One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths #2)(63)

He doesn’t complain at all when I tug at his hair or accidently bite his lip. By the way his breathing speeds up and his mouth turns more aggressive, I know he’s enjoying this. And when I feel the sensation build in my lower belly, Ashton’s hand somehow knows to move faster, making me squirm and writhe and rock against it.

“Let me hear it, Irish,” he says in a strained whisper, just as my body starts to shudder against his hand. With his mouth pressed against my throat, I cry out in response, my fingernails digging into his bicep as the waves hit me.

“That was f**king hot, Irish,” he murmurs into my ear, his forehead pressed against my headrest. I blush as I pull my thighs back together. But he doesn’t move his hand away yet and I don’t push it away. “Did it help you forget?”

My nervous giggle is the only answer I can give him. Forget? My brain went blank. I forgot about my problems, his problems, and the potential zombie apocalypse. If that’s what orgasms do, then I can’t believe people ever leave their houses. Or cars.

“I guess that’s another first for you involving me,” he murmurs. One that I will never forget.

With one light kiss on my nose, he finally moves his hand to smooth my skirt down to a respectable level. Glancing down pointedly at himself, I hear him say with amusement in his tone, “And for me, too.” When he catches my confused expression, he starts chuckling softly. “That’s never happened.”

My eye widen in shock as I drop my gaze to his lap. That only makes the chuckling turn into full-blown laughter.

It takes exactly three hours.

Three hours—lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my books sitting closed beside me—for the orgasmic wave to pass and for the nausea to set in as I realize what I just allowed to happen. What I wanted to happen. What I don’t regret happening.

And when I answer Connor’s call and he apologizes profusely for not taking me to New York, and promises that he’ll make it up to me, I just smile into the phone and tell him that it’s okay. I wish him good luck with his paper. I think about what a sweet, good guy he is and how much my parents would love him. I think about how I should end things with him, given what I’ve done.

I hang up the phone.

And I cry.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thoroughbreds

“What were you thinking?”

“Not much, clearly.”

I hear the exasperation in Kacey’s voice. “I don’t know about you, Livie . . . Sometimes you’re as graceful as a one-legged flamingo in a pit of quicksand.”

I roll my eyes. Some of the stuff my sister comes up with . . . “It’s a mild sprain. It’s almost better. I don’t even need crutches anymore.”

“When did it happen?”

“Three weeks ago now, I think? Maybe four. I’m not sure.” Time seems to both drag and fly by lately. All I’m sure of is that I haven’t seen Ashton in two weeks, since he walked me to my dorm that night, kissed my cheek good night, and turned away. And I haven’t heard from him since I got a text the following morning with the words:

One-time thing. Doesn’t change anything. Stay with Connor.

“Three or four weeks and you’re only telling me now?” Kacey’s tone is a mixture of annoyance and hurt, making a bubble of guilt swell in my throat. She’s right. I can’t believe I haven’t talked to her live in almost a month. I haven’t told her about the sprain. I haven’t told her about Connor. I certainly haven’t told her about Ashton.

“I’m sorry. I got caught up with midterms and stuff.”

“How’d they go?”

“Okay, I guess.” I’ve never struggled through exams, or walked into them feeling unprepared. But I left every single one of mine last week with a queasy stomach. I don’t know if it’s just the jitters from the added pressure. I do know that I spent entirely too much time dwelling on non-school things like what my feelings are for Ashton and what Connor would do if he knew what happened. Would he dump me? Probably. I consider telling him so that he will, because I’m too weak to end it with him. But that could cause problems between Connor and Ashton, and I don’t want to do that. They’re living together, after all, and I’m the girl in the middle.

And then I’d focus on my irritation with Ashton for ever laying one of his masterfully skilled hands on me. I’d let that irritation fester into full-on anger. Then the leather belt, the scars, the tattoos, and whatever else he’s hiding would all culminate into a mess of worry inside my head and heart, dousing my anger, leaving me hurting for him. Desperate to see him again.

And then I’d get angry with myself for wanting to see him, for letting him do what he did, for being too selfish and afraid to end things with Connor. For getting lost in shades of right and wrong instead of sticking to the black and white that I can make sense of.

There’s a long pause, and then Kacey asks, “You guess?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve just never . . . guessed before.” Another long pause. “What’s going on, Livie?”

“Nothing. I’m tired. I haven’t slept a lot lately.” It’s when I’m lying in bed that I seem to think about Ashton the most. Worry about him. Crave him. I’ve been lying in bed a lot.

“Have you talked to Dr. Stayner recently?”