Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(30)

His head dips. He reaches down, grabs my ass in both his palms and hauls me to the dresser.

Lips. Teeth. Skin.

Tongue.

“I’m a horrible person,” I gasp. “This is so wrong—your grandmother is downstairs.”

He stifles my protests with his mouth, his sexy, smart, skillful mouth… we can’t get our tongues deep enough as he lifts me with a grunt, knocking a lamp to the carpeted floor with a loud thump and sitting me in the center of his dresser.

The light bulb hits the ground and shatters.

He rocks his hips into me, pounding the dresser into the drywall as we paw at each other, rattling the framed High School diploma hanging above the Debate team medals that jingle and sway on their hooks.

We don’t notice.

We don’t care.

He feels so good, he feels so good, he feels so—





“Uh, Daphne might want to put her shirt back on. Just sayin—”

“—And fix her hair.”

The twins stand in the open doorway of Dexter’s old room, identical expressions fixated on us, unreadable. Completely pokerfaced—as if they hadn’t just walked in on Dexter and I in the middle of us dry humping against the wall and tearing at each other’s clothes. As if my shirt wasn’t open and my breasts weren’t threatening to spill out of my bra.

Like this kind of thing casually happens every Saturday.

I fumble blindly for the buttons on my shirt, fitting each tiny pearl through its hole, mindlessly shoving them through, desperate to match them up but not taking the time to actually do it properly.

I need to get my breasts covered.

The twins saunter a little farther into Dexter’s room, past the dresser I’m perched on to study the spines of his collection of high school yearbooks.

“Mom sent us looking for you, F-Y-I, so don’t get your boxers in a twist. You know the drill: we can’t light the candles or sing Happy Birthday until everyone is—”

“—Present and accounted for,” the twins parrot, prattling on as if nothing was amiss.

“And since they think you’ve been MIA for the past…”

Amelia checks the time on her phone.

“Twenty minutes.”

“—Even though everyone heard the loud banging coming from up here.” Lucy crosses her arms and purses her lips. “What the heck did you think you were doing?”

Amelia snorts. “You should know better than this Dex, going at it in this house? Remember how thin the walls are? You can’t even—”

“—Whisper without someone hearing it through the vents.”

They stare at us, Amelia raising her eyebrows and Lucy tapping her foot on the carpeted floor.

“Well?”

“Are you coming downstairs or what?”

Dexter and I stare after them as they airily saunter back out into the hallway, not a care in the world. And that thing I said before about adoring them?

Yeah.

Forget I mentioned it.





Things go from bad to worse when we descend the stairs, my cousin Elliot waiting at the bottom, hand wrapped around the finial post of the wooden rail.

He starts in as soon as the twins usher Daphne into the kitchen, out of earshot.

“Jesus f*cking Christ, Dexter.” Elliot hisses, grabbing my arm the second I round the staircase in the foyer. He strong-arms me through the hall, cornering me near my dad’s office. “Were you seriously f*cking your hot girlfriend with a party going on?”

I register hot and girlfriend, cataloging them in my brain for future use. Aggravated, I give him a glower.

“Why would you even ask me that?”

Elliot claps a hand on my shoulder, emitting a low whistle. I shrug him off. “Several reasons. One: she looks thoroughly f*cked. Or drunk, and Aunt Georgia isn’t serving alcohol. So which is it?”

“Would you please stop using the word f*ck when you’re talking about Daphne?”

Elliot crosses his arms, pleased with himself. “Two: I notice you aren’t denying f*cking her.”

I shake my head, pushing away from the wall, willing him to walk away.

He doesn’t comply. “Three: everyone heard the moaning. I’ll admit, it was pretty hot and I was getting off on it until your Dad cranked the stereo and your mom did that weird laugh thing she does when she’s about to lose her shit.”

My back turned to him, I walk towards the kitchen leaving him trailing after me. “We weren’t having sex in my room so shut the f*ck up about it.”

He’s skeptical. “Well then you should have. Christ, man up, dude. Your girlfriend is a hot piece of ass. What she sees in you is—”

“—None of your business, you douchenozzle.” An agitated feminine voice interrupts from behind, startling us both. I expect to find Daphne coming to my defense when I spin on my heel, but instead I find…

The twins.

Great. More drama; just what I need.

“You’re being a real dickshitter,” Lucy scowls. “Why are you always such an ass?”

Elliot’s eyes bug out of his head at their foul language. I mean—all dressed up in their conservative birthday dresses, they hardly look like the truckers they’re beginning to sound like.

“What the hell Dex—are you going to let her—them—talk to me like that?”