The Lie That Traps (Lies and Truths Book 1)

29. Izabella

IZABELLA

My mind is a mess of confused thoughts, while my body is a mess of want and need that I refuse to sate, because I know if I touch myself, I’ll be thinking about Gulliver while I make myself come, and I’m not sure if that’s what I want.

Stripping out of my wet dress, I turn my shower as hot as it will go and wash all of the fountain water out of my hair, wiping away the two inches of makeup Yolanda had to use to cover all of the bruises on my face. My skin is pink and flushed when I wrap myself in a towel and pad back into the bedroom. Brushing out the knots, I twist my hair up into a wet pile on top of my head and throw on the new baggy overalls Fitzy sent over yesterday and a sports bra.

I look like a mess, but I don’t care, and weirdly, I don’t think the guys will either. If I’d left my room looking like this at home, my mom and Penelope would have been appalled, but even though I’m incredibly attracted to Gulliver, I don’t think getting dressed up to watch a movie and eat pizza would impress him any more than wearing something baggy and comfortable.

And I’m not sure if I actually want to impress him or not. I enjoyed the way his eyes heated and the way he kissed me senseless when he first saw me in the red dress this morning. But his eyes were equally as hot when he was asking me to play pretend with him and I was a bedraggled wet mess.

My entire relationship with Gulliver has been a lie, and now he’s asking me to pretend it’s all true, and I don’t understand why. He asked me to pretend that I felt the connection between us, but I think it’d be harder to pretend that I don’t feel it.

Physically, I want him, but emotionally, I’m not sure I can trust that any of this will be real when the games are all over and all we have left is real life.

Following the sound of the TV, I find the guys lounging on two huge couches that fill a comfortable and cozy den. “Why have we been sitting in the ugly white room when you have this comfy den?” I ask as I pad through the door.

“We use the terrace more than the white room, but this is where we chill to watch movies,” Gulliver says, patting the empty space next to him on the couch.

Climbing around Davis’s legs, I lower myself into the space next to Gulliver, tensing a little when he drops his arm along the back of the couch, his finger drawing circles on my bare shoulder.

“Beer?” Thorn asks, opening a wooden unit at the side of the couch and revealing a small refrigerator full of bottles of beer and cans of soda.

“Yes please.”

He throws me a bottle, and I lift my hand to catch it, but Gulliver plucks it out of the air, twisting the cap off before magnanimously handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I whisper, trying to ignore the way Gulliver is watching me, like he’s planning something. Clearing my throat, I take a drink of my beer. “What movie are we watching?”

“How do you feel about action movies?” Kip asks with the remote in his hands as he scrolls through the movie selection on the TV.

“I’m easy as long as it’s not horror. Those films give me nightmares for weeks, and I’d be making one of you come with me to the bathroom to make sure there are no clowns or anything in there.” I say, shuddering as memories of the last horror film I watched flash into my mind.

“No creepy clowns, got it,” he says with a laugh, selecting a recently released action movie and hitting play.

Someone dims the lights, and I exhale a tired sigh, relaxing back into the couch cushions while I try to ignore the mesmerizingly soft sweeps of Gulliver’s fingers across my skin. I don’t know how to process his behavior. First he finds out I exist; then he and his friends play a cruel joke on my family and blackmail me into playing along. Then he searched for me when I stopped answering his calls and didn’t turn up at school. He tracked me down at a hotel and insisted I move in with him. Now he’s touching me like I’m his and kissing me like we’re a couple and not just two strangers that are still using each other.

I hate that I feel so conflicted. His remorse has never felt dishonest, but I’ve seen the calculated cruelty he’s capable of delivering. I’ve seen the steel behind his eyes and dealt with his uncaring disinterest.

As I muse why I feel so comfortable with this group of men who aren’t my friends but who have shown me more friendship than I’ve ever had, Beth slips into the room, delivering four huge pizza boxes, then plates, napkins, and silverware that all get ignored as the guys dive on the boxes like starving animals.

I’ve only ever had pizza a handful of times. Mom always said that greasy, carb-rich food was completely out of the question if we didn’t want to get fat, so I only tried it for the first time last summer when I was in Spain.

Leaning forward, I lift a piece from the box. The cheese is gooey and hot when I take a bite, and my moan of pleasure has all four guys turning to stare at me. “What?” I ask, mid-chew, with my mouth full.

“Fuck, you can’t make noises like that,” Davis groans, earning a punch in the arm from Gulliver.

“What are you talking about? I’m appreciating how good this pizza is. I haven’t had any in months.” Shrugging, I take another bite and moan again when the rich tomato, spicy pepperoni, and creamy cheese hit my taste buds.

“Eighteen years old, and I just figured out that pizza is the way to seduce girls,” Thorn says, his brow furrowed, lips parted, and shoulders slumped forward.

“Carbs are like crack when you’re forced to live on salad, grilled chicken, and quinoa,” I tell him, finishing my slice and immediately reaching for a second as the guys continue to watch me.

“I’ve never fucking understood why girls don’t eat properly. I like a bit of meat on my women, something to hold on to. These super skinny girls do nothing for me,” Kip says, pushing the pizza box closer to me as I finish my second slice.

“Penelope basically lives on green juice. She hates that I even eat breakfast in the morning,” I say, taking a pull of my beer before reaching for another slice.

After finishing my fifth slice, I fall back onto the couch, rubbing my stomach. “That was the best.”

Gulliver’s rough chuckle rumbles against my ear, and I realize that I’ve unknowingly moved closer to him, so my head is leaning against the crook of his arm. I start to move, but his hand clamps down on my shoulder, keeping me in place. “Don’t move,” he orders gruffly, curling his arm around me and cuddling me into him until his thigh is pressing against mine and I’m nestled against his side.

“Relax,” he whispers, his lips pressed against my ear. “We’re just watching a movie.”

Inch by inch, the tension leaves my body, and I allow myself to settle, not moving any closer but not pulling away either. The heat of his chest, the lowered light, the food and beer, all combine, and before I know it, my eyes are closing as sleep overtakes me.

“Izzy.”

“Izzy, baby, wake up.”

The rough, familiar voice pulls me from sleep, and I blink my eyes open, finding myself cuddled up against a hard chest. A wave of lust, hot and vivid, pulses through me when I look up to find Gulliver smiling down at me with the same wickedly sinful look in his eyes that I was just dreaming about. Only in my dream, I wasn’t sleeping on him. His head was between my legs, coaxing me into orgasm after orgasm while I screamed his name and begged him not to stop.

“Hey, Little Ghost. I thought I was going to have to carry you up to bed,” Gulliver says, his voice a low purr that sends warm tendrils pouring through my body.

“Hey,” I whisper, my voice still thick with sleep. Blinking, I turn my head from side to side, recognizing the soft fabric of his shirt beneath my cheek and the view of the dimly lit den around us. When it dawns on me that I’m lying on him with my face pressed into the curve of his neck, I quickly sit up, embarrassed heat filling my cheeks. “I’m…oh god. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” I mumble, mortified that I’ve somehow managed to practically crawl on top of him while I slept.

“Hey,” he says, laughter filling his voice. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like having you on top of me. The noises you make in your sleep are fucking adorable. I recorded them so I can listen to them the next time I jerk off.”

The chorus of male laughter that fills the room makes my skin bloom red and my blood boil with indignant anger. “You’re such an asshole,” I groan, covering my face with my hands as I push myself to my feet.

Gulliver’s laugh is loud as he stands up and reaches for me. “You’re too fucking cute, Little Ghost, or maybe I should start calling you Little Moaner from now on.” He chuckles amusedly.

Shrugging off his touch, I barge past him and out of the room, the sound of the guys’ laughter behind me only making me feel even more stupid for relaxing enough to fall asleep around the four of them.

Strong arms curl around my waist before I can escape into the room I’m staying in. “Come on, Little Moaner, we’re only teasing you. Don’t go to bed mad. Didn’t anyone tell you that’s the key to a successful marriage?” He laughs, pressing his warm lips against the pulse point on my neck.

“I don’t find your jokes very funny, and we’re not actually getting married,” I hiss, futilely pushing at his hands.

His grip on me tightens. “Kiss me, and I’ll let you go to bed,” he purrs, scraping his teeth enticingly over the skin just below my ear.

“No,” I cry, still pushing at his hold on me.

“I can do this all night, Izzy,” he breathes against my skin, sinking his teeth into my throat.

“Why should I kiss you?” I breathe, stilling in his arms.

“Because I want you to,” he answers, pressing a hot open-mouth kiss against the spot he just bit, replacing the pain with tingling pleasure.

“Do you always get what you want?” My voice shakes, and my breathing becomes ragged.

“Always,” he growls, biting down harder, hurting me, then soothing the pain with his mouth.

I part my lips, intending to speak, but before I get a chance, he spins me around, lifting me until my back hits the wall. Pressing me in place with his huge, firm body, he pins my arms at my sides and crashes his lips against mine. Moaning into his mouth, he swallows my sounds, grinding his hard dick against my needy sex.

He kisses me like he owns me, like he hates me, like he just can’t make himself stop. And I kiss him back, shoving all my pain and hurt and want and anger into his mouth, forcing him to take it all. Growling, he grinds his dick even harder against me, his hips smashing into mine as he tries to penetrate me through my clothes.

His growl becomes a snarl, and he releases one of my wrists to grab my thigh, lifting me off the ground and forcing me to wrap my legs around him so he can press his dick against my swollen, aching core.

In a blur of movement, he peels me off the wall and carries me into his bedroom. Slamming the door closed, he backs me up against the wood, holding me in place while he rips the straps of my overalls off my shoulders and roughly shoves my sports bra up, freeing my breasts.

Dipping his head, he takes my breast into his mouth and bites my nipple. I scream, but he ignores me, his hips rolling into me, the bulge of his hard dick finding my clit, and making my scream of pain turn into a desperate moan. Soothing my nipple with his tongue, he alternates between biting and licking, torturing me with pain, then rewarding me with pleasure until the world shrinks down to this moment and the way he’s making me feel.

Moving his ministrations to my other breast, he teases me until I’m lost to sensation and practically incoherent. When his lips find mine again, he kisses me roughly, wrapping his palm around my throat and collaring me possessively, holding me in place while he devours me.

At the back of my mind, I know I should stop this, but I don’t. Instead, I roll my hips, tugging on his hair and wordlessly begging for more. I’m not sure if it’s him or me that pushes my overalls down, but when the fabric hits the floor, he turns us from the door, still kissing me until my back hits the soft comforter and his huge body settles on top of me.

Doubt prickles in my mind, but I ignore it, burying my hands in his messy hair when he tears his lips away and dips his mouth to nip and lick at my sensitive nipple. Running his hand slowly down my ribs and across my hip, he pushes it between my legs, cupping my sex over my soaking wet panties. The heel of his hand grinds over my sensitive clit, and my hips arch off the bed.

“Oh fuck,” I cry, dragging his lips away from my nipple, needing his mouth on mine. When he kisses me, it’s raw and possessive and drugging. I spread my legs wider, needing more friction, needing him. Wanting his fingers, his cock, something, anything to take away the relentless ache that’s pulsing deep inside of me.

Pushing my panties to the side, his fingers finally touch my bare sex, teasing my entrance, before he slips a finger into my channel, finding me soaked and desperate. “So, fucking tight,” he growls, pushing a thick finger inside of me, pulling it out, then pushing back in again.

“More,” I pant, my breathing ragged as my body burns for release.

“Are you pretending with me?” he growls against my ear.

“Yes,” I confess on a moan, throwing my head back when his thumb finds my clit.

“More?” he asks.

“More.” I nod, closing my eyes while he finger fucks me, the wet sound of my sex filling my ears.

A desperate whine falls from my parted lips when his fingers slip out of me and his hand—that’s wet with my own arousal—wraps around my throat. My lips form the word more, a second before I feel his blunt, hard cock at my entrance. But the word dissolves when his dick pushes inside of me in one long, hard thrust.

I scream into his mouth, the pain worse than I was expecting, as his cock fills my virgin pussy.

“You’re a virgin,” he shouts into my face.

“Not anymore.”

“You didn’t think it might be a good fucking idea to mention that before I got my cock out?” he growls, each word making his dick grind into me a little deeper each time.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about having a conversation.” I wince.

“That’s the kind of thing you tell someone before you get fucking naked,” he snarls, rotating his hips so his dick slides out an inch, then pushing back into me again.

“I’m not naked,” I say, pointlessly plucking at my sports bra that he pushed up so he could torture my nipples while we were kissing.

His jaw tenses, his eyes narrow, and he pulls his hips back, then slams into me hard. “Gulliver, I’m a virgin,” he says in a mocking tone, talking over my pained whimpers and moans.

His dick pulls almost all the way out of my punished pussy before he slams back into me again. “Gulliver, you need to be gentle,” he grunts.

Thrust after punishing thrust, he fucks me angrily, forcefully.

“You don’t just stay quiet and not tell me that my dick is going to be the first one to claim your virgin cunt,” he snarls, his fingers reaching between us and finding my clit as he continues to plow into me. “You should have told me you were giving me a fucking gift so I could have fucking savored it. You should have warned me so I could have taken care of you properly,” he hisses, rubbing my clit in fast, unrelenting circles.

“Now you’re going to come on my dick, and you’re going to scream my fucking name for making me feel like a fucking asshole,” he orders, furiously pounding into me while he pinches and rolls my clit.

My sex is raw and painfully stretched, but I can still feel the intensity building inside of me as he thrusts into me, his fingers forcing my orgasm closer and closer to release until I’m clinging to his back, my body meeting his thrust for thrust.

The world goes black as my orgasm reaches its peak, and I scream his name, lost to the painful, wonderful sensations that are more intense than anything else I’ve ever experienced.

My muscles tense, then go lax, but I cling onto Gulliver as he slams into me three more times, hissing my name as his hips jerk, and he comes on a choked cry.