, that sharp, dirty edge slicing through his voice.

“…shutting you up while I fuck you. Best of both worlds, don’t you think?”

I tried to fire back, but he bucked his hips again, stealing the words right out of my mouth. His hands slid up my back, pulling me flush against him until my chest pressed against his lips.

I rode him hard, my lips trembling, my legs burning, every nerve alive and screaming. My heart raced, my stomach coiling tight, and then I shattered, crying out as the release ripped through me. My body collapsed against his, trembling, legs instinctively locking around his waist, like I needed him to anchor me.

But Angelo wasn’t done.

With a low growl, his hands gripped my ass, holding me down as he drove up into me, relentless, rough. Two, three more thrusts, and his head fell back, a filthy groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into me.

For a moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing, my body still trembling as I rested against his chest.

“You truly are the best employee I’ve ever had.”

I brushed damp hair off my face. “Glad to know I’ve exceeded expectations.”

He smirked, his fingers trailing down my back. “Shame it’s your last day. Though… I might have another position in mind for you. But fair warning—it’s a 24/7 kind of gig.”

I cocked a brow, unable to hide my grin. “Oh? What’s the role?”

“My wife.”

I blinked, caught between a laugh and a gasp, my heart stumbling over itself.

His wife?

Mrs. Jade Lazzio.

“Angelo, your cock is still inside me. If that’s your proposal, I’m gonna have to decline. Because, quite frankly, it’s lame.”

“Ah, lame, huh?”

I tilted my head, letting my fingers trail lazily over his chest. “Mmm, yeah. I mean, no ring, no speech, and you’re still balls-deep. What happened to romance? Or are you just hoping to screw me into saying yes?”

His lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “Careful, diavoletta . Keep talking, and I might just screw you so good you’ll beg me to ask again.”

I leaned in close, my mouth brushing his ear. “That’s cute, Lazzio. But if you want me to say yes, you’re gonna have to try harder than a dick-meets-wedding pitch.”

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he caught my mouth again—deeper this time, hungrier.

Best last day I’d ever have.