Lies That Sinners Tell (The Klutch Duet 1)

But he’d never yearned for any of them.

Never let a single one say a word against him. Not that they’d ever tried to argue any point. They’d all been so agreeable. In retrospect, it was rather appalling.

He burned for her. Like an inferno. It infuriated him, to watch her jut up her chin and make those demands.

She hated him when she’d conceded to the injection; it went against the core of her, to agree to something like that. He should’ve hated himself for making her bend that way. But he didn’t. He fucking loved it.

Because he was an asshole.

His mother had called him the devil when he was ten years old. He hadn’t been a devil then, of course. Or even a sinner.

But he’d spent his adult life turning in to just that. A sinner. A devil.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next day was the obligatory girlfriend briefing. There was no way I’d have been able to keep this quiet. There was no way I could’ve kept my sanity without being able to talk about this with someone. And it was physically impossible for me to keep secrets from my friends. I was a terrible liar, they knew me too well, and if I didn’t have their support through this, I wouldn’t have survived the week.

I sent the mass text announcing an emergency cocktail night the second I got home from Jay’s on Thursday. Although all of the girls already had Friday night plans, they broke them for me when I told them I needed them. It was the last night before Jay and I ... began.

Even the thought of what was to come this weekend sent nerves shooting from my stomach to my toes.

I had no idea what to expect, the unknowns sending butterflies to swarm my belly and making my palms sweat all day Friday. Although there had been plenty of businesslike conversation over the terms, times and basic rules of our arrangement, there had been no overt sexual details, beyond the obvious implication that there would be sex.

But what kind of sex?

Quite obviously not vanilla. This man was not vanilla. Not even a hint. He was some kind of Dom, I knew that much. But I had no experience with that side of sexual expression. I’d read a few books, watched the movies that came out after the books gained popularity. I knew about whips. Chains. Ball gags. Nipple clamps. Handcuffs. Blindfolds.

I knew there were levels. Knew that such a lifestyle ranged from relatively mild to decidedly hardcore. And while the prospect of being chained up while Jay did things to me really, really appealed to me, I knew I was not cut out for anything hardcore.

Yet I’d blindly agreed to this arrangement.

It wasn’t like it was set in stone; I hadn’t made a promise with blood, nor did I swear fealty to the devil. Just agreed to submit to a sinner with secrets.

But I wasn’t exactly a saint, was I?

Regardless, I needed girlfriend input, advice and support. I knew the latter would come from Wren, the first two from Zoe and Yasmin.

My predictions were confirmed when I met with them at Luxe, our favorite cocktail bar. It wasn’t trendy, at all. Well, it had been twenty years ago. The place hadn’t changed a single bit; they still served the same cocktails, still had the same décor and had no presence on social media. Barely anyone came here, and the cocktails, all less than ten dollars, were strong.

“You’re in the sex arrangement?” Wren blurted the second we were seated, her eyes bright.

I toyed with the olive in my drink. “I guess I am.”

“Holy fuck,” Wren muttered. “This is so exciting!”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep your involvement of said arrangement on the down low?” Zoe inquired, not looking anywhere near as excited as Wren. Not sounding it either.

“Well, I didn’t sign anything, and he didn’t threaten my life should I discuss the arrangement with my girlfriends,” I assured them. “Plus, I think I would explode if I had to keep this all to myself.”

“I’d strangle you if you kept this all to yourself,” Wren chimed in.

Yasmin had yet to speak, but I already knew she wouldn’t be happy about such a thing. Not that she would judge me. I knew she was worried. Heck, I was worried, and I was the one who’d made the decision.

“There’s no paperwork?” Yasmin finally broke her silence, her eyebrow raised.

I bit my lip. “Not exactly.”

“Oh fuck,” Zoe muttered.

“He has a list,” I explained, voice quiet.

“A list?” Yasmin repeated.

I nodded.

There was silence for a split second, which was apparently all Wren could handle. “Okay, you do not get to mention a list that pertains to your sex arrangement and then not tell us what is on aforementioned list,” she snapped.

“She doesn’t have to tell us if she doesn’t want to. As long as there isn’t anything illegal or harmful on the list,” Yasmin countered, giving me a gentle look.