Liars Like Us (Morally Gray Book 1)

At first, I think no one is home at the castle. The landscape lighting is on outside, but all the interior lights are off. I make my way through the kitchen, grateful for the subtle blue glow from the digital readouts on the appliances because I have no idea where the overhead light switch is.

Moonlight spilling through the windows helps me navigate downstairs. I go upstairs, listening for any sound, unnerved by the strange silence.

It’s heavy and oddly tense, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

When I open the guest bedroom door, I find Callum standing across the room in darkness, gazing out the windows into the night. He’s shirtless and barefoot again, wearing jeans and a palpable aura of danger.

His voice low, he says, “Where have you been?”

Electricity crackles along my nerve endings. A nervous flutter takes up space in my stomach, warning me to run.

But I don’t. Instead, I take a breath and tell him the truth. “I went to the Beach House for supper with Sabine.”

“I told you to be home by five.”

“I know what you told me.”

When he turns and looks at me over his shoulder, my heart stops.

It’s the look a lion gives the poor creature it’s about to tear to shreds with its teeth.

Forcing myself not to take a step back, I square my shoulders. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m responsible for your moods.”

He turns around to face me, but stays where he is across the room. Despite the distance between us, I feel his dark energy. There’s nothing subtle about it. He wields it like a hammer.

He says softly, “Do you enjoy defying me?”

Anger churns under my breastbone, but I hold it back and keep my voice calm when I reply.

“I enjoy this fun little thing called agency. Since you’re not familiar with the concept, I’ll enlighten you. It’s when a person controls their own choices in life. I agreed to marry you, not hand you the keys to my autonomy.”

His voice stroking soft, he says, “Oh, wife. If I wanted to take away your agency, I’d already have locked you in the basement and thrown away the key.” After a pause, he adds darkly, “And believe me, I’ve considered it.”

My heart races. We gaze at each other through the shadows. I’m not afraid that he’ll harm me, but I don’t know this man all that well, either.

In fact, I don’t really know him at all.

I say, “I’d appreciate it if we could talk without all the tension. You know, communicate like adults? Maybe with the lights on?”

“You had the opportunity to communicate like an adult and call your husband to tell him you were going to dinner with your employee.”

“I’m a little confused. What happened to ‘this is just a business arrangement’? What happened to ‘I can have a separate bedroom’? Most of all, what happened to the man who said he’d give me whatever I wanted? Because from where I’m standing, all that is starting to look like lies.”

“Lies in the way you told me you don’t want to have sex with me, you mean?”

I cross my arms over my chest and sigh.

He moves slowly closer. “Or how about lies like you saying you don’t want to be spanked?”

“Come on. You know the difference between pride and entrapment.”

“What I know is that you’re my wife. The woman who promised to never leave me.”

My patience finally snaps, and I throw my hands in the air. “Just because I went to dinner, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving you! I did that to make a point!”

He walks even closer, his smoldering gaze never leaving mine. When he’s a few feet away, he stops and stares down at me, crackling like a live wire.

I blow out a hard breath. “You have abandonment issues, is that it?”

“I have you issues. Do you have any idea how badly I want to throw you face-down onto that bed and spank you until you’re begging for mercy?”

“I’m getting an inkling.”

My sarcastic tone makes him clench his jaw. But he reins in his temper and answers calmly.

“I shouldn’t have ordered you to come home like that. Especially in front of Sabine. For that, I apologize. It won’t happen again. But I can’t promise I won’t be possessive, or worry about you when I don’t know where you are, or want you to show me the simple courtesy of informing me of your whereabouts, because that would mean I’d have to become a different man. I know I’m not perfect, but you don’t have to play games to try to get me to change my behavior. Tell me, and give me the opportunity to correct it myself.”

That all sounded so reasonable and unlike him that I stand there stunned for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Finally, I settle on, “All right. I will. And I apologize for not calling you.”

“Thank you. I need to fuck you now.”

That’s so unexpected, I start to laugh. “Oh my God, Callum. You’re absolutely insane.”

“Yes. Get used to it.”

He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, then strides down the hallway toward the master bedroom. I hang on to the belt loops in his jeans as he walks, my heart pounding uncontrollably.

He kicks open the bedroom door, strides over to the bed, and flips me over onto it. Breathless and wide-eyed, I stare up at him. The lights are off in here, too, but the curtains are open so moonlight fills the room. My eyes have adjusted to the shadows, so I can see how fiercely his own eyes burn.

Silent, he leans down and removes my shoes, dropping them to the floor one after the other. Then he peels me out of my clothes, rolling me around impatiently, then tossing it all to the floor to join my shoes. When I’m nude and trembling, he straightens and gazes down at me.

“Wife.”

“Yes?”

“I want to restrain you.”

Oh God. The rope. Swallowing, I say, “Will…will it hurt?”

“No. I’ll be careful.”

“Um. Okay, um. I believe you, but I’m still nervous. Why do you have to restrain me?”

Staring into my eyes, he says softly, “I need control. I crave it. When I don’t have control, I feel…I don’t know how to explain the feeling. Only that I hate it.”

“It calms you,” I whisper, suddenly understanding, though I don’t know how.

Nodding, he moistens his lips. “Yes. Exactly.”

I can tell he’s getting more excited, though he’s holding himself back. I think that’s part of it for him too. He not only needs control over his external environment, he needs to control himself. His responses. His emotions. What he says and doesn’t say.

But mostly me.

He needs to control me, especially in bed. He has to be the initiator and the executor, the one who decides what will happen, when, where, and how long it will take.

Unfortunately for me, the idea is appealing.

I say, “If I agree, I want us to have an understanding.”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot but remains silent. The bulge under his zipper is growing rapidly.

“If I say stop, I expect you to stop immediately.”

“Agreed.” He licks his lips again.

“And I want you to ask before you do anything weird.”

“Define weird,” he demands.

“Like…I don’t know. I haven’t been tied up before. I don’t want to be helpless and have you suddenly introduce a ten-inch dildo into my butt and dial the vibrate setting to max.”

His breathing turns erratic. I think he just formed a vivid mental picture of doing exactly what I said I was afraid of him doing.

I warn, “Callum.”

“Agreed. I’m sorry. When you talk like that…” He closes his eyes and slowly inhales. After he exhales, he opens his eyes and says, “I’ll ask you for permission every step of the way.”

His gaze drops to my breasts, then slowly moves down my body. He bites his lower lip. His breath shudders out of him.

This is when I realize I’m the one in control here.

I’m fully naked, lying on my back in bed, holding him in place with only my words. He could easily overpower me—he’s far too strong to beat in a physical fight—but he won’t do anything without my explicit consent.

I mean I think he won’t. This is the T-Rex we’re talking about.

Maybe I should test my theory.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I draw my knees up and press my thighs together. He stands perfectly still, except for his right index finger, which twitches.

I whisper, “I don’t give you permission to touch me.”

Then I spread my thighs.

A faint sound escapes him, but that’s all. He doesn’t move a muscle.

His eyes feast on my body as if it’s the most delicious banquet ever made.

It’s a thrilling sort of darkness that courses through my veins on seeing that look. It makes me feel bold and uninhibited, sexy and feminine, and honestly as powerful as fuck.

“Take off your jeans. But don’t touch me yet.”

He strips off his jeans, flings them aside, then stands before me nude with a jutting erection and breathing so ragged, it borders on a pant.

When I say, “Good boy,” his eyes drift closed.

His voice so faint, it’s almost inaudible, he says, “Wife. Please.”

“Do you want me?”

“You know I do.”

“And if I let you have me, will you promise to take care of me?”

He opens his eyes and pins me with a look of such ferocious desire, it steals my breath.

He growls, “I promise to take care of you in every way for the rest of both our lives. Now give me fucking permission to touch you before I die of need, you stubborn fucking woman.”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who can be so sweet and so annoying with so few words. Permission granted.”

He grabs my thighs, drags me to the edge of the mattress, pulls me upright, grips my head in his hands, and kisses me hard.

Then he flattens his hand over my sternum and pushes me onto my back. Hovering above me, he commands, “Stay in this exact position. Move one inch, and you’ll be punished.”

He straightens and strolls away into the closet.

At least he isn’t whistling The Pink Panther theme.

I lie still on the bed, fighting panic and trying to reassure myself that it might feel as if I’m having a heart attack, but I’m not.

My brain doesn’t believe me. It’s convinced we’re also having a stroke in addition to a life-threatening cardiac emergency. Then, when Callum walks out of the closet holding a pair of handcuffs, I make an involuntary peep of terror and squeeze my eyes shut.

I hear a low, satisfied chuckle. “Nervous?”

“Extremely. Don’t laugh at me.”

“Put a please in front of that command, wife, or suffer the consequences.”

I bite back a smart remark and whisper, “Please.”

He kisses my thigh. The unexpected contact makes me suck in a startled breath.

“Hush, baby,” he coos. “Now, open your eyes.”

When I do, I find him smiling.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Wrinkling my brow, I say, “No. Odd question, but no.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because you’re going to be here for a while.”

He grabs my arm and snaps one link of the handcuffs around my right wrist. Then he pulls me toward the side of the mattress and snaps the other cuff around the bedpost.

Straightening, he crosses his arms over his chest and smiles wider as he gazes down at me with a look of utter satisfaction.

I look at my bound wrist in confusion. “What’s happening?”

“I handcuffed you to the foot of the bed.”

“Yes. Obviously. Why?”

“Oh, you want to know why.” Chuckling, he rubs his jaw. “Tell you what. I’ll be back in the morning, and you can let me know what ideas you came up with.”

Bending down, he retrieves his jeans from the floor. He drags them up his legs, stuffs his hard cock inside, pulls up the zipper, and turns and swaggers out.

Stunned, I sit on the bed in the darkness until my confusion clears. It’s replaced by incandescent rage.

“Son of a bitch!”

From somewhere down the hall comes the faint but distinct sound of Callum’s laughter.