Page 20 of A Secret and a Lie

Defiance flashes in his eyes for a moment, but he says nothing. Silence stretches between us as I sink into one of the side chairs in the seating area, spinning it so that I face him. Crossing my legs, I soak up the sight of this powerful man.

Without permission, he asks, “So, what happens now? You order me to eat you out?”

My lips curl gently, my expression promising the kiss of punishment. “Topping from the bottom, are we?”

Ignoring me, he presses, “I’m good at it, you know.”

I arch an eyebrow, and he clarifies confidently, without a drop of timidness. “Eating pussy.”

Arousal swirls in my stomach, and my smile deepens as the promise of seduction, liberation, and discipline slides across my face. “A confident thing, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Damn, this man.

Laughing, I shake my head. “Get up. I’m not taking you on as a client,Clark.”

He frowns, climbing to his feet, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Why not?”

Getting up, I move to the bar, reaching for the bottle of blended scotch and amaretto, whipping up two Godfather cocktails, each over a block of ice.

My inventory of clients is nothing but a list of liars, but something about adding this particular liar to that roster feels riskier than usual.

Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Still, the appeal is there. Like a bear emerging from hibernation, he’s reawakened my submissive instincts and now they’re in overdrive.

“Because you’re not a submissive.” My red fingernail polish glints in the low lighting of the room as I pass him a glass before sinking onto the center cushion of the couch, crossing my legs at the knees.

He blinks at me before taking the chair still facing the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Dipping his chin, he stares into his drink for a moment, and when he finally lifts his head, a scowl is fixed on his face, his jaw ticking. “Yes, I am,” he grits out. “This is what I want.”

I smile as a small scoff bursts from my throat like a butterfly springing free of its cocoon. “It’s not. You’re topping from the bottom, so you’re either a brat or you’re not a submissive.”

His nostrils flare briefly before he insists, “Yes, I am.”

I huff another laugh. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for long enough to spot a liar.”

And what a liar you are.

We’re all liars; some of us are simply better at it than others. I pray he reads my declaration as the warning it’s meant to be.

Repositioning himself, he settles back in his seat. Skirting that altogether, he comes at this conversation from a different angle. “Henry says you’re a switch.”

Fucking Henry.I knew I should’ve ditched all my old clients and started fresh, but I didn’t. Henry knew me from a time when I was a true switch, but now I’m simply Madam Allison.

“I am,” I answer honestly, the ice in my crystal tumbler clinking softly as I take a sip of my cocktail.

“So, we can switch? Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can try—”

“No,”I snap, cutting him off. Taking a breath, I moderate my voice. “We can’t. I don’t submit at work.” I have no idea why I phrased it like that, considering I don’t submitanywhere.

“But you do in your personal life?” he presses, and I don’t like that.

Narrowing my eyes, I ensure that my voice is as firm as possible. “Not there either.”

My words zip through the air with a certain finality, and Ford drops his gaze. He stares into his glass for a moment, or maybe he’s looking at his polished dress shoes. It’s hard to tell. Eventually, he drags his head up, intensely scrutinizing me, a domineering glint in his eye that has me desperate to collapse onto the floor and beg him to allow me to please him.

“If you’re a switch, then perhaps I am, too.”