Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(32)

“Thanks for inviting me along today, despite all the crazy.” A smile tips my lips. “Your sisters are really something. Do you even realize how much they love you?”

“Of course I know how much they love me. They have to; I’m their brother.”

“No, I mean—they really love you. They set this whole thing up; getting me to your mom’s house to bake cookies so I’d be thrust in your path. Emailing me from your phone. Breaking up the tension with Elliot and threatening to cut a bitch.” This earns me a low chuckle. “You are their everything. It’s…”

“I haven’t thought of it that way. They’re such pains in my ass most of the time it’s easy to lose sight behind their intentions.”

“I bet. But truly—they adore you.” My hand finds the sleeve of his thick, wool coat, and I squeeze, relishing the feel of him under my gloved hand. “I adore you, Dexter.”

With a nervous blush that has nothing to do with the cold, I glance from under my long lashes into his brown eyes and wait for his reaction.

Pleasure curves his mouth. “You do?”

“I do.”

He hums. “That’s good because I adore you.”

“You do?”

His head dips. “Yeah.”

Beneath the awning of my tiny condo, under the winter stars, our lips touch for the second time tonight. And when he finally digs his hands out of his pockets, our fingers lace together.

I shiver.

“You need to get inside,” he murmurs at the corner of my mouth. “It’s freezing.”

“Dexter,” I breath, a tad wistful. “Come inside with me.”

My key goes in the lock. Feet hit the tiled foyer; shoes get kicked off. Large hands find the base of my neck, pulling me in hungrily and pushing my back against the wall in the entryway.

“I really do want to talk and get to know you, I swear I do.” He breaths into my hair. “But all I can think about right now is—”

“—Ripping all my clothes off and—”

“—hauling you to the bedroom.”

Oh jeez, we’re doing our own version of the Twin Speak thing, finishing each other’s sentences, the words flowing out our mouths as our lips and bodies collide. My hands fist the collar of his coat, seeking out the row of toggles barring me from unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Dexter sheds his coat, thank god; it drops to the floor in a heap, followed by his knit hat, gloves and—only Dexter would remove his socks.

Grinning like a fool I shuck my own coat, hat and gloves, adding them to the pile on the floor.





Leading Dexter up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to my bedroom, I turn to face him once we’re through the threshold of my door. Instead of a hurried frenzy to tear at each other’s clothes, we face each other, drinking each other in from head to toe. Admiring each other.

Reveling in each other.

My chest swells with complete happiness when Dexter’s hand gently cups my cheek, his fingers stroking my jaw line as he watches me, one part captivated—the other part aroused.

My eyes flutter shut when he leans in to land a kiss to the corner of my lips. The curve of my cheekbones. My eyelids.

Pleasure sends a ripple of tingles surging throughout my body, tipping my head back, giving him the access he needs to— Gently suck on my neck.

His tongue slides leisurely along the column of my throat until his nose is buried in the hair behind my ear. A moan escapes my lips as our breathing becomes labored—I swear we’re both panting; but is that his breath or mine?

Our tongues are sliding together when our bodies finally meet; my body sighs in relief. Exhales. Vibrates on high with anticipation.

“I love these glasses,” I slur, finger tracing the frame at his temple, back-and-forth…then back again.

“What?” Dexter sounds as drunk as I feel.

“Your glasses, your glasses, God I love your glasses.”

“You don’t say?” More kisses against my neck. “That’s got to be a first.”

His ministrations on my body feel so good I can barely roll my eyes. “S-somehow, I doubt that. Mmm… you would be surprised at how… your tongue feels so good... many women find glasses and bowties and suspenders sexy.”

“I only need one woman to find it sexy.”

“I do, I do,” I chant, finally groaning into his mouth when our mouths meet; finally, blessedly meet.

“Take them off me,” he demands.

So I do.

I do; and he’s gorgeous.





Holy shit.

Daphne Winthrop is taking off my shirt.

Tugging the hem from the waistband of my dark jeans… hands splayed on my smooth chest, her soft palms running over my abs and pec muscles. Fingers trace my hardening nipples.

I bite down on my lower lip, nostrils flaring. At my sides, I clench and unclench my fists. The desire to wrap my hands around her waist is unbearable when she finally pushes the dress shirt down over my shoulders, down my arms, down to the floor.

Daphne Winthrop is taking off my pants.

Belt.

Then, before I can wrap my brain around it, the snap on my fly is popped open, the zipper slowly being tugged down. So slowly the simple sound of the metal track coming undone has my dick throbbing painfully hard.