Black Lies(44)

He whispered my name, his legs shuddered beneath my hands, and his hands guided my head. Urgently, the thrust of him in my mouth. “Don’t stop.” The beg on his mouth. “Yes baby.” The sign that he was close.

And then.

Breakdown. His hand tangling in my hair, the hard thrust up and up, into my throat, one hand fumbling for and grabbing onto the armrest as he moaned my name and shot down my throat, my mouth working, sucking the cum from him, up and down and up and down, and then he pulled me off. Drug me by my hair until I was in his lap, his cock out against my thigh, still twitching, still wet from me. He held me in his arms, kissed the taste of him from my mouth, and whispered his love against the top of my head.

I loved this man.

With my whole heart.

I needed him.

He completed me.

I closed my eyes, curled into his chest, and felt the wrap of his arms around me.





I lay in our bed, the whip of the fan above me, and stared at the ring. Nestled in a dark blue box, the glint of its diamond brilliant, even in the dark. He had pulled it out hours before. As we ate on the roof deck, the wash of the ocean our backdrop to dinner, champagne cooling the heat of our food. He did the whole thing again, getting down on one knee and presenting the ring.

“You won’t give up,” I scolded him.

“I’ll never give up on us.”

“Me neither,” I promised him, leaning forward and pressing my lips against his head. “Me neither.”

I wanted the ring. Wanted the title. Wanted the forever. I gently worked the ring loose and held it, setting the box on the nightstand. Rolling the platinum setting in my fingers, the unique diamond stone glinting at me. Blue, a color I had never seen on a diamond. Not too large. Two to three perfect, unmarred carats. Flawless. It would be the only thing in our union unflawed and honest, with nothing to hide. It didn’t deserve us. It deserved an innocent bride marrying a man with nothing in his eyes but love. But maybe those were the couples who got the imperfect, thousand-dollar Zales specials. Maybe the perfect, priceless diamonds were reserved for trophy wives and cheating husbands. Trust fund babies with mistresses on the side. People like me. And Brant. Maybe this diamond evened out our deficiencies with a few carats of retaliating perfection. I slid the diamond on, the fit perfect, the glow of it warm against my skin. I rolled, ran my hand along the back of Brant, his tan skin the perfect backdrop to the diamond I would never wear. Then I leaned forward, kissed his skin, and curled up against his warmth, the weight of the ring comforting. I closed my eyes and dreamt of perfection.

At some point, in the dusk of morning, before the sun fully exposed our room, I pulled off the ring and carefully returned it. Set it back in his suitcase, its spot nestled between sunscreen and a rolled socks. Then I crawled back into bed. Mourned its loss. And wondered, for a brief moment, if Molly had called Marcus. It was a black thought in a perfect day, but Lee wouldn’t leave my head. He stalked my dreams. Dominated my imagination. Pulled on me with insistent hands whenever my mind had an uncontrolled moment. I should have forgotten him. I should have left him and Molly to their life of apparent bliss. But I couldn’t. Instead, I was moving closer. Intertwining my life with his until I couldn’t tell when mine with Brant ended, and mine with his began.

A dangerous game. One that was fixing to get worse. Much worse.





Chapter 33


I ran along sand, my stride used to the give, my speed even as I dug through deep places and pounded wet footprints through receding surf. The beach was smoother than home, less rocks, more picturesque. At this time of morning, I was alone. A few towel boys, setting up chairs, nothing else. Solitude. The wash of water cleansing my thoughts.

I was lost. It was official. Turned around to the point where I didn’t know if I was climbing uphill or down. My obsession, my game with Lee? It was a losing, impossible direction. I knew that. I knew that the smartest thing, the safest thing to do, would be to ignore him. Let him live his life. And stay on my side of town. With Brant. I didn’t love Lee. I loved Brant. Lee was… a distraction. A distraction that f*cked me as if he was created to do it. A distraction that gave me another side of life, away from the finery, a side of life filled with impulse and fun. A distraction that I needed to keep the seesaw of my relationship with Brant level.

I pushed harder, my breath ragged as I took out my frustration on my muscles. Pumped my arms and gasped as I took my run faster, slipping in the sand at times, my calves burning as I sprinted through the sand.