Things Liars Say (#ThreeLittleLies #1)(32)

I finger a pink sleep shirt in my suitcase, rubbing it while I debate: on one hand, if I don’t put a shirt on, I might look cheap and easy. On the other, I did already tell him he was getting lucky, so why bother putting on clothes?

Ugh, crap. I’m crap at this.

It’s been two years since I’ve had sex. Two. Years. And quite honestly, I don’t ever recall those experiences being particularly memorable.

The robe peels open farther, and the lacy white g-string undies and pristine white bra peek through.

Maybe I’ll just…

…let it fall open. Like this?

No, like this.

Just then, Cal emerges from the bathroom, and I watch, spellbound, as his hard body advances to the center of the room, clad only in a pair of loose-hung gray sweatpants. You know the ones; they dip low on a guy’s hipbones and hug him in all the right places.

I can’t see it, but I know they’re emphasizing his fine, round, athletic ass….

Every firm muscle on his body, every jaded scar, every line of his colorful tattoos are there for my perusal, and boy do I look my fill. He moves closer, watching me through hooded, lust-filled eyes before turning and depositing his folded suit pants on the dresser.

His eyes grow wide at the sight of me standing next to the dresser, first with total shock, then with desire. Hunger.

Want.

Need.

But that’s not all I see there.

This guy wants to let himself love me; I can see it in the way he’s looking down at me. Like I’m a precious, cherished thing.

I’m not nervous.

Nope, not one bit.





Calvin





I don’t know what I did to deserve this girl, but…

Fuck.

Rugby.

Rooted in spot next to the dresser, Greyson faces me, the white robe a contrast to her tan skin, its gaping sliver baring her white bra and panties. She reaches to loosen the knot on her belt farther, the terrycloth falling completely open.

I stare.

I stare at her beautiful body, her waterfall of blonde hair, her high, round breasts and curvy hips. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect to me.

“Cal,” she entreats quietly, her voice filled with desire. Hunger.

Want.

Need.

For me. For f*cking me.

I don’t know who moved first, but our mouths meet, and my hands span her waist, kneading her bare, warm skin. Provocative. Achingly slow, our hot tongues mingle, wet and wanting.

Wet kisses. Open-mouthed kisses. Lips, tongue and teeth.

Grey’s robe falls to the floor, and she breaks the kiss to skim my abs with the tips of her fingers and the waistband of my pants, untying the white knot holding them around my hips.

My dick throbs so hard I can feel it beating in my pants.

Fuck.

I walk her backwards to the bed, the back of her knees hitting the mattress. She lies down, the gold comforter providing a backdrop for her magnificent blonde hair that pools around her fresh, flushed face.

The look she gives me invites me to look. To taste.

To touch.

I crawl on top of her then, dragging an open palm and my tongue up her stomach, over her breasts.

She pants when I lick her cleavage, my wet tongue flicking the groove between her blessedly plump tits. My fingers briefly toy with the small white clasp in front of her bra, and without preamble, I pop it open.

My mouth covers her then, and she moans loudly, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath me. I grind my erection into the apex of her spread thighs. Grind into her hard.

It’s torture.

She grabs a handful of my disheveled hair and tugs.

“Lights on or off,” I ask between sucking on her flawless skin.

“On. I want to watch you.”

“I’m going to make you feel so f*cking good, Grey.”

“You already have, baby.” She gasps into my mouth. “So f*cking good.”

Baby. Jesus Christ, it sounds good spilling from her lips. The dirty talk. I bite my cheek to stop the litany of endearments threatening to spill off the tip of my tongue, wanting to call her every goddamn mushy name I can think of: baby, sweetheart, sweetie, honey, babe, cutie pie, darling.

Shit. My friends were right; I am * whipped.

But only a spineless dickhead would give a shit what his friends thought.

“God, you’re f*cking sexy as shit,” I whisper, caressing her hip. “I love your skin. I love your tits.” To illustrate my point, I lick them both, sucking on the dusky nipples.

“Keep talking. What else,” she asks, panting in a long, drawn out breath. “You feel so good.” It sounds like she’s sulking.

“I love how funny you are.” Grey tips her head back as I suck on her neck gently, palming her breasts with my now trembling hand, kissing my way down her collarbone. “I love how smart and clever you are.”

“You feel so good, Cal. Did I say that already? I’m losing my mind.”

“You make me crazy.” I moan, totally losing control of the situation. “Do I make you crazy?”

Our incoherent, sex-induced babble fills the room.

“Oh yeah, so crazy.” Her hands push frantically at the waistband of my pants, and together, we slide them down my hips, then set to tearing off her underwear in a heated frenzy.

“God, just give it to me, Cal. I don’t want to wait anymore; I want you so bad,” she implores, reaching for my hard erection, stroking it up and down with her talented fingers. “Don’t you want this inside me? I do. I want it bad.”