Filthy Gorgeous Lies: Book 1

by Sophie Night

  He smooths his hand over my ass in gentle circles. “What did I tell you about opening your eyes?”

  “Not to do it,” I answer.

  His hand leaves my ass and then comes back down with a furious slap that jolts through my entire body. The sharp, biting sting takes my breath away and I gasp. But entwined with the pain is the hot rush of pleasure.

  His hand comes down again and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out. For some reason, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurts. Or maybe I’m just afraid he’ll stop.

  When it’s all over, my skin is hot, tingling. Gently, his hand brushes over my ass, feather light and soothing.

  “Wait here,” he murmurs.

  He walks into the bathroom and a few seconds later, I hear the tub being filled. It takes several minutes, but he finally walks out, back into the dinning area, scoops me up and carries me into the bathroom.

  “I can walk, you know.”

  Laughing quietly, he lowers me into the giant oval–shaped tub. The water is warm, the perfect temperature and feels heavenly against my skin. It’s been so long since I’ve taken a bath — I can’t even remember the last time.

  “Lean back,” he instructs, taking a bar of soap off the chrome bathtub caddy.

  I settle back against the tub, wincing a little as my back makes contact with the cold porcelain. He dips the soap into the water and I suck in a breath when he drags it up my body slowly, washing away the whipped cream.

  As Cole slides the soap along the contours of my body, I can see his every muscle is tense, coiled tight.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking how much I want to lick every inch of this delectable skin. How I want to taste every dip and valley. How badly I want to sink my teeth into this tight nipple.”

  “Mmmm.” As his words wash over me, my own hands travel to my breasts. I pinch said nipple between my fingertips and moan. It feels good, but not nearly as good as his teeth would feel.

  Swearing under his breath, he wrenches me out of the water abruptly. Cold air washes over my damp skin as he reaches for a thick white towel to dry me off. His movements are clipped, focused, as though he’s working hard to hold himself back.

  As soon as I’m dry, he sweeps me up again and carries me to the bed, laying me gently on the mattress. With a fierce look in his eyes, he strips down until he’s completely naked, his cock jutting out from his body.

  Holy shit. He’s huge. Just seeing the swollen purple tip makes me wet, ready.

  Opening a drawer in the nightstand next to the bed, he pulls out a condom, rips the foil open with his teeth and slides the latex over his thick length.

  Cole moves forward and lowers himself onto the bed, his body now hovering over mine. Then he kisses me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth possessively. He tastes like the raspberries we just ate — sweet with just a hint of tartness.

  With his knees, he spreads me wide, the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I hardly have time to brace myself before he pushes all the way into me, balls deep, and I let out a cry of shock.

  “Oh, God,” I breathe.

  “Fuck, Lexi,” he growls. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  His fingertips dig into my hips as he thrusts, pushing in deep. The sensation of him filling me feels so fucking good, I want to weep. He pumps into me hard, each thrust short and forceful, his pelvis stroking my clit.

  I let out a moan, arching up, my body desperate for release. I whimper beneath him, pleasure slamming into me with every frenzied thrust. It’s too much. I break apart beneath him, ecstasy flooding me as he continues to thrust, over and over again, shoving me over the edge, into the abyss.

  “Oh, fuck, Lexi,” he growls. “Fuck!”

  With one final thrust, he stiffens and I feel his cock pulse inside me, my channel clenching around his length. It’s perfect. In that single moment, everything is perfect between us.

  After several long minutes, he pulls out of me and rolls to the side, tossing the condom in the trash by the bed. Then he tugs me into his arms. We lay there for a minute with me tucked against him, my head resting on his chest. The slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat is comforting. Lying here with him makes me feel safe. Protected.

  I tilt my head up and look at him. “So um, are you in New York visiting?”

  “No,” he says as his fingertip idly traces swirls across my shoulder blade. “I moved here five years ago.”

  Untangling myself from his arms, I sit up and stare at him, completely confused. “If you live here, then why are you in a hotel?”

  “I come here when I need to focus on work.”

  Except, most people don’t get a room at the St. Regis for a little weekend holiday. Especially when they’ve got a perfectly good apartment somewhere near by. This place isn’t exactly economical.

  “So, um, what do you do for a living?”

  It’s a natural enough question, but by the look on his face, I might as well have asked him to reveal his deepest darkest secrets.

  “I’m a consultant.”

  “Oh,” I respond. “Like as a computer programmer or something?”

  With a heavy sigh, he pulls away and sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling his hands over his face in frustration. He curses under his breath.

  Suddenly, I’m uncomfortable. Why doesn’t he want me to know what he does for a living? It is such a basic question, I’m taken back by his reluctance to tell me.

  “I can’t do this,” he murmurs.

  I stare at his back, beautifully curved as he dips his head and rakes both hands through his hair. I itch to lean forward and wrap my arms around him, but something in his posture holds me back.

  Something has shifted between us. I’m not even sure what it is.

  I inch off the bed and fish my bra and panties off the floor before slipping them on. He doesn’t move, doesn’t ask me what I’m doing. Doesn’t try to stop me. He just sits there in tormented silence — though why he’s tormented is a mystery. The question gnaws at me, but I’m not brave enough to ask him.

  I pull my dress on, and awkwardly step into my heels. I pick up my purse and phone. “I um… have a lunch thing.”

  Rising to his feet, he saunters over to me, still completely naked. My eyes rove down his chiseled torso to the dark curls nestling his cock. He’s so fucking beautiful, and just like that, I forget what I was doing. My purse hangs limply in my hand as I watch him prowl closer.

  He stops in front of me and brushes a thumb across my cheek. “You don’t have a lunch thing,” he says.

  I lift a brow. “You don’t know that.”

  The truth is, I don’t have lunch plans — I just need an excuse to cut and run. But there’s no way he knows I’m lying.

  His thumb gently caresses my cheek. “You blush when you lie.” His hand falls to the base of my throat. “And your pulse races.”

  I blink, shocked he would pick up on such minute details. He’s like a human lie detector. “Those are also classic signs of desire and with you standing naked in front of me, is it any wonder why my cheeks are flushed and my heart is racing?”

  He flashes me a sexy half–smile, his hand never leaving my neck. “Will you return tonight?”

  “I can’t,” I say. “I have plans.” And this time, I’m telling the truth. I told Michael I’d meet him tonight.

  Cole’s hand falls to his side and his eyes narrow. “With who?”

  I can’t keep the sharpness out of my tone. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” A tick starts in his jaw and his every muscle is pulled tight as he waits for my answer.

  But what can I say? I release a heavy breath and move to push past him. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back around so I’m facing him.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t share, Lexi. Who are you meeting tonight?”

  “A friend.” Which is true. Semi–true, anyway.

  “Your ex,” he counters.


  I twist my wrist out of his grip and walk from the bedroom into the living room. Just as I open the door to walk out, he reaches over my shoulder and uses his weight to force the door closed.

  “Come back tonight, Lexi,” he says.

  It’s not a command. It’s a plea. And the truth is, I want to see him again. I’m drawn to this man in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone before. Why, I don’t know. He’s dangerous — I can feel it — but I can’t stay away.

  I worry my bottom lip and glance down at my feet. “I’ll try,” I say. “That’s all I can give you.”

  His hand falls away from the door, and I wrench it open, stepping out into the empty hallway.

  That afternoon, I’m sitting cross–legged on my living room floor, eating Chinese with Avery. The moment I got home, she’d demanded I tell her every sordid detail about my morning with Cole.

  “It was so weird, though. The second I asked him what he did for a living, he clammed up.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He gave me some vague answer and then pulled away.”

  Avery holds up her fork as though she’s just had an epiphany. “Maybe he has a wife and a gaggle of kids or something and he stays at the hotel to, you know, pick up women?”

  I glare at Avery. “There’s no way Cole has kids,” I say. “Or a wife, for that matter.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Actually, I’m not sure at all. There’s so much I don’t know about Cole, including his last name. Still, it annoys me when she’s right, so I just shrug. “It’s a gut feeling.”

  “Just be careful, Lex. You don’t have the best track record with guys.”

  I roll my eyes. “Michael is only one guy.”

  She hits me with a side–glance. “And the guy at the gym with the balloon fetish?”

  “Fine, two guys. But I never actually dated the balloon guy.”

  Avery steals some of my Kung–Pow chicken. “So are you going to see Cole again?” she asks between mouthfuls.

  “He asked me to go back and see him tonight.”

  Avery winks and grins playfully. “For another epic fuck–a–thon?”

  “It wasn’t a fuck–a–thon.” I pause when Avery lifts a brow. “Okay, maybe it was,” I admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not seeing him again.”

  Cole is no good for me — I’m smart enough to realize that. He’s tall, gorgeous and clearly not the commitment type. Unfortunately, I am. Michael is the only guy I’ve been with, and we were together for years. Flings just aren’t my thing.

  “You’re thinking about this too hard. So he doesn’t want to tell you what he does for a living, who cares? It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy. He’s a rebound. That’s it. And after dating that jerk Michael, God knows, you deserve a little casual fun. Just don’t get too attached…”

  I lean back against the couch and narrow my eyes at her. “And what about you? You haven’t been out to a club since you broke up with what’s–his–name two months ago.”

  “Sorin.”

  “Oh, right! Roarin’ Sorin,” I laugh.

  Nick gave Sorin the nickname due to his habit of roaring during sex. Our paper–thin walls made it impossible to tune out. So Nick and I did what anyone else would do — we sat in the living room while they went at it and mocked the guy mercilessly. It was our first real bonding experience as roomies.

  Avery throws a fortune cookie at me. “Oh, my God. You are so bad.” She straightens. “And for your information, I’m going out tomorrow night — to a new fetish club.”

  “What? Holy shit. A fetish club? Avery, I had no idea you were so kinky!”

  “Yeah, okay, don’t get too excited. It’s for a new article I’m doing. The magazine wants edgier topics.”

  “Edgier than ‘Ten Ways to Sexier Thighs?’” I laugh.

  Avery recently scored a job as a writer at a hot glamour magazine. She’s at the bottom of the totem pole and desperate to prove herself as a serious writer. I guess that’s what four years at Columbia University will do to a girl.

  “Yeah, yeah, real funny. You’re coming with me,” she says.

  “What? Oh, no, no, no.”

  She pushes out a pouty bottom lip. “Friends don’t let friends go to fetish clubs alone.”

  Oy, God. I have to admit, she’s totally got me there.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Later that night when I walk into the restaurant, I see Michael right away. He looks sharp in a crisp white shirt and a gray tailored suit, his blond hair neatly combed back away from his face in a posh GQ kind of way.

  My heart skips a beat just seeing him, and I breeze past the hostess, heading straight for his table. As soon as he sees me, he stands up and pulls me into a hug.

  “Hey,” I say, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

  I’d asked him to meet me here at a restaurant two blocks from the St. Regis because there was no way I was going to chance running into Cole at the hotel. My resolve is weak enough as it is when it comes to him. The last thing I need is to tempt fate.

  Michael holds the chair out for me and I slip into it. He unbuttons his jacket and lowers himself into the chair across from me.

  “I ordered you some wine,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. I know Merlot is your favorite.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. It’s exquisite. “How have you been?”

  He flashes me that charming smile. “Missing you. I’ve been watching the clock all day. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He reaches out and takes my hand. “Tell me one thing, Lex. Why did you leave Michigan?”

  Guilt swamps me instantly. It’s true I’d left without telling anyone, not even my parents — not that they would have noticed my leaving anyway. They moved to Belize three years ago to “live their authentic lives,” whatever the hell that means.

  But what I regret most is that I hadn’t even given Michael a chance to explain. Just two days after the woman had called me to tell me she was having an affair with him, I’d left. I was too afraid to confront him — afraid he would tell me he was in love with someone else.

  But now, months removed from the situation, I wonder if I’d made a mistake.

  “I needed to sort some things out for myself,” I say.

  He squeezes my hand, emotion filling his eyes. “When you left, I was devastated. No phone call, no email. Nothing. Why?”

  “It really doesn’t matter anymore. The reason no longer exists.”

  He nods slowly, as though he understands. I wonder if he actually does. I’d confronted him about the woman on the phone, and of course he’d denied it. For him, the incident had ended there. And for me, that’s where everything had begun.

  For the next hour, we catch up on life back in Michigan. I ask him about mutual friends, and we laugh about old times. For the first time in months, I feel happy…completely relaxed.

  Three glasses of wine later, the room is spinning. I’m not usually such a lightweight, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast so I chalk it up to that.

  Michael takes my hand again, the warmth of his palm covering my cold fingertips. “Lexi, I didn’t just come here tonight to catch up,” he says. “I came here to ask you if you’d come back to Michigan…and marry me.”

  I glance down at our hands and then back up at him, confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I want you to be my wife, Lexi.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. Three years together and he’d never once mentioned marriage. I’d hoped for it, of course. Prayed for it, actually. And I never pray. But all my friends from high school were getting married, having babies, and I wanted that with Michael.

  Now… now, I don’t know. So much of what I was feeling back then seems like a lifetime ago. How is it possible to go from zero to full speed in the span of one evening? I don’t even know. My head is swimming, the room around me tilting a
nd swaying.

  “Excuse me,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll be right back.”

  I stand up, a bit wobbly and go in search of the bathroom. The dark restaurant is a little difficult to navigate, but I manage to find a hallway that looks promising. Just as I round the corner, a strong hand reaches out from behind me and grabs my elbow. I stop and whip around to face the stranger.

  Except, it’s no stranger.

  “Cole,” I breathe. I blink several times, convinced I’m seeing things. I’d deliberately chosen this restaurant to avoid running into him and now here he is with his hand tightly gripping my elbow. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyes narrow. “I was planning on asking you the same thing.”

  I huff and yank my arm out of his grasp, nearly toppling backward. He catches me around the waist and pulls me against him. My head swims. The room is spinning. And Cole… smells delicious.

  I place a hand on his chest to steady myself. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m on a date.”

  Beneath my hands, I feel his muscles tighten. “How much have you had to drink?”

  I search my memory. “Um… two glasses of wine. No wait, three.” I pull away from him, but he still has his arm around my waist. Either to keep me close or keep me from toppling over, I’m not sure which. “So thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”

  A slew of expletives fall from his mouth in that sexy English accent. He’s so beautiful when he’s angry. I should tell him that, but for some reason, I don’t think he’ll appreciate the compliment. He seems kind of on edge.

  “You make everything sound so sophisticated. Even cursing.” Now that’s a compliment I’m sure he’ll like, except he isn’t even paying attention. He’s holding me with one hand while he texts with the other. He looks concerned. Or deep in thought. “Can you please let me go? My date is probably wondering where I am.”