More Than Lies (More Than #1)(84)

“No.” That word comes out as a moan. “Not those.” Sliding my palms behind her, I cup her ass, and then pull her forward until her middle meets my lips. Her skin is soft, just the way I remember it. The way I’ve imagined it for the last longest five days of my life. I kiss her just as soft.

“So the part where you think I don’t want you, then. Is that the part you want us to forget?” Squeezing her ass cheeks in each hand, I flip her onto her back where she lands on the bed with me towering above her. “If my dick wants you, then I want you. Do you think the last few weeks—a couple months ago, even—are the only times I’ve ever wanted you? Been affected by you? It’s not true.”

Her chest rises and falls in a rapid pace. Her dark eyes are dilated and her skin is hot to the touch.

“What are you saying?”

“I want to fuck you right now. I want to wake up next to you, and make love to you tomorrow. Then I want to repeat that over and over and over until we don’t want to do it anymore.” Something in the back of my mind tells me that day will never come, but I don’t verbalize that thought. It scares the fuck out of me. Instead I bury my face and mouth into her neck where I kiss her. Moving to the muscle between her shoulder and neck, I bite down.

“Ahhh.” She likes it when I do this. Her hands skim the skin underneath my shirt. “You have too many clothes on.”

I push up, and straddle her. Lifting from the hem of my T-shirt, I pull it up and over my head.

“Better, baby?” She rakes her eyes down my chest.

“No, you’re still too covered up.” Her hands slide down my torso and grab my belt buckle, unfastening it, and ripping the belt from the loops. “Lose the jeans and boots. I want you as naked as I am.” She smiles, expectantly. There’s confidence in her eyes. I like it a whole fucking lot. She’s changed this year.

Hoping off the bed, I give her what she wants: me wearing absolutely nothing.

“Now we’re talking.” She rises up onto her elbows, but she isn’t looking at my face; her eyes are zeroed in on my cock. That look is causing my already stiff shaft to harden even more. When she wets her lips, I can’t take any more. I pull out a condom from my wallet and toss it on the bed.

That was the only stop I made before coming home. After last weekend, I needed more. I knew then, somewhere in the back of my head, that I’d have to have her again. That night wasn’t enough, and tonight won’t be either. I have no idea where this leads, but I’m not willing to let it go just yet.

Grabbing her by the leg, I yank her toward me until I’m able to latch onto her thigh. I flip her onto her belly and then pull her the rest of the way backward until her ass meets my crotch.

“Are you hungry?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Our friends are ordering pizza. I need to know if you want it quick and hard, or slow and savoring?” My palm lands down on her ass with a loud smack.

“Mmmm” She pushes into me. “Rough and hard, but I don’t want this over for at least an hour, maybe longer.”

A smile crosses my lips.

We don’t make it down for dinner. There’s no need for food after we fill up on each other.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





TARALYNN





I walk into Wicked Ink half an hour past two o’clock in the afternoon. It is Saturday, and I’m covering the receptionist for lunch at Shawn’s request. They’re always this busy on Saturdays so I don’t know what’s different about today other than it’s my birthday—which falls on Valentine’s Day—and I could be sitting in my oversized comfy chair reading from my e-reader. I only have hundreds of books on there just waiting for me to pause and read. I’d much rather be living in someone else’s fictional world for a few hours than my own reality.

Trent is gone. My brother is never coming back. You’d think I’d be happy today, that I could put that sad fact in the back of my mind just for one day and enjoy turning twenty-two. But I can’t, though. Trent was a huge part of my life, especially my birthdays. He always made it a point to do something exceptional to make my special day extraordinary. From the cheesy voice messages of him singing happy birthday, to the single purple rose he had sent to me every year, Trent never failed to make me feel treasured. I’d never seen a purple rose before I received my first one on this day of my high school freshman year. Trent has always denied he was the one that sent them to me, but I never believed him for a minute. That was the same year—the same day—he started sending Kylie red roses.

So, no, instead of being at home, I’m here, about to work. Well, let’s back that up; I’m about to do more work. I spent five hours this morning cleaning the wreckage from last night’s house party. That’s in addition to the ton of laundry I washed, dried, and folded. I hate housework, but more than that, I hate a messy house, so I’m stuck. I have no choice. I have to clean.

“Hey, Nat.” I walk behind the front desk where Natalie is hanging up the phone. She looks like she partied way too hard last night. Her blue eyes are dark around the rims, and she has mascara smudged underneath. She doesn’t look like she’s slept or showered. I like the girl, but gross.

“What are you doing up here today?” Oh, great. Did Shawn not tell her?