Lies That Sinners Tell (The Klutch Duet 1)

“Oh, we will fucking not,” I spat. “We will get this robot car to drive us to your garage so I can retrieve my car, get into it, drive myself home, pour a very large glass of wine and we then will not speak for a week.”

“Be careful with how you talk to me, pet,” he warned. His arms were crossed as he observed me, eyes alight with warning and his jaw was hard.

I hated that my body responded to the threat woven into those words. “Be careful how you try to control my life, sir,” I shot back, folding my arms.

“You needed a new car,” he explained.

I pursed my lips. “I did not need a new car. My car ran absolutely fine. Great. Sure, it didn’t cost one hundred thousand dollars and doesn’t give off quite the status symbol that all of yours do, but I don’t care much about that. I care that I’ve been driving it for almost a decade, and it’s never broken down on me. I care that my father worked hard to give me something that will always take me where I want to go, and it will always take me home. Beyond that, it’s not your job to buy me a new car. You buying me things was not part of the arrangement.”

Jay was done. He proved this by rounding the car quickly, advancing upon me before I had the chance to retreat. One of his hands clutched my neck, the other my hip.

There was no escape, unless I wanted to fight him like a banshee. And I was almost pissed off enough to do that.

“I informed you that I take care of you while we are involved, while you’re mine,” he murmured, mouth inches from mine. “While you’re mine, you wear the jewelry I buy you, the underwear I buy you, the shoes, the dresses, and you drive the fucking car I get you. You want to argue some more?”

Yes. Yes I did want to argue some more. Because I’d said a heck of lot just then, things that deserved responses. Understanding. Personal things. More shreds of myself I’d flung at him, let him devour without a response, without anything in return.

Jay’s hand tightened on my neck. “Oh yes, pet, you do want to argue,” he murmured.

The hand at my hip inched downwards, yanking my yoga pants down with it.

My first instinct was to bat his hand away, fight him off, pull up my pants, get myself an Uber and report my car stolen.

But I stayed still.

Even worse, I stepped out of my pants when they hit my ankles. Panties too. The cool morning air chilled the most intimate part of me, the part that I was revealing out in the open. In front of Jay’s house.

“I’ll fuck you against your car. If you find it in yourself to try to stop me from doing this...” I let out a harsh gasp as his finger moved inside of me. “Then we’ll go and get your old car.”

His finger kept moving, slowly, lazily, while his hand stayed tight around my neck, his stunning green eyes daring me to fight him. To disobey him.

My knees shook underneath me as he expertly moved his finger. He was a connoisseur of my body. Of my soft places. He knew how to make me melt to his will.

“Still not fighting?” he asked, slowly moving his finger out of me, just as I was about to launch off the cliff. He was rock hard, pressing against my thighs as he finger-fucked me, watching me unravel.

My lips released a groan of protest, but I didn’t speak. I moved, though. My hands went to Jay’s belt, undoing it with desperation, with fury.

“That’s right, Stella,” he rasped as I wrapped my hand around him.

That was all the control I got, all the control I ever got. He moved quickly, fluidly, so he was inside me in one thrust, my legs wrapped around his waist.

I cried out, throwing my head back so it hit the car. The car he was fucking me against.

My car.

Though nothing was truly mine anymore.

Jay had proving that, with every thrust, every moment. I wasn’t even mine anymore. I was his.

Everything was his.

“You argue with me again, I’ll make you suck my dick while I’m driving your car down the 101,” Jay said, his voice surprisingly husky.

I didn’t quite trust my own voice to form words, since I was too busy picturing that very scenario, so I didn’t bother replying. Jay would not hesitate to make me do that. And I would not hesitate to do it. We’d engaged in more than a few sex acts in the back of his SUV while going to or from whatever function he’d decided I needed to attend with him.

The problem with his threats were that they didn’t make me angry. Didn’t fuel the feminist tirade I should’ve been compelled to gone on. They only spoke to that dark, submissive part of me that Jay had awakened. That Jay nurtured and fed every weekend. That part of me was growing larger, and it terrified me. How quickly he was gaining control over me. But even with more control over me, I felt that Jay was making me stronger. More confident. More sure of myself.