Текст книги "Dirty Lies"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Jessie

“Please, Jessie.”

“Nope.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“Jessie, please.”

“No!” I slam my pencil down on the desk and turn to my sister. “I am not inviting Aidan for dinner just so you can perv on him all night.”

“Pleeeeease,” Sas begs, drawing the word out. Her voice gets higher and higher until it resembles something only next-door’s bulldog could hear.

“No,” I repeat, standing up and grabbing her shoulders. I turn her toward the door before shoving her through it. Then I slam it shut before she can say a word and I lean back against it. She bangs against it a few times, whining my name, but I ignore her until she gives up.

Inviting Aidan for dinner is my worst nightmare right now. It’s right up there with him inviting me to his house for dinner, and look how well that turned out.

Oh, that’s right. It didn’t turn out well at all.

I groan, bending my knees so my back slides down the door. My butt hits the soft carpet with a thump befitting a bag full of rocks. That’s how I feel. Like a bag of rocks. Like I’m made of granite, heavy and dull.

Ever since Aidan Burke bumped into me at the bar, my life has taken a crazy turn. It’s veered so far off course it doesn’t even make sense to me anymore. Which is why I’m sitting in my work uniform, my back to my bedroom door, with my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them.

It’s not the threatening messages. It’s not even the barrage of abuse that could tear down a steel-reinforced barricade. It’s not even the onslaught of tweets and emails and private messages, every one harsh and just one step too far.

It’s Aidan.

Pure and simple.

Aidan Burke is sneaking his way under my skin, and I don’t like it one bit.

It’s cliché as hell, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. I want to look at him as the arrogant, hot drummer who disrespects girls as quickly and easily as he fucks them, without a second thought. I want to see him as a woman-using prick who shoots his load then runs out with his pants still down. I want to see him as the cocky son of a bitch who thinks he can smile and wink and get his way no matter what.

But I just . . . can’t.

It’s the most annoying thing, because then it would be easy. That’s the problem. It’s hard now. Every part of me is begging me to hold my hands up, tell him it’s done, and walk away. And mean it this time. My heart, my head, they’re in full agreement. They both think this charade is a waste of time and that it’s gone on long enough. They think I’m a dumb bitch for agreeing in the first place.

Because he was right.

Aidan is dangerous.

He’s the guy you hate and love simultaneously. It’s not even a hate to love him, love to hate him kinda thing. It’s just hate and love and desire and anger and lust and frustration and impulse all mixed into one murky thump of adrenaline that’s a low, gentle hum. Like a heartbeat, each emotion picks up, and the adrenaline pounds faster.

And if this is what it feels like to toe the line of love, then I want to step back. I want to step and turn and run and never look back.

I don’t even want to like him.

I do though. God, I do. He makes me laugh, and there isn’t a time that I look at him when my stomach doesn’t flip or my heart doesn’t stutter or my lips don’t twitch. There isn’t a time that I meet his eyes and don’t feel something awaken inside me. Granted, sometimes it’s me just being pissed off, but hell, I even like that.

He challenges me. He doesn’t take my shit and he knows I won’t take his. It’s so fucking endearing that I want to gouge out my eyeballs and hold on to him at the same time. I want to push him into the middle of a highway and let him play in the traffic at the same time that I want to curl myself into his side and let him run his finger across my tattoos the way he does. Even the one that’s still a little red and sore.

I want to pull off his shirt and strangle him with it. I want to pull off his shirt and gently trace every line of ink on his arms, back, and chest.

I want to feel him, beneath my fingertips, warm and hard and comforting.

I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I’m conflicted, that my whole existence has been reduced to me playing ping-pong with my emotions.

And I wish, more than anything, that this would end. That it could be over, good-bye, finito, ciao.

I wish I didn’t have to sit here, hugging my legs, with my eyes closed, remembering the look he gave me when I left his garage with Kye yesterday.

I wish I couldn’t remember that glint—the one that was nothing then but everything now. The angry, jealous, hurt glint.

Worse than that, I wish he hadn’t let me go.

I hate that he sat there. That he did nothing. That he just let me walk out of there with his twin brother like it didn’t matter at all.

In fact, I’m so pissed off about that, and I shouldn’t be.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes as there’s a knock at the front door.

God, what is wrong with me? Why am I letting this get to me? Me and Aidan, we’re like noncaloric bacon. A ridiculously stupid idea that no one in their right mind would allow to ever happen.

Maybe my right mind took a left and got lost.

I think my right mind was male in another life. Noncaloric bacon is actually a wonderful idea.

So does that mean we are?

Oh my god. I needed to stop thinking sometime last week.

Another knock echoes through the house, and I get up and open my door. “Can someone get that?”

Silence answers me.

“Mom? Sas?” Still nothing. “I guess I’ll do it,” I mutter, glancing in the bathroom mirror and wiping away the gray mascara smudges beneath my eyes. I lick my thumb and wipe again, going downstairs. A note is attached to the hallway mirror and I grab it.

Taken sas to nana’s for dinner. Tuna mac in the fridge if you want it. Mom x

“Nice to be invited,” I say under my breath, dropping it on the side table and opening the door. I freeze when my eyes collide with Aidan’s. “Oh. Um. Hi.”

He leans forward, grasping both sides of the doorframe, his wide shoulders and toned, muscular arms filling the small space easily. Shadows fall over his face as it moves closer to mine, and it’s almost as if his eyes darken. “You alone?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Jessie. You alone?” he repeats, his tone hard.

“Fine. Yes, I’m alone.” I roll my eyes.

He takes a small step inside the door, coming close to me. So close I can feel the warmth from his body. So close I breathe in sharply at his proximity.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

He says it so easily, so simply, I don’t believe for a second that I heard him right.

“Me?”

“You.” He reaches out and traces his thumb along the line of my jaw to my mouth. “Is that so hard to believe? That I want you, Jessie?”

“That you want me?” I lift an eyebrow and push his hand away. “No. It just depends how you want me, don’t you think? I mean, do you want me to fuck me? To come out with you and play the doting girlfriend? To come to your house with your family so you can treat me like a piece of shit in front of your brother? ’Cause, you know what? I don’t particularly want you to want me any of those ways.”

“I’m an asshole,” he snaps, grabbing my hand as I try to turn away. His touch is hard and hot, and goose bumps erupt across my skin from where his fingers are wrapped around mine. “Never pretended to be anythin’ but, baby. Never promised I’d be a fuckin’ hero, but I admit I was a total dick to you yesterday. And you didn’t deserve it, but you weren’t exactly a little superstar yourself.”

“Excuse me?” My jaw drops and I yank my arm back, this time stepping out of touching distance. “I did nothing! Oh, I’m sorry—I spoke to your brother, who, by the way, I actually like. You’re the one that took one look at us talking like normal people and lost his shit!”

He slams the door behind him, his arms tensing. “Lost my shit, huh? Was that before or after you cozied up to him?”

“Oh my God!” I look at the ceiling, dragging my fingers through my hair. I look back at him, my heart pounding. “Does it matter, really? If the thought of being with Kye so much as flitted through my mind absently, would it fucking matter, Aidan? I don’t belong to you. You don’t fucking own me, asshole. And even if this relationship were real, you still wouldn’t damn well own me. Now, unless you’re here to apologize for your bitch snit yesterday, open that door you just slammed and get the hell out of my house.”

“I’m sorry!” he yells, his voice hoarse and husky. And, hell, I feel it. His voice. I feel it wash over me roughly, hitting me with the impact of his words, even as my surprise at them makes me stop. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry seein’ you with Kye pissed me off. I’m sorry I’m shit at hiding how I feel. Hell, shit at feeling, period. I’m sorry that the thought of you two together pissed me off so much I needed to get away from you before it drove me absolutely insane.”

“The thought of us together? Doing what? Picking freakin’ daisies?” I shout back incredulously. “Yes, excuse me while I think about him all night, meaning I wake up late for work, then drop a full jug of milk on my damn foot because I’m still thinking about him! How dumb are you, Aidan? How dumb are you that you’d think that out of the two of you, he’s the one that I’d want more? How dumb are you that you’d think for a stupid-ass second that I’d lose my shit over him instead of you?”

“Dumb enough to let you become someone that makes me stop and think about letting you go. I’m fucking dumb enough to let you become someone to me, Jessie. That’s how dumb I am. ’Cause I don’t own you, you’re right, but fuck me, I want to.” He comes toward me, the look in his eyes making me tremble. His shoulders are broad, and he towers over me, casting a shadow over me from the sunshine glinting through the glass pane in the door. But he stops—right before me. Not quite touching me but not quite apart from me either. Still, I can’t breathe. Can’t feel anything but my blood thrumming through me and his body a breath away from mine. “I want to own every inch of your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. I want to brand your skin every time I touch you, and I want you to be owned by me. Do you get that? But I can’t. I can’t have that, or you, or anything I want when you flick your hair over your shoulder and sass the shit outta me like you just did.”

“You can’t have what you want? What are you, three years old and I’m the cookie in the jar on top of the fridge or something?” I lift my eyebrows. “Don’t play games with me. I won’t fall for your stupid little tricks. I’m not your goddamn toy for you to turn on and off as you please.”

“But I’m yours,” he growls, closing the distance between us. “Maybe, just fucking maybe, I’m yours, Jessie. Maybe you’re starting to own me, bit by bit, every time you open your mouth. Maybe that’s why the thought of you with anyone else, Kye or not, makes me want to vomit.”

“Why, Aidan Burke, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you like me.”

“Like you? Here’s an idea, baby, shut your mouth for five minutes and let me show you just how much I like you.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, because, no, this isn’t how this works. He can’t come here all asshole, apologize, then yell at me, and expect me to be okay with him seducing me.

But my argument is useless. I don’t even make a squeak, because he grabs me in that rough way he has, pulling my body against his, and I exhale in a big whoosh. My heart thumps erratically in my chest, and my stomach is so tight, so full of anticipation, although I know exactly what he’s going to do.

I know he’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to grab the back of my neck and hold me against him while he moves his tongue against mine. I know he’s going to make me forget the argument we just had, and I know he’s going to kiss me so long and well that I’ll forget exactly why I’m mad at him.

So I’m waiting, standing here, against him, his shirt clenched in my fists at his sides, waiting, my body going crazy, still waiting, with his breath ghosting over my lips and my eyes closed and his hand at the side of my face and his fingertips teasing my hair and waiting, waiting, waiting.

I can’t move. Each breath I take hurts. My whole body is burning as he taunts me in the cruelest way.

“Jessie,” he whispers.

“I swear to God if you don’t do something right now, even if it’s leave, I’m going to scream so loud I’ll deafen everyone in this town.”

Then his lips are on mine.

And they’re different from what I expected.

It’s better.

The kiss is, quite simply, everything.

Rough and unapologetic, he unleashes the most demanding assault on my lips, and I can do nothing but fall into him and become his victim.

The way he touches me—it’s predatory. It’s wild and crazy. He’s so powerful and I’m so weak, but I grasp at him anyway, desperately trying to keep up with the feelings he’s sending flooding through my body.

The only one I know is want.

I want Aidan. I want him over me. I want his naked body against mine. I want him inside me. I want to feel him and hear him and breathe him in, just because I can.

He spins me into the wall, and I gasp as my back collides with it. He slips his hands beneath my shirt and yanks it upward, forcing me to lift my arms over my head. It’s gone in a quick swish of fabric, and I grasp at his shirt.

Then that’s gone, too, and his hands are fumbling with the clasp of my bra and it’s undone and the straps are falling down my arms and his naked chest is against mine.

I take a deep breath as he drops his mouth to my neck and peppers kisses all down it. Holy shit. Oh God. I’m throbbing everywhere. I can feel him, pressing against me, and he feels just as desperate as I do.

He wants me just as badly as I do him—I know it, because I can taste it in his kiss.

He pulls back and pauses, looking at me, eyelids heavy, lips parted. He looks like a fucking oil painting standing in front of me, but screw his handsome—I don’t care about how goddamn gorgeous he is right now. I care about the fact that he’s stopped doing what I want him to be doing.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice low. The word shoots right through me and I shiver. He sweeps one arm around my waist and bends, then lifts me onto his shoulder.

“Oh shit!” I wrap one arm around his neck and use the other to secure my boobs.

He drops me at the top of the stairs but keeps hold of me and pulls me to my room. He kicks the door shut behind us and drags me to my bed. I half-trip, half-drop onto my bed, and he falls right over me.

Our tongues mix as we fight between us to undo pants and remove them and move back. It’s quick and just as rough as his first kiss, but I need him, oh hell, I need him.

He opens my legs and leans over me fully, and I clasp my ankles behind his back. He pushes into me and my breath is sharp, finishing with a moan, because this should be wrong, but it feels so good, so right, that it can’t be wrong.

Desire is never wrong. Hearts, minds, they can be wrong. They think about stuff. Bodies? No, they take desire and roll with it and everything else be damned.

Aidan’s fingers dive into my hair as he devours my whole body with his. From his lips on mine to his chest brushing my hard nipples to his cock stroking and thrusting inside my pussy, he completely and utterly fucking devours me. He does it easily and expertly, and I graze my nails along his muscular back, letting him do it.

He slides his arm around my back, grasping my waist, and stills. My chest heaves, but I’ve barely caught another breath before he flips us so he’s on his back. We land in a way that has me dropping down onto him fully, and I cry out at the holy-shit feeling that washes over me.

Aidan chuckles against my mouth, and I nip at his bottom lip sharply before lifting my hips until barely the tip of him is even inside me, then dropping back down quickly.

A groan leaves him, and I smile, doing it again, and again, fighting my own moans of pleasure as I do it.

“Shit,” he breathes, arching his upper back as I roll my hips, rocking on him. “Fuck you,” he breathes again, his hands sliding up my legs. The slap on my ass is sharp and rings out, and I bite the inside of my cheek, inhaling as he palms the same spot after to soothe it. He grabs my ass tightly, easing me up so I hover over him, and when I drop my head to his shoulder, he whispers in my ear, “You ready, Jessie? ’Cause you’re about to get fucked harder than you’ve ever been in your life.”

“Prove it,” I say into his neck through my gasping breaths. “Prove it, Ads.”

One more sharp slap to my ass, and he does.

Holy shit, he does. With his hands on my ass holding my hips over him, he thrusts into me until I can’t breathe and fall apart. Then he keeps going until he does the same, and we’re both limp, sated, unable to move.

And we just lie here, him inside me, his arms around me, and my face buried in his neck.

“Jessie!”

The yell breaks through my sleepy state, and I lift my head. “Hm?”

“Didn’t say anythin’,” Aidan mutters, pulling me closer into him.

“Jessie!”

Recognizing the voice as my sister’s, I groan and press my face into his chest. “If I ignore her, do you think she’ll go away?”

“Jessie!”

“No,” Aidan replies, his body shaking with quiet laughter. “I think you’re gonna have to answer her.”

“Jessie!”

“What?” I yell, rolling over.

“Where are you?”

“In my room! What do you want?”

“I need to tell you something!” Footsteps pound against the stairs, and my eyes widen.

“Don’t you dare come in!” I yell hurriedly. “I swear to God, Sas, don’t!”

The door handle rattles. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I glance at Aidan and he laughs, turning his face into the pillow.

“Then why can’t I come in?”

“I’m naked,” I reply, not shouting anymore. “I had a shower after you left and fell asleep. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Uh, okay,” Sas says uncertainly, and footsteps leading away from my door and down the stairs reassure me that she isn’t actually about to come in.

“Shit,” I mutter, throwing back the covers and swinging my legs out. “Aidan, let me go.”

He shakes his head, scooting over to close the space between us.

“Now, dammit!”

“No,” he mumbles into my hair. “Comfy.”

“Please.”

“No.” He tickles his fingers against my side. I squirm, opening my mouth to yell at him. He’s quicker and flips me on my back and leans over me, tickling the hell out of my sides. I fight against him, screaming but laughing at the same time until it burns to breathe.

“She will come in,” I warn him breathlessly, one foot out of the covers. “She will come in and she will take a picture and freak the fuck out.”

He lets go of me like I just got lit on fire, and I laugh as I get up.

“She would do that? For real?”

“Oh yeah. When I was getting ready for prom, she complained I was using the bathroom for too long, then when I was in here curling my hair, she took a picture of my butt in my underwear and posted it on Facebook.”

“Hey!” He sits up, grinning. “I remember that! Mostly ’cause that’s when I got real pissed that you turned me down.”

I glare over my shoulder at him as I clasp a bra on. “Really? That’s your response?”

“Don’t hate me, but your ass is the best bit of you.”

“No, you don’t say,” I reply dryly, covering said ass with a pair of denim shorts. “I’d never have guessed you like it.”

He laughs. “Can you bring my shirt up with you?”

“Your shirt?” I frown, then, “Oh fuck! Your shirt!” I run out of my room, tugging a tank top over my head, and shoot down the stairs.

“Why is your bra on the floor?” Sas asks, pointing at it.

“The wire is broken so I took it off down here but missed the trash, obviously.”

“The trash can is on the other side of the kitchen.”

“So what’s your point? I have shit aim.”

“Why is your shirt there, too?”

“Because I had to take it off to take my bra off, maybe?” I snatch them up, along with Aidan’s, and turn to her. “What do you want?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Now I want to know why you’re lying.”

“I’m a bitch,” I offer. “There you go. Problem solved. Bye!”

“Jessie!” she whines my name, making me turn around.

“Don’t you have someone to stalk on Twitter or something?” I groan.

“I’m gonna tell Mom you’re lying.”

“Fuck, no, I’m terrified,” I deadpan. “Grow up. You’re not six.”

“You’re right. You are a bit—oh my God.” Her cheeks flame bright red and she slaps her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening to the size of saucers.

And I don’t even need to turn around to know that Aidan’s behind me.

Sas talks against her hand, shaking her head.

“Oh, good grief. He’s a boy, Saskia. You know, the things with different grown-up parts from yours?” I roll my eyes and push past her.

“Why is he naked?” she shrieks.

I turn around with a start, because, fuck no—he can’t be naked! My mind is instantly put to rest when I look at him and see him with his pants on and buttoned and his Calvin Kleins poking above the top of his jeans. Obviously, he isn’t wearing a shirt, because I have that.

“Naked? You think that is naked?” I ask her, eyes on Aidan. “Is Shelton High a nunnery now?”

“I didn’t say I was complaining!” she hisses before remembering he is indeed right there and covering her mouth again.

I would laugh, but okay, I kinda get it.

I mean, he is ripped. Like, hello, those are his abs, and if you laid him down and poured vodka on him, it would pool in the indents between each muscle on his stomach. The tattoos, too. Holy crap, why did I never look at them before? Why didn’t I notice the tiny details in the words inked onto his chest? Or the intricately drawn images that curve around his delightful bicep? Or the lyrics on his side?

Oh, that’s right. Whenever he’s been shirtless around me, I’ve been naked, too.

“Jessie.”

I clear my throat and look up at Aidan. The grin on his face is smug, and I know that wasn’t the first time he had to say my name. “What?”

“Can I have my shirt, baby? I think I’m giving your sister heart palpitations.”

I glance at Sas. She’s still standing there, and I’m totally amazed she hasn’t pulled out her phone and snapped a picture to plaster absolutely everywhere. “Sure.” I throw it to him and drop my stuff in the laundry basket. “Sas? Earth to Saskia?”

She looks at me. “Why doesn’t he have a shirt on?”

“I thought you weren’t complaining.”

“You had sex!” my little sister gasps, pointing at me like it’s the ultimate sin.

“You can’t prove it.”

“Your hair looks like you got screwed by a blackberry bush!”

Aidan laughs, pulling his shirt over his head and, unfortunately, covering up his body.

I pat at my hair desperately before riffling through a drawer for a brush. “Okay, I’m not making any more excuses to you,” I reply, once all the knots are out of my hair and a glance at my reflection in the oven-door glass confirms I look human again.

“Mom!” Sas yells, heading for the front door. “Jessie had sex in her bedroom!”

“You would not believe that my parents are letting her get her learner’s permit next week, would you?” I ask Aidan, pursing my lips as I put my sandals on.

“I remember you being just like that,” he mutters, pulling his keys from his back pocket. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“In the truck or on the death machine?”

His grin is wide, reaching his eyes. “The death machine, of course.”

I sigh heavily, and I’m about to respond when I hear Mom say to Sas, “Darlin’, she’s twenty-four. She can have sex if she wants to have sex.”

“Oh no.” I stop, covering my eyes.

“But she had sex in the kitchen!” Sas lies.

“I did not!” I reply indignantly, looking at Mom. “I didn’t have sex in the kitchen.”

“Who had sex in the kitchen?” Dad asks out of his car window. “I can hear this conversation halfway down the street.”

“Jessie had sex in the kitchen! With Aidan Burke!” Sas tells him, hands on her hips.

“Say it a little louder, the bingo hall didn’t hear,” Aidan mutters into the back of my head, resting his hand on my hip. My lips twitch up even as I deny it again, this time to my dad.

“She’s just annoyed because she saw him without his shirt and played dead like a little meerkat,” I explain.

“You’re such a bitch!” Sas fumes.

I roll my eyes.

“Saskia,” Dad says, “that’s enough. And as for the kitchen, well, how do you think you happened?”

“And that’s the part where I say bye!” I grab Aidan’s arm and pull him past my angry sister and laughing Mom.

Of course, he’s laughing, too, but I stop, horrified, when he calls, “We didn’t have sex in the kitchen, sir. I promise!”

“Oh my God!” I stop us at the gate and stare at him, and I’m undecided whether I’m angry or trying not to die of laughter. It takes some serious balls to say that to my father. “I’m sorry, you’re never allowed in my house. Again. Ever,” I settle for.

He swings his arm around my shoulder, still laughing, and pushes the gate open. “Just don’t tell your sister that.”