Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 2)

My heart stops. Shit. Fuck. No. Shit. This is it. Holding my breath, I scrutinize Georgina’s face for any sign she’s figured me out. Is this a test? Is she daring me to confess sins she already knows I committed? Is this the same as when she asked me about a sexual harassment lawsuit I’d settled, when she’d already had Stephanie’s complaint sitting in a box in her room? But, no. I don’t see anything on Georgina’s lovely face except beautiful, blissful ignorance.

“That’s a great idea,” I say, regarding Georgina’s idea to credit the cancer charity. “Do you have your father’s account information, so I can wire the funds to the bank tomorrow?”

“I do.”

“Great. The loan will be totally paid off by close of business tomorrow.”

She can’t contain her effusive joy. She hugs me and kisses every inch of my face, making me hard as a rock. I put my palms on Georgina’s cheeks. “But before I return that necklace tomorrow, you’re going to take off those clothes and slip on that ruby necklace. We’re going to dine in the formal dining room. And then I’m going to take you upstairs and give you a night you’ll never forget.”

Chapter 24

Reed

Georgina rises from the couch and begins peeling off her clothes. So, I peel off mine. When we’re both naked, I turn her around, brush her dark hair to the side, and lay soft, sensuous kisses along the nape of her neck before finally placing the necklace around her neck. The necklace in place, I push my cock into her ass and kiss her neck and shoulder. I reach around and touch her breasts. Pinch her nipples. Whisper to her that she’s perfect. And, soon, she’s so aroused, her knees are buckling.

Still kissing her neck and shoulders, I begin gently stroking her slit, until she’s swollen and trembling. Aching for me. Dying for me. Until, finally, I touch her clit. Two seconds later, she cries out, digs her fingernails into my arm, and comes.

“You only get little ones for now,” I whisper, pushing my cock into her ass. “To get you excited for the big ones to come later.”

She shudders. “I’m so wet for you, Reed.”

“And you’re going to stay that way. Turn around.”

She complies. And, when I see the fire in those hazel eyes, the fire in those rubies dripping off her neck toward her pink, erect nipples, my cock twitches with arousal. The head of my cock is already beaded with pre-cum. Its shaft is straining for her. My skin is hot. But tonight is all about the slow-burn. It’s a night to savor, every bit as much as the special bottle of Bordeaux we’re going to drink.

“You need to see yourself right now.”

I take Georgina’s hand in mine and lead her to a nearby mirror, and then stand behind her, the tip of my cock brushing her ass, as she takes in her glorious, glowing reflection.

As she stares at herself, she touches the necklace, in awe of it. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you for seeing it and thinking of me.”

“I had no choice. It was made for you. It belonged to you, even as it sat in the store window.” I kiss her shoulder, making her shudder with arousal. “Amalia left an incredible meal for us in the oven. Eggplant parmigiana. Another favorite of mine. We’ll eat at the big table, on opposite ends.” I nuzzle my nose into her hair and inhale her glorious scent. “And then, I’m going to carry you upstairs, my queen, and give you a night that will change you forever.”

***

Georgina, my queen, is wearing nothing but her ruby collar. I’m wearing nothing but a smile. We’re sitting in high-backed upholstered chairs at opposite ends of my long dining table, the air between us crackling with sexual heat. And we’re eating and chatting and sipping a bottle of Bordeaux, like all of this is the most natural thing in the world.

In fact, I think it’s the apparent normalcy of this meal, while we’re both naked and fully aroused, that’s making it so scorching hot. It’s the calm before the storm, the ultimate foreplay, and we both know it.

Finally, when both our plates are empty and Georgina’s second glass of wine is gone, I push my empty plate and goblet aside and rise, showing her my erection.

“Come to me,” I say, my eyes locked with hers. “Crawl across the table on all fours and come to me.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She pushes her plate and glass aside, the way I just did, places her linen napkin onto her plate, and rises. With her eyes trained on mine, she climbs onto the table on all fours, and proceeds to crawl slowly across it, like a cat.

Well, isn’t that fitting, I think. Because, since the moment we met, Georgina and I have been engaged in a game of cat and mouse—a game in which both players have thought, at one time or another, they were the cat. But now, watching my glorious feline traversing the length of my table, I feel our roles cementing. Georgina is the cat in our relationship. There’s no doubt about it. And I’m the wolf.