Ropes of Lies

by Kathy Noumi

  He glared at me. Then he stood and licked his lips as he walked over to the bookcase. His lean body glistened in the dim light as he rummaged in a cabinet. When his shoulders stilled, I knew he’d seized his prize. He kept one hand behind his back. I couldn’t see it.

  A storm brewed in Jameson’s eyes. “Take off the bra and skirt,” he instructed.

  “Excu—”

  Jameson held up his hand. “Stop fighting it. Take. Them. Off.”

  His clipped words about did me in. A shudder traveled down my spine, and I hoisted myself off the desk. Unzipping my skirt, I let it drop around my ankles, hearing Jameson inhale as the article of clothing hit the floor. I stepped out of the pool of fabric and began unfastening my lace bra. I let it slide past my elbows and off my wrist.

  When only my stockings were left, he inched nearer. He held up the hand from behind his back, revealing a rope.

  “Is that . . . ?” I swallowed hard. “I thought you would have thrown it out by now.”

  Jameson arched his brow. “Why would you assume I’d get rid of it, Miss Black?”

  I didn’t have a response. The flood of questions stung like the snap of a rubber band. Why would he keep it? Snap. Did he think he would need it someday? Snap. Had he used it with someone else? Snap. Why would he keep it in his office of all places? Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Reaching up, I caressed the blue rope. Jameson’s watchful eyes remained fixed on me. Was he intrigued by my confession?

  “Does this mean you want to tie me up?” I asked, rubbing at my wrist as I recalled how he would make the binds tight enough to create friction but loose enough to be comfortable. When he didn’t respond, I inhaled. “Right here? In your office? But someone could walk up here.”

  My words came off as half inquisitive, half burning with desire. Jameson eyed me from behind hooded lids.

  “If I could, I would tie you up in front of this damn building and let every person in Chicago watch me fuck you.”

  My mouth went dry. I closed my lids, his declaration sending tingles over my skin, each word sharp as a pin. When I opened my eyes, his mouth had curved up at the corners.

  “You’re dripping at the idea.” He grabbed me, greedily cupping his palms around my neck before feasting on me. All the anger, regret, hatred—all of it—was harnessed in his kiss. How could a man I despised so much make me unravel this way?

  “Hands behind your back.” When I obeyed, he started twisting the rope around each of my wrists. “Good girl.”

  A shudder of pure lust shot to my core, and I knew I’d do anything he asked just to hear him say those words again.

  Soon, he’d secured the final knot. I was fully bound, my arms pulled back, my chest pushed out. I’d always loved how striking the sapphire rope looked against my pale flesh.

  Jameson encircled me. His scrutiny had me fidgeting against the binds. My breath caught as he finished his inspection and lifted my chin with his finger, meeting my stare. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”

  “I . . . I want . . .”

  He ran his thumb up my arm. “This is new. You’ve ever been shy before.”

  “I’m not being shy.”

  “No?”

  I glared at him. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I want your cock.”

  He pulled my hair off my shoulder, caressing the curve of my neck. “Where?”

  He was making this impossible. This man knew exactly when to push me; I cursed him for knowing my body the way he did. “You know where, smartass.”

  “Inside that tight little cunt of yours.” The smutty pronouncement should have made my fury flare, but it lit my fuck-me flame instead. His dirty talk flipped every switch in my body to full blast.

  All of a sudden, the ropes cut into me hotter than a branding iron. As hard as I tried to escape, they wouldn’t budge. He wanted this. He wanted me tied up so I couldn’t touch him after he provoked me.

  “It’s ironic that you think I have—how did you put it? Oh yeah, a defiant mouth,” I seethed.

  “There’s the little brat I know,” he smirked, leading me over to the leather couch.

  And then there were no more words.

  He gripped my ass with one hand and held my waist with the other as I straddled him. My breasts were in his face, and he covered the peak of a nipple with his mouth, lapping softly before biting down. I drew in a sharp breath.

  He released my pebbled flesh from the clutches of his teeth. “Are the ropes okay?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Lift up,” he growled. I got to my knees and he rubbed his shaft down my slit, positioning himself at my opening. “Ride me.”

  I eased down over his hard length. Each time I rose and fell, he grew a little bit harder, and I countered with an even louder moan. Jameson slid his fingers down, desperate to find my clit. He stroked my swollen bud with deliberate, circular movements, rubbing me into submission or stupidity, I couldn’t tell.

  I fought against the ropes because I ached to touch him—claw at his scalp, pull at his hair, dig my nails into his skin. With my arms tied, I had to take all the pleasure without giving any in return.

  My core tightened as my orgasm built up. I pounded my hips into him, each time sliding down harder. He held on to my shoulder to slow me. I cried out, and my sex clamped around his thick cock.

  I tipped over the edge, whispering in his ear, “I hate you.”

  My groans echoed off the walls as the orgasm tore through me. Jameson’s muscles clenched as he let go of my shoulder to grasp a handful of my hair.

  He tugged it hard, falling over the edge with me. “Fuck,” he growled, then pressed his lips to my forehead. “That was . . .”

  I sighed. It felt as though all the atoms in my body were vibrating. “Yeah. It was.”

  I was still in my stockings, all tied up like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Jameson leaned back, his gaze roaming over my exposed flesh. The carnality on his face made my heart pound. He raked his nails up my thighs, making a run in my nylons. After what we did, I wasn’t certain I could move.

  “What are you doing to me?” He brushed my cheek, letting his thumb linger.

  There I was—ravaged. Jameson had consumed me, left me tattered and begging for more, sinking into a rabbit hole I’d vowed I’d never dare enter again. But why did something so wrong rouse this boundless pit of longing?

  “Untie me.”

  He gave me a playful smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I like you tied up, Miss Black. Makes negotiating with you much easier.”

  I told myself to calm down, he was teasing, but it wasn’t a joke and it wasn’t flipping funny.

  “Excuse you?” Who the hell gave him the right to joke with me about work? In the past, we never brought work into our . . . whatever it was, and I sure as shit was not going to start now.

  “What?” He winked in his oh-so-playful way. “I was just—”

  “You were just what? Trying to fuck me and then fuck me over?” I squirmed to stand. “Untie me.”

  Jameson’s mouth fell open before he held up his palms. “Okay. Turn so I can undo the knots.”

  I pivoted, offering him access to the ties behind my back. He worked the bonds and the ropes slackened. I pushed the cords from my wrists, my hands shaking. I needed to get the fuck out of there before I lashed out.

  When I was finally free, I collected my scattered clothes and grabbed my purse off the floor. Jameson remained immobile, sitting like a deer caught in headlights. The lace of my bra chafed my sensitive skin, and I silently cussed him out. My gut churned at the thought of what we’d done. I couldn’t allow him to assume that because we had sex this was over.

  Oh God! What have you done? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 911 emergency! Someone find my sanity!

  A few beats later, he got up and removed the condom. He walked to the other side of the room, wrapping it in a tissue and discarding the soiled paper in the trash, t
hen paced back again as though searching for something. His quietness was downright unnerving. I could deal with snide, arrogant, cocky Jameson any day, but this reserved, mute man who stalked around was a different story entirely.

  “This changes nothing, Winthrop. Choice is still yours. City Net or Uptown.” My voice sounded rough, the words packed with rage, and I didn’t give a damn.

  He seized my arm when I tried to cross the threshold of his office. Our eyes locked, neither of us looking away. “I don’t play by your rules,” he grated out.

  I jerked my arm away and pulled my bag tightly to my chest as I walked toward the elevator; I prayed to God I could make it back to my car without anyone spotting me. I pushed the button for the garage. My damp stockings were making each stride an agonizing souvenir of the event of the last hour.

  When I reached my car, I opened the door, slid into the cool leather seat, and collapsed. My skull thumped back into the headrest.

  You fucked up big time.

  Chapter Twelve

  The scent of garlic greeted me as soon as I opened my apartment door. I stopped next to the shriveled plant in the foyer, tossing my keys in the bowl beside it.

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  “Only the greatest human you know,” Khloe shouted from the kitchen. “Did you forget our pasta and wine night?”

  Shit on toast.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the kitchen. “Oh my gosh, Khlo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget, but today has been a larger-than-life disaster.”

  She dropped the wooden spoon, rushed over, and wrapped me in her arms. She was more than an amazing friend. In the words of Meredith Grey, Khloe was “my person”—neurotic, fun, and, at times, even a gourmet cook. I loved her for it.

  “I’m all ears. What happened?”

  “Where should I start?”

  “Deep breath and go.”

  I tapped my finger over my lips. “Let’s see . . . the City Net pitch went to shit because the owner, Mr. Thompson, said he had a better offer. So not only did I not close the deal, I find out Winthrop had the better bid.”

  I wanted to tell Khloe the rest, but I wasn’t sure how. I’d lied to her about Jameson for so long, she’d never forgive me. At the time I’d convinced myself it would be too risky to share with even her, but I wished so many time that I had. It killed me to keep anything from her.

  Khloe stared at me, wide-eyed and confused. She took a step back. “Okay.”

  I shoved my face into my hands. “Sorry I dumped all of this on you.”

  In her you-need-to-relax voice, she said, “Rewind. I thought this meeting was a formality? You know, to sign the legal papers.”

  I took a deep breath. “It wasn’t.” Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “I had the best possible pitch for Thompson, but I guess Jameson sent him a better bid last night after the gala. My boss called me into his office to tell me that if I don’t sign City Net, I can kiss my promotion goodbye.”

  “Wow. That’s rough, Eden.” She paced back over to the kitchen, waving her hands about. “Wait, so can you send Thompson a revised bid? Do you have a plan?”

  I had a plan, I thought, but all I said was, “I’ll think of one.”

  The pasta boiled over, and Khloe rushed to the stove. She swiftly turned it down, tilting her head to the side. “Can I assist somehow?”

  I shook my head.

  “Maybe a little food will help? Or we can keep talking about it?”

  My exhaustion kicked into high gear. With the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders, and my mind still racing after what happened in Jameson’s office, the last thing I needed was the Khloe Inquisition, even if it was puttering around my kitchen, straining noodles, baking garlic bread, and tossing a salad.

  The image of me bent over Jameson’s desk flashed through my mind. My breath skipped and my pulse picked up. I pressed my hand to my thigh, still staring at the cold granite countertop, recalling the glossy polished wood of his desk.

  Khloe snapped her fingers in my face. “Where’d you go?

  “Nowhere, thinking about the bid,” I lied.

  “Go change. The food is almost done.” When I didn’t move, she pointed her finger toward my bedroom. “Get going. Stop standing there like a statue.”

  I hopped to it, scurrying hastily toward my room to discard the evidence from earlier. When I removed my skirt, the stockings beneath were soggy and tattered, with runs that traveled all the way down my thighs. A large gash remained at the crotch, big enough to expose all of me. Thankfully, my skirt was long enough to cover the worst of the damage.

  As I peeled off my clothes, I touched the skin where Jameson had stroked me. His palms were strong, rough, and he had used them to grip, hold, and squeeze every inch of me. How could I be so thoughtless? One touch was all it took.

  Oh God, had I really told him I hated him while I came? What was wrong with me? Who says such a thing during sex? I hid my face in my hands, wishing away the last few hours. Somehow, I knew sleeping with Jameson again would be the biggest regret of my life.

  I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a soft cotton T-shirt.

  “What’s taking so long?” Khloe called from the kitchen.

  I wasn’t ready to go back out there. Or tell her anything. I couldn’t tell her, wouldn’t tell her. What would I say? Oh hey, when I went over to Jameson’s office he accidentally fell into my vagina.

  “Be there in a minute,” I called. “Just need to wash my face.”

  For now, it would have to remain my dirty little secret—or our dirty little secret. As I pulled on my yoga pants, my mind drifted to his couch. The way he touched me so viscerally and commanded my body as I straddled him. The memory of set off a sharp jolt between my legs.

  I washed my face and headed for the living room before Khloe came to find me. She had filled two plates with sweet-smelling marinara and penne. The nearly orgasmic aroma awakened my senses.

  “Finally. I’m famished.”

  I gave her a little bow, hands folded as though praying. “Thanks for cooking. I don’t have enough battery power left to call for takeout, let alone all this. It smells incredible.”

  Khloe smiled, then stuck out her tongue. “You’re welcome.”

  “I love ya.”

  Her eyes lit up. She lifted her wineglass to me. “Love ya, too. Now, let’s drink to carbs.”

  “I’ll drink to anything after the day I had, but maybe I’ll set my alarm for an extra thirty minutes of cardio tomorrow.”

  Khloe knew how much I craved carbs—bread, pasta, anything delicious—but I always felt guilty after indulging, so we had a tradition: binge, then work it off the next morning. She mostly came with me for moral support.

  Devouring a plate full of comfort carbs didn’t help much with the exhaustion. One glass of wine later, Khloe got a second wind, while I melted into the couch with a fuzzy fleece blanket.

  “You have way too many books,” Khloe said, staring at the built-in shelves lining the other end of the living room.

  “There is no such thing as too many books.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “How about a little music?”

  I nodded as Khloe located the remote for the sound system. Soon, Michael Bublé’s voice echoed through the room; while the words of “Kissing a Fool” were smooth, they put me on edge. I closed my eyes only to end up back in Jameson’s office, remembering his lips on my skin and the way he felt deep inside me. My cheeks warmed.

  “So, what’s your game plan?”

  Khloe’s question tore me from thoughts of Jameson. “Game plan?” Did she see my cheeks flushed just then? Shit.

  She cocked her head to the side. “About the City Net deal for Thompson?”

  I sat up. “Steal Thompson back from right under Winthrop’s damn nose. I don’t care what I have to do, but I will get this account back. I’m not letting it go, and I refuse to allow all my work go to waste.”

  A line appeared on Khloe
’s forehead. She pursed her lips.

  “What, Khlo?”

  “Just . . . Jameson seemed intense. I know you’re an adult and this is your job, but be careful.”

  “What do you mean ‘be careful’? Jameson doesn’t scare me one bit.”

  She gazed down at her full glass, then up at me again before taking a drawn-out sip of her wine. “There is something between you two.”

  “No, there isn’t,” I lied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit. I knew something was up after the auction last night. I thought maybe it was a work thing, but clearly there’s more.”

  “What does it matter now?”

  “It bothered you enough to keep it from me.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Khloe, please . . . It’s not important and never was. I didn’t keep anything from you.” Now I’m flat out lying to her face. Great friend award goes to . . .

  “You can lie to yourself all you want, but Jameson has it bad,” she insisted while pointing her finger at me. “And you, missy, act weird around him.”

  “I do not.”

  She batted her lashes. “Suuure.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “I don’t, Khloe.”

  “Dammit, Eden. Out with it!”

  Covering my face with the blanket I sighed. “All you need to know is”—I eased the fabric down past my eyes—“he and I would never work.”

  She pulled the fleece throw off my face. “Do you think you can get away with that? You’re a grown woman, act like it.”

  I glared at her, but she just glared back with an unyielding scowl. “Fine.”

  Khloe sat up like a puppy whose owner held a juicy steak. Problem was, I didn’t want to tell her all the salacious details; she would never approve, and I couldn’t risk her going into full Khloe freak-out mode, or worse, confronting him.

  “We tried to date once, close to six years ago, but our companies are rivals. If anyone ever found out, I’d be fired. My bosses would think I’d been spying for WSquared.”

  “Was the gala the first time you’ve seen him since then?”