Liars Like Us (Morally Gray Book 1)

Callum pulls out of me, finishes on my stomach, then smears his cum all over my belly with his fingers.

Then he sits back onto his heels and surveys his handiwork, grinning like the devil.

Sated and sweating, I gaze up at him and wonder how deep in over my head I’ve gotten myself.

Probably a million miles.

Noticing the look on my face, he chuckles. “Don’t worry. You’re stronger than you think.”

Then he picks me up and carries me into the bathroom.

Setting me on my feet beside the giant glassed-in shower, he turns on the spray, waits until he’s satisfied with the temperature, then pulls me inside with him. He backs me up into the water and proceeds to shampoo my hair.

I close my eyes and stand motionless as he lathers my scalp and gently massages it with his fingers. He turns me around and massages my neck and shoulders, too, then squirts soap from a dispenser in a niche in the shower wall and washes my body.

His hands glide confidently over my skin as if he’s done it a thousand times before. As if he knows every inch of me, every curve, crease, and tender spot that makes me shiver.

“Callum?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m feeling some kind of way about all this.”

“The word you’re searching for is good.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of discombobulated.”

“I love that word. Let’s rinse your hair.”

He maneuvers me back under the warm spray and tilts my head back so the shampoo runs down my temples. When he puts a bar of soap into my hands, I open my eyes and look at him.

He stands in front of me, wet and glorious, hot and smoldering, waiting in silence for me to wash him.

I let my gaze trail over his body, taking in all the planes and angles, all the muscles and manliness and the tattoos down his arm, and pinch my lower lip between my teeth.

Eyes aglow, he whispers, “That look will get you fucked again.”

His thick shaft is already stiffening.

Staring at it, I say, “Your stamina is impressive.”

He grabs my wrist and draws me closer, lowering his head. “Wash me, wife,” he whispers, licking my earlobe. He curls my hand around his cock. “Do a good job, and I’ll reward you.”

“I’m not a circus animal,” I retort crossly, going from hot and bothered to cold and stabby. “I don’t do tricks on command.”

He captures my mouth, kissing me deeply as he backs me against the shower wall. When I’m trapped between the marble and his big hot body, he wraps one hand around my throat. The other he slides between my legs.

Thrusting a finger inside me, he says gruffly, “Don’t be disrespectful.”

Swallowing a moan, I say defiantly, “Don’t order me around.”

He lowers his head and sucks hard on the side of my neck, pressing his teeth into my skin. I shudder and rock against his hand, wanting to push him away and slap him, but also wanting whatever else he’s about to give me.

I’ve never met anyone so fucking sexy who I also wanted to kill with my bare hands.

Working his finger faster in and out, he leans down and sucks on my taut nipple. It feels delicious. I arch into his mouth. The bar of soap slips from my hands. When he uses his teeth, I yelp and clap him on the back.

Against my flesh, he chuckles. “My defiant little darling. Let’s see how long you can keep defying me before you start to beg.”

He turns me around, bends me over so my hands are flattened on the bench seat that runs along the wall, and starts to spank me, holding me in place by the scruff of my neck.

When I holler a curse at him, he slides his hand between my legs and strokes my pussy, tweaking my clit and making me cry out.

“Make another sound, and I’ll give you something to keep you quiet,” he growls, slapping my ass again.

Steam swirls around my face. Heat blooms over my bottom. My nipples harden. My breath catches, and my knees start to shake. The way he talks to me makes me furious, but also so turned on, I don’t know which way is up.

He fondles my pussy again, rubbing his fingers back and forth over my clit until it’s engorged, and I’m panting. Sliding his finger inside me, he hisses in approval when I flex my hips toward his hand.

“Oh, yes, wife. I know what you need.”

He slides his finger out and starts fondling my ass, gently rubbing the sensitive knot of muscle until I think I’ll collapse.

He says softly, “Beg for it, baby.”

I grit my teeth and say, “No.”

He slides his hand down and starts rubbing my pussy again, his strong fingers delving deep inside me, then swirling all around, paying special attention to my aching clit. Then he goes back up to my ass, petting it with gliding strokes until I’m helpless to stop the little moans slipping from my mouth.

I think I could climax just from this.

His voice low and dark, Callum says, “Tell your master which hole you want him to fuck. And tell me nicely, or I’ll put you on your knees and fuck both rougher than you’ll want it.”

Dizzy from his words, their effect on my body, and the steam swirling around me like mist, I whimper his name. He responds by chuckling.

“You’re testing my patience, wife. Let’s try this another way. Cunt?”

He thrusts two fingers into my pussy. I jerk and moan.

“That wasn’t a yes. How about now?” He pulls his fingers out. I feel pressure on my ass, then he slides a finger in up to the knuckle.

My moan is long and loud, echoing off the walls. My arms shake so hard, I fall onto my forearms on the bench to try to keep my balance.

Callum’s laugh is gentle. “Sweet little ass it is. Now use your words and your manners. I won’t give you what you want until you ask for it nicely.”

How is he doing this to me?

How can he bend me to his will with nothing more than dirty talk and strong fingers?

I fight with myself for a moment, then decide. I whisper, “Please, Callum, I want you to fuck me in the ass.”

He leans down, grips my jaw in his hand, and turns my face to his. Gazing deep into my eyes, he says in a husky voice, “Good girl. You’re my perfect pet, and I adore you.”

He kisses me tenderly, then releases my face, straightening. Keeping one hand resting on my lower back, he pumps a squirt of something into his other hand from a small metal container in the niche on the wall.

“Organic coconut oil,” he explains, spreading it over my ass. Then he slowly slides his index finger inside me. When I moan and shudder, he whispers, “Goddamn, woman.”

He adds another finger, crooning in approval when I gasp and arch my back.

My face is hot, my heart is pounding, and my body shakes all over. My eyes drift shut.

Callum works his fingers carefully in and out of my ass for several moments, until my clit is pulsing and my nipples ache. I can’t take it anymore and hang my head, resting my forehead on my arms as hot water runs down my back and legs and everything inside me quivers.

“Please,” I beg in a broken whisper. “I need you.”

Exhaling with a groan, he says, “Ah, God, baby, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”

He replaces his fingers with the engorged head of his cock and slowly slides it inside me.

I cry out.

He slides a hand around between my legs and strokes my clit, starting to pump gently in and out of my ass as he fingers my pussy. I’m stretched open wide around him, gasping with the kind of pleasure that walks the razor’s edge with pain.

And as he begins to thrust more deeply, grunting words of praise and filthy expletives, I let go of any lingering hesitation, shyness, or fear I had and give myself over to him completely.

I sob his name.

He moans, grips my hips, and thrusts harder. “Get ready to take it, baby. Get ready to take it all.”

I orgasm to the sound of those words echoing in my ears and our mingled cries of pleasure bouncing off the shower walls.

Afterward, I’m in such a daze, Callum towels me off and puts me back to bed.

He draws the covers over me and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll have some food sent up. In the meantime, rest.”

He pauses, smoothing a hand over my damp hair. His voice an octave lower, he says, “And if I ever catch you without your ring again, darling, there will be hell to pay.”

He gazes into my eyes for a moment to let the warning sink in so I know he’s serious. Then he turns and strolls naked back into the bathroom, whistling The Pink Panther theme song.

I’ll be annoyed at him later. Right now, I’m too wiped out.

I don’t know how long I doze, but when I wake up, a tray of food and a cup of coffee waits for me on the writing desk, along with the big diamond ring in a porcelain dish.

There’s also a handwritten note from Callum.

I want to tie your legs to the bed, bind your hands above your head, bite your neck, and bury my cock in your gorgeous body.

Looking around the empty bedroom, I wonder aloud, “What kind of vitamins does this man take?”

He left a black silk robe draped over the desk chair. I put it on, tying the sash around my waist and yawning. Taking a sip of the coffee, I’m surprised to discover it’s piping hot.

It must have just been delivered.

I inspect the ceiling over the bed, wondering if there’s a camera in it, but it’s bare.

I debate with myself about whether or not I should eat breakfast, but decide I don’t have the energy for a fight right now. My body is sore and aching, and my brain is cottage cheese. I’ll take up my dining preferences with the lord of the manor the next time I see him.

After I finish the poached eggs and buttered toast, I pad down the corridor to the guest bedroom in my bare feet. I get dressed, wind my hair into a messy bun, and grab my handbag from the dresser. When I head downstairs, I find Arlo in the kitchen with the chef, a portly older man with a friendly sunburned face.

“Good morning, Mrs. McCord,” says Arlo, looking up from his newspaper. He’s sitting on a stool at the big island with a cup of black coffee but stands when I enter.

“Please don’t stand up. I’m not royalty.”

“Around here, you are.”

Embarrassed, I wave that off. “Good morning to you too. And I already told you to call me Emery. We don’t have to be so formal.” I turn to the chef and smile “Hi there.”

“Good morning, Mrs. McCord. I’m Daniel. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How was your breakfast?’

He seems so earnest and kind. I don’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him I considered throwing it out the window, so I smile and tell him it was great.

Looking relieved, he beams. “That’s good to hear. If you have any dietary restrictions or requests, just let me know.”

“I will, thanks. Arlo, have you seen Callum?”

“Yes, he just left for the office.”

Why am I disappointed? “And where is that?”

“The Wilshire Grand in downtown. McCord Media occupies the top ten floors of the building.”

“Gotcha.” I stand there awkwardly for a moment, aware of how strange it is that I have no idea where my husband works and unsure of what else to say. “Well, I’m off to the shop. Have a good day, guys.”

Arlo says, “I’ll follow you to the garage. You’ll want the keys for whichever car you’d like to drive today.”

I pat my handbag. “I’ve got the keys right here. I’m taking my VW.”

When Arlo hesitates, looking at me sideways, my heart drops. “What?”

“I’m afraid Mr. McCord has had the Volkswagen disposed of.”

“What?”

“Yes. I believe he thought it unsafe for you to drive. He had it removed from the premises early this morning.”

I stand there with my heart pounding and my stomach twisting in disbelief. “But that was my car! He had no right to do that! He can’t do that!”

The chef politely excuses himself and disappears behind the pantry door.

Arlo says quietly, “I’m sorry, Mrs. McCord, but it’s already done.”

I want to tear out all my hair. I want to break things. I want to scream. What I do instead is close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose, reminding myself that this isn’t Arlo’s fault. Having a meltdown in front of him won’t solve anything.

When I open my eyes, I say, “Arlo, I like you. But if you call me Mrs. McCord again, I’ll have to change my opinion.”

I leave the kitchen, breathing fire. When I get to the garage, I survey the rows of luxury sports cars with narrowed eyes, calculating which one would be the most fun to put a dent in.

Arlo strolls up beside me and holds out a set of keys. He says casually, “That black Bentley’s one of his favorites…Emery.”

We look at each other.

I take the keys and give him a humorless smile. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

When I pull out from the driveway and turn aggressively onto the street, I clip the curb.

I never imagined that the sound of concrete shredding expensive aluminum rims could be so satisfying.