Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(33)

Anticipation pulses through my veins, every fantasy I’ve ever had can’t beat this reality as my pants get pushed down around my ankles.

I step out of them, and am slowly propelled towards the bed in nothing but my boxer briefs. My legs hit the mattress as she propels me back, back, back.

“Lay down against the headboard?” comes her quiet request. “I want you to watch me undress. Is that okay?”

Somehow, I manage to nod.

Swallow air.

Breathe Dexter, I remind myself. Breathe.

Holy shit. Daphne Winthrop is about to strip all the clothes off her gorgeous body and get naked.

For me.

She starts at the top button of her collared shirt, plucking one free from the hole, then another.

One.

Two.

My eyes are riveted to that gap of exposed skin; f*cking riveted as a third button is plucked free, followed by a fourth. Her hands pause momentarily to part the seam of her shirt, the creamy expanse of cleavage sacredly, beatifically—oh shit—full. I’ve heard the phrase “spilling over” a few times, but I’ve never seen boobs overflowing a bra in person.

I force my face to remain impassive; willing my jaw to stay closed.

Instead of unbuttoning the rest of her pretty, preppy shirt, her hands glide to the waistband of her jeans. The snap on her fly opens; zipper forced down. I watch as her hands drift over her pale, perfect skin and push the denim down over her slim hips.

White lace boy shorts.

Flawless porcelain skin.

Daphne steps out of her skinny jeans, leaving them on the carpet in a heap, and strides slowly forward, fingers poised on the fifth button of her shirt as she comes to stand next to the bed.

With baited breath, I wait.





He can’t take his eyes off me, and quite honestly, he’s holding so still I’m afraid he’s stopped breathing. Dexter is completely… motionless. Crap. What if the sight of my near naked boobs gave the guy a stroke?

I pause, waiting to unbutton number five. “Dexter?”

His mumbled, incoherent, “Huh?” puts a coy smile on my lips, giving me leave to continue my strip tease.

Climbing up onto the bed, I crawl towards him in the center of the mattress and note with satisfaction his nostrils flaring when I straddle his hips. Dexter’s hungry eyes roam my body as I pull off my pale pink shirt, dragging it slowly down my arms. Unceremoniously, I toss it on the ground next to the bed.

“Oh shit,” he groans when I reach back and unclasp my bra; it joins my shirt and jeans in a pile on the floor.

Only underwear separates us now.

I lean forward, my breasts rubbing against his chest, the sound of his gravelly groan and my moan filling the air. My hands roam his smooth pecs; Dexter is toned perfection. Olive skin that’s sinewy and trim and hard with perfect nipples. I run my trembling hands over them now, fingering one in a leisurely… burning… tease.

Beneath me, his hips give a jerk, and I rotate my pelvis onto his straining erection; it’s just begging for attention.

Begging.

Begging and hard and rubbing so painfully good against my center that a stifling whimper gets caught in my throat as Dexter finally leans forward to capture my lips with his.

Suddenly, I’m on my back, his mouth and tongue are everywhere.

My neck.

My collarbone.

My breasts.

Oh god, my breasts. I arch my back into his mouth as he sucks and licks and squeezes, the pressure building between my legs so agonizing that when I pull his hair, we both gasp out in pleasure.

“You are going to drive me out of my damn f*cking mind,” he rasps, grinding and grinding his dick into the apex of my thighs, his head still bent at my breasts. His large hand cups one, squeezing gently. “Jesus Christ you feel so good.”

I glance down between our bodies at our pelvises pressed together, feeling my eyes glaze over with arousal. Excitement. Wanting to feel him, I find the elastic waistband of his boxers, my fingers trailing along the edge before going under. Inside.

Grasping the hard, rigid length of him.

Stroking him up and down as he whimpers and moans into my mouth; it’s a low, tortured guttural sound that has me desperately pushing his underwear down his hips, my palms smoothing over his firm backside.

Dexter flexes as I squeeze and knead, pulling him down into me by the ass cheeks, eventually, he kicks off the offensive boxers.

“Get on your back,” I whisper when he’s scrumptiously naked.

I start at his neck, languidly lavishing kisses along the pulse beating erratically in his throat—his heart. Kiss his stomach, lick his abs, his belly button and below…

I suck.

And swirl.

And suck.

“Oh f*ck, oh f-f*ck,” he chants, clutching the bedspread with a vice grip in his fantastically large palms. “Fuck, oh f*ck.”

He’s babbling and grimacing in agony and it’s glorious. His dirty cursing only serves to make my lady parts tingle. Ache.

“Shit...stop, baby, I want to f*ck you… stop, Daphne… don’t stop. Oh…f-f*ck.”

He comes, his head falling back against the pillow.





“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur into her ear, my cock already hard again. “So beautiful.”

I can’t even believe this shit is real; that I’m in her bed and she’s spread out next to me, my hand roaming her smooth, naked skin.