Black Lies (19 page)

He dropped the towel, my eyes plummeting. Watching the careless movement as he pulled on his pants, uncaring of my eyes, his mouth curving into a confident grin as he tugged them over his hips.

“I have clothes here. If you want fresh ones.”

He scowled. “Brant’s?”

I had so many answers for that but went with the simplest. “Yes.”

He moved over to the bed, pulled at the sheet until it was clean of the bed and my nakedness was fully exposed. “I fuck his woman, I don’t want his life.” He reached a rough hand out, rubbing a palm over my right breast, the nipple hardening under his touch, the dark look in his eyes turning into a gleam of satisfaction. I sighed, reaching my own hand out and laying it on his cock, the cut of his open jeans leaving it out, stuck out, at perfect eye level from my spot on the bed. It was hot, his skin heated by the spray of the shower and his hand moved from its place on my breast to my hair, gathering the long strands of my hair and pulling me upright, pushing me in the direction of his cock.

“Tell me,” he breathed, my mouth reaching his skin, my tongue soft as I licked up its shaft, the organ responding beneath my tongue. “Tell me which you prefer.”

I looked up at him. Opened my mouth and took him in. Watched his eyes close, his head drop back as he groaned, his grip on my hair pulling himself deeper into my mouth. Then he yanked painfully, pulling away as he pulled me off his cock and tilted my head up. Dropped his chin and stared into my eyes. The needy look of a man who didn’t really want me. “Tell me,” he ground out.

“You are better,” I whispered, our eyes locked as one, truth in my statement. Raw need in us both. He needed reassurance. I wanted him. I wanted him to stop thinking about Brant and about Molly and focus on me. Want me. The rest would fall into place. It had to.

Push
. He shoved back into my mouth. Too hard, I opened wider, tried to take him, my eyes watering at the rough intrusion. He thrust, his hand and hips working together, the scrape of his zipper against my chin, his words falling down on me like forgotten tears.

“Look in my eyes, Lucky. Look in my eyes while you suck my cock.” He slowed his motion. Watched with eyes that burned as he drug his wet shaft out, rubbing the tip of it against my mouth before he begged with his stare for more. “You like this don’t you? Being my whore while he pays your bills? Letting me use every inch of your body and sending you back to him ruined?” He growled, increased his motion, my airway cut off, my hands pushing at his thighs as my eyes held his clench. His chest heaved, his legs buckled beneath my hands, trembling as he leaned forward, fully in my mouth, gripping my headboard with his right hand, the other on the back of my head, and came down my throat.

My throat was sore. The taste of him still on my tongue, and I watched him move. Tug on his shirt. Button his pants. Run a hand through his hair as he patted his pockets for keys. I wondered, randomly, where he kept his keys. If they stayed in his truck. How they didn’t get lost to the wind. He didn’t find them in his pockets and that didn’t seem to worry him. He paused, halfway through the doorway, and turned back to me. As if he suddenly realized that a goodbye might be needed.

“I’ll see you later.”

Not what I was expecting. Not what I wanted. They were over. My months of planning complete. Now was the time for
our
relationship. Not for him to bang me and take off, with some flippant reference to seeing me again. I wanted dates. Consideration. Adoration. At the very least a ‘Thank you very much’ for the two orgasms. I hadn’t given Brant two orgasms in one night in the last… probably ever.

But… nothing. I didn’t respond and he turned, slapped his hand on the custom doorframe, and walked out. Less than a minute later, I heard the tone of my alarm. The alert that let me know that he had left the building.

I lay back on the bed and tried to figure out what I did wrong.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he needed time to heal. Maybe he would come back.

I slept alone on sheets that smelled of grass and sex and deceit.

“What’s your opinion on kids?” Brant’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the wind, his convertible’s top down. I glanced over at his profile, his eyes ahead, both hands on the wheel.

“What do you mean?” I picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. Rested my head on the headrest and looked out the open window. A minivan passed, a kid’s face pressed against peeling tint, his eyes wide as he stared at Brant’s car. I smiled at him, a wave of sadness sweeping over me.

“Kids. When we started dating, you used to talk about having a family. You haven’t mentioned it in a long time.”

I said nothing. Watching the skyline pass, the setting sun casted a romantic glow over a city with way too many people crammed into its streets. I tried to find the words to say the things that I couldn’t say. An impossible task. I finally swallowed, aware that Brant had infinite patience. “I don’t really think about a family anymore.”

“Why not? You’re born to be a mother.”

I turned away from the view, surprised at the statement. “Why do you say that?”

“You come to life with the kids at HYA. They love you.” He glanced away from the road for a moment, found my eyes long enough to communicate his sincerity.

I looked back at the view. “They’re desperate. My own children might feel differently.”

“Shut the hell up.” The irritation in his voice was so out of character, the explicative causing me to turn back, watch his mouth. “I’ve never seen someone like you. A woman who is perfectly made for every situation. For standing at my side at the company. For rolling around naked in my bed and letting me please you. For raising children who are loved and adored. For challenging me. For growing old with.” He jerked the wheel, the tires growling against asphalt as we whipped off the highway and onto a side lane, the car losing control for a brief moment before it skidded to a halt. He shoved the car into park and leaned forward, grabbing my neck and pulling me onto his mouth, his kiss hard and demanding, my hands pushing against and then pulling at his shirt. We kissed on the side of the highway as if we hadn’t touched in days, our hands groping and pulling, the honk and cheers of passing cars combining with wind and lights and sunset, a backdrop to a moment I didn’t deserve. I crawled across the center console, my skirt bunching up as I settled into the tight space of his lap, our kiss deepening at the new position, his hands pushing my skirt around my waist, palms and fingers kneading my ass, his mouth greedy as it dominated mine. “I love you so much,” he said, leaning his head back to look into my eyes, my hands fisting in his hair, repeating the sentiment back as I lowered my mouth. He stopped the kiss, his eyes arresting as he whispered the question I wanted to avoid. “Is it us, Lana? Is that why you no longer want kids?”

I tried to kiss him, his hands holding me back as his eyes searched mine. I looked into his face and said the only words my heart would permit, the lie slipping harmlessly from my mouth. “No, Brant. No. I promise.”

He let out a rough breath, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging me down, his relief felt in the desperate return to my mouth. And, in that moment, with the wind and the cars and the hum of the city around us, I let myself believe the lie.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t us.
We
were perfect.

“Molly came back.” His face was dark when he said the words. I looked up from my spot on the couch, a flash of alarm shooting through me.

“When?”

“She showed up at the In Between the other night. A few minutes after I got there. Wanted me back.” Lee rubbed a fresh callus on his palm and glanced at me, eyes studying.

Wanted him back
. Not a surprise. I tried to keep my voice level. “What did you do?”

“You mean, did I fuck her?” He stood from his spot by the window. Moved closer, towered above me. His eyes contrasted the dark look on his face. More cocky than angry, turning more sexual by the second. He knew I was affected. He stared into my eyes and saw the fear that I so poorly masked. Saw it. Fed on it. Loved the look of jealousy when he saw it. He reached a rough hand out and cupped my head. Pulled it to his pelvis.

“Suck my cock.”

“What? Right now? No.” I pushed on his stomach with my hand and he caught my wrist. Shoved it down, until my fingers were at his jeans.

“Suck it and see if you earned the right for me to tell her no.” We battled with our eyes. I wanted to suck his dick. God, my mouth watered for the taste of his hard cock scraping over my tongue. But I’d be damned if I was forced to do anything.

I pushed against his jeans and he pulled my head harder. Kept me in place. “Suck it and remind me of why I said no.”

“You said no?” I looked away from worn denim and back into his eyes. Eyes as tortured as my own.

“Yes.” He gritted out, letting out a hiss of breath when my fingers undid the button of his jeans, swiped a needy finger along the edge of his skin. Pulled the zipper down with an insecure motion. “God, I don’t know why I did, her beautiful face just begging for me to bend her over and fuck—” the rest of the sentence was lost in the groan that came when I buried his cock in my throat. He fisted my hair, stared at my face, and rocked against my mouth, his words of Molly replaced by my name.

“You fuck him,” he said, as his cock fully hardened, as I gripped his thigh and his shaft and prayed the tears in my eyes were from sucking and nothing else. “You fuck him all the time and then expect me to be a saint.” I ignored the comment, focused my attention on redirecting his, the soft moan from his lips letting me know I was on the right track. “Why?” he asked. “Why should I?”

I never answered his question, only his need. And… when his orgasm was over and he pulled me above him on the couch, his arms enveloping me into his chest, my wet mouth against him, the answer didn’t seem to matter any more.

My house was unaccustomed to a man’s presence. The weight of one on its couch pillows. The sprawl of dirty shoes kicked off in its foyer. Lee’s scent invaded its hallways, competed with the scent of polish and flowers, masculinity meeting delicacy and crushing it into dirt. The male impact was new to my home; Brant had visited twice, early in our relationship, then never returned. I still had a few of his things hanging in a guest room closet, all items I had worn home in my early days, before I had a closet at his mansion.

I’d seen Lee almost every day of the last week, sucking up my time with him while I could take it. Brant had been MIA. Jillian said she’d only seen him a few times, darting into the office at sporadic times, not answering calls or texts. She said it was normal—that he got like this. Mostly at times of high stress. And, with iTunes negotiations at a breaking point, a few billion dollars up in the air, now was a time of stress. A time when he should be around, but he was not. Life went on. She handled it.

I didn’t mind. It gave me time with Lee. Time I was embracing with both hands. Holding onto, unsure how many more instances I would have left. I could feel the end of our future. It sat on a ledge of probability. He would disappear. I knew it, could feel it in every moment of perfection. And then, this entire cycle would start over. With a new man, a new someone that would be my side piece to Brant.

He stood in front of the fridge, a hand on the top, his eyes skimming, the float of cool air frosting through the space. “You have nothing,” he announced.

“It’s full. That hardly constitutes as nothing.”

“No beer. No junk food. No ice cream. I could eat every bite in this fridge and lose weight.” He shut the door, sauntered into the living room. “Let’s go grab dinner.”

“Now?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost nine.”

“Which is why I’m hungry. That pathetic excuse for dinner we ate four hours ago didn’t count.”

I rolled my eyes. The ‘pathetic excuse for dinner’ was foie gras. It was Brant’s favorite dish. I should have known, in this complicated scenario of conflicts, that Lee would hate it. “Fine.” I stood, tossing the remote down on the sofa. “I’ll go change.”

“Uh uh. You’re fine.” He grabbed my elbow, steered me towards the door.

I glanced down at my jeans. “Where are we going?”

“Let’s just drive. There’s got to be somewhere around here that’s got the game.”

I stepped out, grabbing my keys off the counter and pressing the button for the garage, my pull on the front door pausing when I saw Lee, standing in the driveway. His head was turned toward the garage, the full range of cars slowly revealed as the doors swept up.

I yanked the door shut, stepping down the front steps in time to hear his low whistle. “Damn, Lucky. I might start fucking this guy.”

I moved past him, irritation sweeping through me. “I do have my own money. Not everything is from Brant.” A ridiculous defense to say to Lee, made more so by the fact that three of the four cars were gifts from Brant. I stepped toward my Mercedes, my everyday car, his hand reaching out and stopping my movement. “Let’s take the black one.”

I came to a sudden stop, whipping my head to him. “The black one?” I stalled.

The black one in question was a 2004 Land Rover Defender. It was the only car in the garage I’d paid for, traded my last vehicle in on it. And, as awkward as this situation now was, I purchased it as a gift for Brant. Wanted to, in some small way, repay him for the gifts he had a tendency to lavish.

Unfortunately for me, Brant hadn’t been a fan of the vehicle. In the brutally honest fashion that I loved, he had told me as soon as I had handed over the keys.

“SUVs aren’t really my thing.” He held the key awkwardly, glancing from it, to the black vehicle, and then to me, a sheepish look coming over his face. “I don’t like the insecurity of them. And the IIHS safety rating placed them in the worst classification for risk of rollover. The—”

“It’s okay.” I smiled at him. Reached out and took the key back. “I should have asked.”

“I just don’t need a vehicle I won’t drive.” He leaned over, looped a hand around my waist and kissed the top of my head. “You mind?”