Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 2) Page 6

  I begin massaging her clit now, manipulating it firmly, back and forth, and she sighs and coos and sinks deeper into the harness.

  “Take deep breaths, in and out,” I instruct. “That’s it. Relax. Don’t fight the pleasure. There’s nowhere to go. So, you might as well embrace it.”

  I kneel between her suspended thighs, and get to work on her with my tongue and fingers, and, in no time at all, she’s rocking and jolting in the swing with a powerful orgasm.

  Even before she’s come down from her climax, I rise and plunge myself inside her, and Georgina growls ravenously at my delicious invasion. My hands firmly on her hips, I thrust in and out, hard, over and over again, the head of my cock slamming her G-spot without fail. Methodically. Precisely. Mercilessly. And, clearly, she’s rapidly losing her mind.

  But I don’t let up.

  Not for a second.

  I pound her rhythmically, with no variation, until she’s growling and begging me not to stop. I keep fucking her when her eyes roll back into her head. And when she lets out a long, animalistic growl. I fuck her when she’s so wet, each thrust elicits a sloshing noise. And when her innermost muscles begin clenching and unclenching in delicious, rhythmic waves around me. I don’t let up on beautiful Georgina’s G-spot, even when it’s clear she’s been reduced to a feral animal. When her body goes slack and her head lolls to the side and the only sounds out of her sensuous mouth are groans and growls, peppered with my name and shrieks of “yes.”

  I fuck Georgina Ricci until she can’t imagine fucking anyone else, ever again. Until I can’t imagine fucking anyone else. Until we’re both sweating and moaning and quaking and on the cusp of literal exhaustion.

  I fuck her until, finally, I reach the finish line—the moment when Georgina lets out a scream of ecstasy that’s so primal, so tortured, I know it can only mean I’ve finally hit the motherlode. Two seconds later, every muscle of hers surrounding my cock tightens like a vise around me. She throws her head back into the swing... and creams around my cock. Clearly, she’s having the orgasm of her life. A wet, all-body climax that will change the way she thinks of sex—and her body—forever.

  At the sensation of the warm liquid squirting from Georgina’s body all over mine, I feel the most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced, hands down. It’s better than any drug—which isn’t a figure of speech. My eyelids flutter at the injection of Georgina’s drug into my vein. My eyes roll back. And I come inside her with the force of a rocket. Like I’m seeing God. Like I’m immortal.

  As I come down, I crumple over her, quaking and sputtering. And she grips my sweaty hair and babbles incoherently about how amazing that was.

  When I’ve caught my breath, I lift my head and gaze at Georgie’s gorgeous face, and what I see there is sheer perfection: my own bliss reflected back at me. I’m on fire. High like never before. I pull her up, cradle her back, and devour her full lips with unfettered passion.

  “Did you see what happened to me?” she sputters. “Oh my God, Reed. That’s never happened to me before.”

  In reply, I kneel between her legs and begin licking up my sweet trophy. And she coos and sighs and laughs through it all.

  “Oh, God, Reed. You’re amazing. That was beyond incredible.”

  I smile and say nothing. What is there to say? I’ve done exactly what I set out to do. I’ve shown her what her body can do. But only with me.

  She’s an addict now.

  Newly created.

  A junkie hooked on a powerful drug. And that powerful drug... is me.

  Chapter 9

  Georgina

  Freshly showered, I bop into Reed’s kitchen to find him standing at his stove, dressed like a baller, and listening to blaring music. I wrap myself around his free arm, inhale the faint scent of his musky cologne, and swoon from the depths of my soul.

  “A man who cooks me breakfast?” I purr. “I can’t think of anything sexier. Well, yes, I can: a man who cooks me breakfast after giving me supernatural orgasms in a sex swing.”

  “Oh, you think you’re getting some of this?” he teases, indicating the food he’s stirring in his pan. “Fend for yourself, Ricci. This is all for me.”

  I giggle like a fool.

  “Someone’s in a good mood.”

  “What the hell did you do to me? I feel high.”

  He kisses the top of my head.“That tends to happen after a girl has the best orgasm of her life.”

  “By far.” I inhale deeply again. “God, that smells amazing. What is it?”

  “Scrambled eggs with turkey chorizo, onions, jalapeños, and spinach.”

  I give his arm a little squeeze. “I meant your cologne, Tiger. But breakfast smells amazing, too.”

  “Did you do a couple shots of tequila before coming down here?”

  “Nope. I did a couple shots of Reed Rivers. I’m punch drunk on nothing but you, sexy man.” I give his ass cheek a playful little pinch. “Knowing I’m going to get to be a butterfly caught in your net all week long is making me giddy.”

  Reed turns off the burner and reaches for a pepper shaker. “Don’t get too attached to the sex swing. I get bored easily. I like mixing things up.”

  “Yes, I’ve stalked you online, remember? I’m well aware you get bored easily and like mixing things up.” It’s a reference to the many different women photographed on Reed’s arm, as I’m sure he realizes—and I instantly regret saying it. Yes, I’ve kept my tone flirty. But it doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to know the comment is borne of insecurity, an uncertainty about the rules of engagement here. After the life-changing sex we just had, I can’t help wanting Reed all to myself. Is that an unreasonable expectation?

  Reed puts down his spatula and grabs my shoulders gently. “Georgina, don’t go psycho on me, okay? I meant I’m going to be mixing things up with you, and only you. The mere thought of you kissing another man while you’re working on the special issue makes me want to commit murder.”

  I’m tentatively elated. But I can’t help noticing Reed didn’t make that last comment mutual. “And what will you be doing while I’m kissing only you for the entire summer? While I’m working on the special issue, will you be all mine, every bit as much as I’m all yours?”

  He looks stern. “Georgina, I told you, quite clearly, the first night we met at the bar: it takes a lot to get me to agree to exclusivity.”

  I press my lips together, and he bursts out laughing at the expression on my face.

  “Georgina, of course, it goes both ways! Yes, it takes a lot to get me to agree to exclusivity. But, baby, to put it mildly, you’re... a lot.”

  I giggle and throw my arms around his neck. “This is going to be so fun.”

  He kisses my cheek enthusiastically. “What your body did in the swing this morning was just the beginning. Oh my God. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

  He kisses me again before we reluctantly disengage from our embrace.

  “I’ve instructed Owen to clear my calendar of all nighttime engagements this entire week,” he says. “So I can focus all my attention on you.”

  I blush. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. There’s no place I’d rather be, every night this week, than with my butterfly, showing her all the amazing things her body can do.”

  I kiss him enthusiastically, and he squeezes my ass with equal fervor, making me squeal. But, finally, it’s time to eat. Reed turns off the blaring music, grabs two plates, and divides the contents of his pan, and then we sit down at a small table in the corner of the kitchen to devour our feast.

  After complimenting the meal, I ask, “So, what’s on your schedule today, Music Mogul?”

  “A meeting at my attorney’s office, followed by my weekly Monday afternoon meeting with my team.”

  “Is your attorney that guy I met with his teenage daughter last night at the concert?”

  “Yep. Leonard Schwartz. We’ve got some stuff to go over regarding a frivolous lawsuit.” He tells me briefl
y about the lawsuit—basically, that some band has claimed Red Card Riot stole their song, based on a common chord progression that can be found in a million other songs.

  “Can I come to the meeting with Leonard?” I ask. “I’d love to ask him about you.”

  He chuckles. “Sure. You might have to leave the meeting at some point, if we’re going to talk about something that’s attorney-client privileged. But you can certainly join the meeting at the beginning to interview Leonard.”

  “Great. I want to get an overview of what it takes, from a legal perspective, to run your empire.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  We eat and talk, falling into easy, comfortable conversation. In response to my questions, Reed tells me a bit more about the copyright infringement lawsuit and I agree it sounds incredibly stupid.

  “I took a class called Journalism and the Justice System this past year,” I say. “It covered the intersection between journalism and the law. Like, how to report on trials and court cases and stuff. I learned so much. My professor said ninety percent of all lawsuits wind up settling—that only about ten percent of court cases ever go to trial.”

  “Those are probably national statistics,” Reed says. “I think the rate of settlement is even higher in California, where litigation is like breathing. Either way, those numbers would be reversed for me. I wind up settling only five to ten percent of the cases filed against my various companies, and fighting the rest with everything I’ve got.”

  “Why are your numbers so upside-down like that?”

  “Most companies think of settling cases as a cost of doing business. They’ve determined they’ll spend less money on a settlement than on protracted legal fees. Or, they’re risk averse and scared to death of losing, so they pay out.”

  “But you don’t think that way?”

  He shrugs. “I have a different philosophy. I can’t stand legalized extortion, so I only settle when I’m sure a case has merit. Or, at least, when I think a jury will think a case has merit. Yes, I might pay a ton in attorneys’ fees to fight a case, but it’s worth it to me, so I can sleep at night.” He takes a sip of his cappuccino. “Plus, I firmly believe the long-term deterrence value is worth something, though I can’t prove that. You can’t prove the cases not filed against you because you’ve scared away unscrupulous plaintiffs’ attorneys with your big swinging dick.”

  I laugh.

  “If someone has a legitimate beef with me, fine. Let them bring it, and I’ll settle the case like a man. Otherwise, they’d better brace themselves for a long, hard fight, that will ultimately lead to their resounding disembowelment.”

  I grimace. “Yikes.”

  “But enough about all that. Tell me about you, Georgie.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  To my surprise, Reed launches into asking me a bunch of questions. He asks how I knew I wanted to pursue journalism. And then about my family and childhood. And, finally, about my mother and father. And to my surprise, he seems genuinely interested in my answers.

  “You took it really hard when your dad remarried, huh?” he says.

  I nod. “But when my father got cancer, I knew I had to let it go. Life is short, you know? I realized I love him with all my heart, unconditionally, and that’s that. All that matters to me now is making sure my father stays cancer-free and keeps a roof over his head.” I smile at Reed through my lashes. “Which is why I’m so grateful to you and CeeCee, for everything you’ve both done for my father and me.”

  Reed stiffens. “I haven’t done anything. It was all CeeCee. She hired you. She’s your boss.”

  I tilt my head. Shawn always made the exact same face Reed is making now, whenever I told him he was acting kind of weird and suspicious. “No, you’ve been amazing, Reed. You’re letting me stay here this whole week, expense-free, remember? And you’ve also said you’ll give me a hotel room after this week, too. Which means I’ll be able to give almost all my salary to my father this whole summer, to help him try to catch up on his mortgage payments. And on top of all that, you’re also throwing a party to end all parties on Saturday night and letting Alessandra come with me. I’d say all of that is a whole lot more than nothing. I was just saying I’m grateful.”

  Reed runs his finger down the handle of his fork. “Your father is behind on his mortgage payments?”

  I blush. Why did I admit that? “I shouldn’t have mentioned that to you. It makes me sound ungrateful for everything you and CeeCee have—”

  “It’s fine, Georgie. Tell me what’s going on. He’s behind on his payments?”

  I press my lips together. I can’t believe I let that slip.

  He grabs my hand. “Did your father get behind when he got sick?”

  I exhale and nod. “He hasn’t returned to work since he was sick. He’s a carpenter by trade, and chemo left him with some problems with his hands. But it’ll be okay. I’m going to give him as much of the grant money as I can. It won’t solve the problem completely, but it should buy him some time until we figure out what else we can do.”

  Reed rubs his forehead. But before he says a word, an older woman walks into the kitchen—a woman I immediately recognize from the photo on Reed’s desk as Amalia. His housekeeper and second mother. Reed gets up and hugs Amalia in greeting, and then turns to me.

  “Georgie, this is Amalia Vaccaro, my housekeeper. Amalia, this is Georgina Ricci. She’ll be staying here for the summer.”

  My heart stops. Did Reed just say I’ll be staying here... for the summer? When did I agree to that?

  Reed continues, “I’ve put Georgie in the blue room upstairs. Make sure she’s got everything she needs to feel at home, please.”

  “Of course. Hello, Georgina. Nice to meet you.”

  “And you.” I stand and shake Amalia’s hand, my mind racing about Reed’s shocking comment.

  “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable this summer,” Amalia says.

  “Oh. Uh. Thank you. But I’m good. Just getting to stay here at all is a dream come true. It’s a beautiful house.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  I look at Reed. “I’m so excited to stay for the summer. It’s so much nicer here than any hotel.”

  Reed’s handsome face breaks into a wide smile at my implicit acceptance of his invitation. Beaming a huge smile at me, he says, “Georgie, I just realized your bag isn’t nearly big enough to hold everything you’ll need this summer. I know you need a bathing suit. Probably some more workout gear. What else do you need?”

  I’m buzzing. Tingling. Breathless. “No, no. I’m fine. If I need anything, there’s a Target—”

  “No, no, I insist. Amalia, do me a favor and give Georgie the house credit card for a shopping spree. Also, let’s make her feel at home. Stock up on her favorite snacks and toiletries.”

  “Of course.”

  “Reed, I truly don’t need anything.”

  “Georgina. You’re staying for the summer. Not a week or a month. You need to feel completely at home. Which means we’re going to make sure you have whatever your little heart desires.” He winks. “Whether you like it or not.”

  Chapter 10

  Georgina

  Reed heads to his home office to make a few calls before it’s time to leave for his attorney’s office, so I hang back in the kitchen to help Amalia clean up from breakfast. In part, because I genuinely want to be helpful. Reed and I made the mess, after all, and I’d be embarrassed to leave it for someone else to deal with. But, also, because I’m dying to talk to Amalia about Reed. What was Reed like as a little boy? What is he like as an adult boss? And, also, what can Amalia tell me about Reed’s relationship with his mother? I can’t yet envision all the themes of my eventual article, but Reed’s lovely relationship with his mother brings a whole new depth to him that people never see, and I’m thinking maybe I’ll use it as a touchstone in my article... if, indeed, it’s everything Reed said it was. I was probably
imagining it, but I thought I noticed a strange tightness in Reed’s demeanor, just for a moment, when he was telling me about his mother’s happy life in Scarsdale last night. And I’m curious to know if Amalia might be able to shed any light on the topic for me.

  Amalia and I are standing side by side at the sink. She’s the washer in yellow rubber gloves. I’m the dryer, holding a towel.

  “When we’re done here, how about we make your list?” Amalia says, her tone as warm and maternal as her body language.

  “I’m sorry... My list?”

  She hands me a cutting board to dry. “The list of whatever you’d like to have in the house during your stay. Your favorite foods and snacks and toiletries. Like Reed said.”

  “Oh, that.” I wave at the air. “Thank you so much, but I don’t need anything.”

  Amalia smiles like I’ve said something amusing. “Reed was very clear. He won’t accept ‘Georgina said she doesn’t need anything’ as an answer from me, I’m afraid.”

  I protest. She insists. So, I say, “How about you do for me whatever stuff you normally do in situations like this?”

  She looks at me blankly. “In situations like what?”

  I take the pan Amalia hands me. “You know, whenever Reed has a house guest for an extended period. He mentioned he sometimes invites bands to stay here for weeks, even months, at a time, right?”

  “Well, yes. But he’s never once asked me to roll out the red carpet for a band the way he did for you. Quite the opposite.” She chuckles. “When it comes to musicians staying here, Reed pretty much always says, ‘They’ll take what I give them and like it.’”