Chapter 25
Lie to Me
IRIS
There’s nothing like hurtling through the sky on an enchanted motorcycle to sober you up fast. And there’s nothing like hitting the plush surface of a warm bed after a night out to send you crashing right back down again.
I groan into the pillows.
“My feeeet hurt,” I whine.
“I know, baby,” Elliot whispers, sliding his arms out from under me as he deposits me onto his bed.
“When are you going to stop calling me that?”
“When you stop liking it,” he says.
“I don’t like it.”
“Yes, you do. I can smell it.”
“Ugh.” I cross my legs, pouting. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t hate the player,” he says. “Sit up.”
I do as he tells me, turning over and propping myself up on my elbows, and a warm cup of tea finds its way into my hands as he mutters, “Drink that.”
I don’t ask what it is. It smells nice, and I want my stomach to stop swirling. So I sip it while Elliot sits crouched in front of me, muttering quiet encouragement until it’s gone.
“Little more,” he says, tipping the cup back so the last bit slides into my mouth. “That’s a good girl.”
My face feels flushed as he takes the cup and sets it aside, but I ignore the little twinge of need in my chest, collapsing back onto the bed and shutting my eyes as he pulls my shoes from my feet.
“So if you don’t feel anything, why are you always nice to me?” I ask.
Elliot groans.
He’s tired of me asking these questions. But it’s the only thing that’s been on my mind since yesterday. If he truly holds no affection for me, why does he flirt with me? Why does he keep my secrets? Why did he cover up my heinous murder?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
It seems the only question I can ask. And I’ve asked them all over the last thirty minutes, but his answer never changes.
“I don’t know why,” he says for the fifteenth time. “I know that’s not the answer you want, but unfortunately, it’s the only one I have, okay? So, can you please stop asking now?”
His voice is tense as he rubs the bottom of my feet, and I concede, letting out a soft sigh as he peels me out of my tights.
“Gods, you’re all so awful,” I say.
“Who?”
“Men. You all stink. And you’re so stupid. And you never know what to do with your hands. Well, not you. You always know what to do with your hands. But you know what I mean…”
He taps my knee as I ramble, and I lift my hips, making it easier for him to slip my skirt down my butt.
“Yeah, baby. I know.”
I lift my head, peeking at him over the crest of my breasts.
“You do?”
He is lingering between my knees, pretending not to enjoy the fragrance that permeates from my pussy, and because he’s an idiot, just like the rest of them, he plants a kiss along my thigh before he stands.
“Yes,” he says, neatly folding my skirt. “You’re way too smart for us.”
“Right!” I roll my eyes and bite my lip to hide the small smile on my face. “Wait, you think I’m smart?”
Elliot frowns.
“Compared to us? You’re a genius.”
“Hey!”
I kick at him, aiming for his chin, but he catches my leg, hanging it on his shoulder as he leers at me.
“Go to bed, princess,” he demands, pressing his lips to my ankle. “Before you regret it.”
“I wouldn’t regret it,” I say. “Would you?”
His hand moves over my shin, down my thigh, and back up again.
“Eventually, yes, I would.”
I pull myself into a seated position, and I frown at him.
“Elliot, don’t tell me you don’t want to anymore. You and I both know that’s a lie.”
“No, believe me, baby, I want to. More than I should.”
“What does that mean? More than you should. Why shouldn’t you?”
“Iris…”
My name leaves his mouth in a desperate whisper, as if he’s pleading with me to stop. But I need an answer. Just one real answer.
“No, Elliot. Tell me why.”
“You don’t want this,” he says.
He’s wrong. I do want this. And I’m tired of pretending like I don’t. I’m tired of pretending like Elliot isn’t the only man I’ve ever wanted. And I’m tired of feeling hungry all the time. For once in my life, I’d like to feel full, and if anyone can sate me, it’s him. But I need all of him.
I draw up to my knees and rest my palms on his chest, feeling for the thump of his heart.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
He stays my wandering hands.
“No, baby. You don’t. You don’t want me. Not really. I’m…I’m empty inside. I’m cursed…”
My arms fold over my chest as he attempts to put some distance between us.
“You’re not the only monster here, Elliot. Your curse doesn’t scare me.”
“But it should. I should. You should be afraid of me. My wolf is dangerous. He knows no loyalties. I could never guarantee your safety.” He pauses, prying at his dampener. “The mere thought of hurting you…It makes me sick, Iris. If anything…”
His words trail off, and he crumples as he hangs his head.
There’s nothing more to say.
If anything happened…would he even mourn me?
My instinct says yes, I’m sure his says no, but I have no way of knowing who’s right.
I climb down from the bed to stand in front of him.
“Elliot, I know you feel something—”
“I feel nothing!” he shouts, tapping his chest. “Don’t you understand? There’s nothing here for you. I have nothing to give you.”
His words make me flinch, but I stand my ground.
“That’s not true. I know you feel something when you look at me. I can taste it.”
It’s not lust. Or desire. Or even need. Those, I’m familiar with. This tastes like something new. Something salted and rough. Hard to swallow.
His eyes meet mine, and his voice is low as he takes a deep breath, drawing in my scent.
“Pain, Iris. All I feel is pain when I look at you.”
He bows his head until it rests on my shoulder, and his arms come around me as he pulls me close.
“Don’t you think I would?” he whispers. “If I could? Don’t you think I’d give you everything? I’d rip my heart out and hand it to you if I thought that would be enough. But it won’t. No matter what you keep telling yourself. I know you—”
“No, you don’t.”
Elliot rears back, leveling his gaze at me, the tick in his jaw more noticeable as he clenches his teeth.
“That’s a lie. And you know it,” he says, holding my face in his hands. “I’m the only one who knows you. I’m the only one who knows what you need.”
I blink, unsure what to make of that declaration. He might be right, but I wouldn’t know, considering I, myself, can’t figure it out.
Elliot strokes my cheeks, searching my face for understanding, and, finding none, he sighs, and his eyes soften as he prepares to lay my truth bare.
“You need love, baby.“ His chest rises and falls with a labored breath. “That’s why you’re starving. You’re hungry for something I can’t give you. And it’s killing me.”
His fingers pull at the dampener around his throat, but he makes no move to remove it as we both struggle to catch our breath.
This feels like an ending that I wasn’t prepared for.
Sex, I can handle.
Friends with benefits, I can handle.
Love, I can’t handle.
But I’d come to terms with much less a long time ago. And maybe this is for the best. This way, I’ll never have to worry about it. This way, it will hurt less.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, shaking my head. “This is enough. It’s enough for me.”
I repeat the words, although I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—me or Elliot.
Silently, he brushes away the tears I wasn’t aware I’d shed.
“Another lie.”
We’re pressed together now, drawn back in by something more powerful than our own foolishness, and I suck in a shuddering breath and avert my eyes.
“Then lie to me,” I say. “Make me believe it. Just once.”
“Iris…”
His voice is low, warning, but his eyes betray him, and the need is plain as my name leaves his lips in a whisper.
My throat feels like it’s closing, and I can barely get the words out.
“I’m so tired of being hungry.”
The tears flow freely as I cling to him, and his heart starts to hammer beneath my fingers as I rise up on my toes. But he doesn’t pull back.
“Iris,” he pleads, our lips brushing but not yet melding. “Baby…”
He sighs, unable to leave me wanting, and with the slightest tilt of his head, our mouths meet, and our breath tangles. Our hands claw at one another, frantic and searching, as years of reckless desire pour over into unbridled need.
“Elliot, please…”
I whine as his hands palm my breast, and the tender ache between my legs begins to spread.
“You know I’ve never been able to deny you…” he mutters.
He carries me backward, setting me on the edge of the bed as I work the button on his jeans. He frees himself in a single tug, jerking his pants over his hips and dropping them to the floor along with his boxers and his shirt.
He stands between my knees, bare-chested and panting, and my mouth starts to water as I watch his dick swinging between his thighs.
“Iris…” Elliot says, catching the eager look in my eyes. “You’re drooling.”
I nod, helpless and dripping into my own lap.
“You need it?” he asks, fisting himself.
My hunger claws its way up my throat, ushering out a single word in a breathy whisper.
“Yes.”
He grips my chin, clearing away some of my drool.
“Touch it,” he commands.
My eyes widen.
“W-what?”
“I want you to see what you do to me, Iris,” he says, voice low. “I want you to touch it.”
His eyes are dark, desperate, as I look up at him.
What I do to him? What could I possibly have done to him?
I reach out, thumbing the head of his dick, and watch in quiet awe as it stiffens like steel.
“Oh my gods,” I whisper, wrapping my fingers around him.
He’s harder than stone, and his piercing is damp, slick with anticipation. I stroke him gently, just once, and I realize as his head lolls back and he groans an unintelligible sound, that Elliot’s been nursing a hunger of his own.
“I want you so bad it hurts,” he says, eyes shut tight as I pump him harder. “All the time. It hurts.”
I knew Elliot wanted me, but I never knew it was this bad. His dick looks like he’s three seconds from coming in my hands, and I’ve barely touched him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, still tending to him.
His eyes open, glaring down at me.