18. Bad Liar #2
Closing my bedroom door, I flick the light on and startle at the figure sitting on the end of the bed. Keg leaps from my arms, his paws making a soft thud on the ground. He runs his body across Chris’s leg, making a contented purring sound.
“Hey,” I murmur, chucking the leash on the dresser.
Slouched forward, legs parted, elbows resting on his knees, Chris looks up, defeated. “I should be on top of the world.” Exhaling, he turns his head to look at me. “I’ve wanted this patch for a long time—had to kill to earn it.”
Anxiety claws at my spine at his admission.
“You shouldn’t be telling me this.” I shake my head. All I ever wanted from Cutter was honesty, for him to trust me enough to share small details, and here’s Chris, offering them so freely. It’s dangerous.
“Who should I be telling?”
“No one. Ever,” I snap, going to the bathroom and filling a glass of water in the sink. Padding back to him, I shove the water toward his lips. “Drink this. You need to sober up.”
“Everyone’s out there celebrating me.” He sniffles, taking the glass, watching the liquid as it swirls in front of him.
“I know.”
“Where were you?” He looks up, his tone accusatory.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.” I exhale slowly, unbuttoning my pants and pushing them down my legs.
Scoffing, his eyes return to the glass dangling in his grip between his legs. “You’re the only person I want to see. As soon as the leather touched my back, my first thought was telling you.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I say sincerely.
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course I am.” Irritation flares. This is what I didn’t want. We weren’t supposed to be this.
Going to Goldie’s bowl, I pop the lid on his food and scatter the colorful pieces over the water.
“Does it make a difference?”
“Does what make a difference?”
“Now that I’m a full-fledged brother, does it make a difference between us?”
Whipping around to face him, I grunt, “You think I care about that shit?”
“It’s about Cutter then.” He stands, knocking back the water and dumping the glass on the dresser.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m over this and tired.
“You think I’m fucking stupid, Kit? I see how you look at him, how he can’t keep his fucking eyes off you.” This sounds like jealous boyfriend shit, and we were never that.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m right,” he fires back.
“He’s married,” I remind him. I remind me.
“Yeah, I know that.” He stabs a thumb at his chest then points a finger toward me. “Do you?”
“What do you want from me?” I throw my arms up, glaring in his direction.
Striding across the room until he’s breathing down on me, he grasps my face, pain etched in his features, a dark plea in his gaze. “I just want you. That’s all.”
My hands come up to rest against his. “You’re drunk,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I love you.” The words leave his lips and bounce around my head, causing damage.
No. No. No.
“Don’t say that.” I push his hands down and take a step back.
“Why?” he pleads.
“Because you don’t mean it. We’ve messed around a little. We haven’t even fucked, Chris.”
“I don’t need to fuck you to know I love you.”
“You’re drunk,” I repeat, pacing.
“Stop fucking saying that. I just told you I love you, Kit.”
“And what do you want me to do with that?” I bark, scrubbing my hands down my face. This isn’t happening. Love! Loves me?
“I don’t know, maybe fucking love me back.” It’s a broken whisper.
“My chest isn’t a library, Chris. You can’t just borrow my heart. It’s already been checked out. There’s nothing left. The shelf is empty. I’m empty.” Tears prick my eyes. Hurting him was never my intention, but there’s nothing for him here.
Leaning against the wall, he bows his head, breathing heavily. Guilt sticks to my conscience like tar. I wish I could love him. I know he’s the better man. This isn’t fair to him.
“Chris…”
“That’s the third time you’ve said my name,” he observes.
“What?”
“I like hearing you say my name.”
Pushing off the wall, he turns to me, lust replacing the hurt in his gaze. “Give me one night, Kit. Just tonight.”
Nerves riot inside my stomach as I confront the conflict between my head and heart. This is a bad idea.
He’s in my space, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding. “Just tonight, I promise.” He leans in, swiping his mouth across mine.
This is wrong. I can’t. It will lead him on even more. But what would it be like if I do? What if this is what I need? A cleanse from Cutter’s touch, his ownership. Liberation.
Undoubtedly, regret will come, but what if it’s freeing…satisfying?
My knees tremble. My heart races at the possibilities flooding my mind. Although logic screams, “No!” something inside of me urges, “Yes!”
Thud—thud—thud.
Cutter has sucked the life out of me. Taken my power. It’s time to take it back.
This is the start.
“Okay…one night.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I bring him to my lips, our tongues dueling as his hands grip my ass, caressing the flesh. Breaking away, I say, “Take your clothes off.”
“Are you sure?” This guy is a saint. I’ve only ever fucked a sinner.
“Take your clothes off, Chris.”
At my assurance, he wastes no time stripping out of his cut and hangs it on the back of my door. The sight makes my stomach flutter. It’s where Cutter hangs his.
He toes off his boots then whips his shirt over his head, exposing the lean muscle of his torso. The raised scar from Georgina’s attack is the only blemish on his flesh. He is a beautiful man. Gentle. Nice. Too nice.
I want him to bring me to my knees. Force everything from my body until all that’s left is the two of us.
Unbuckling his belt, he drops it to the floor, and my skin vibrates with the need to feel it against my flesh.
“Jeans.” I bite my lip, watching him push them down his thighs. Once he’s naked, his cock juts out toward me, standing proud. I take it in my palm and stroke up the shaft. Precum beads on the bulging head.
“Now you,” he pants. Skimming his hands down my arms, he curls his fingers around mine, aiding in the caress.
I push him onto the bed, his back falling against the mattress.
Watching me, mesmerized while fisting his cock, he groans, “Show me everything, Kit.”
I yank my shirt over my head and make quick work of stripping out of my pants, baring myself to him.
“Come here,” he growls.
Crawling over his long, lean form, my pulse pounds in my ears. The heat of his skin seeps into mine as I position myself over his hips, his hard, thick cock resting between my pussy lips.
“Let me get you ready first.” He licks his lips, pressing the tip of his cock against my clit.
“I am ready.” I am. I am. I am.
A shiver of anticipation mixed with nerves and panic shudders through me as I lift my hips and slide myself down onto him, blowing out a needy moan as his length fills me, stretching me.
There’s no going back now.
As soon as I’m seated to the hilt, our eyes lock, and the world melts away. Our breathing fills the air, two destinies colliding in one short, stolen moment.
Urgent hands cup my tits, thumbs stroking over my nipples, flicking the piercings there, eliciting a sharp zap.
I move my hips in a gentle wave, matching his rhythm.
It’s so sweet, so vanilla, it feels almost forbidden.
Flipping me onto my back, he grips my leg and places it over his shoulder, sinking back into me with deep, hard thrusts.
Our lips crash together, tasting, feasting.
Sweat slickens our bodies as we move together, taking what we need.
“You feel so fucking good, Kit.” His gaze implores me, lust and pain evident.
Leaning up on his knees, he grips my hips and tilts my body, controlling my movements, his eyes transfixed on where our bodies meet, over and over. He groans, pistoning into me with a burning hunger.
Slipping the pads of two fingers through my folds, he pushes down on my clit and begins circling in a tortuous motion.
I urge him on, desperate, flexing my hips and squeezing my own tits, chasing the high, and tip over the edge, my pussy contracting around him, heat blossoming in my core.
I ride the train to every stop until all I’m left feeling is a euphoric ache.
When we eventually collapse onto the mattress, I know the only thing that’s going to change is the number of notches I can now put on my bedpost, and I hate myself for it.
I wake up overheated, Chris’s body sealed to my side by a drenching of sweat. Sunlight leaks through the open blinds, burning my retinas.
“How do you feel?” Chris’s voice is husky, thick with sleep. His hand tightens on my hip.
“Thirsty and hot.” Guilty. Sad. Angry.
“I meant about us?” He chuckles, his nose burrowing into the skin of my neck. How could I have let this happen?
Slipping out from his hold, I push the comforter off the bed and climb out, almost tripping over Keg.
“You asked for one night,” I remind him, opening the window a little to air the room. “You got it.”
I don’t look back at him as I grab shorts and a tee and disappear into the bathroom.
Closing the door, I slide down to the floor and silently scream into the clothes. The tremor cascades over me, rattling my bones like an earthquake. Nothing has changed. The hollow, gaping hole in my chest is still present, and now I’ve done more damage to Chris’s heart too.
Love is a fucking curse. It burrows into you, cutting you to the core, filling you with poison, blackening your soul into a burning husk.
Breathe.
It’s okay.
Composing myself, I wash my face and pull on the clothes. When I open the door and step into my room, all that’s left is the lingering traces of liquor-flavored kisses and regret.