Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "
Автор книги: Lisa DeJong
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
IT TAKES ME A COUPLE MINUTES to find the perfect target on the dance floor. If I’m going to toy with Blake, I need to make him believe that whoever I find is just as good, if not better than him. He needs to feel challenged.
That’s not going to be an easy find around here—the good-looking part. This isn’t exactly one of those hip downtown clubs.
Then I see him—a guy leaning against the wall, the neck of a beer bottle wrapped in his fingers. He’s got this sexy aura about him—longish dark hair swept to one side, a tight white T-shirt that tapers at his waist and ripped blue jeans. He’ll definitely work—my mother would kill me if she saw me with him.
I stare at him.
He stares back at me, eyes roaming the length of my body.
I stand still, trying to work up the courage to approach him. Where’s the liquid courage when I need it? Before I can talk my feet into moving forward, he pushes off the wall and starts in my direction. His eyes stay on me, dark and seducing. The whole thing plays like a movie in slow motion. My heart hammers—not like it does when I’m with Blake—but with heightening nerves.
Without a word, he grabs my hand and pulls me out in the middle of the packed dance floor. Calvin Harris pumps through the club as he wraps one arm around my waist. My body tenses just for a second, then the alcohol gets ahold of me. I’d be out the door if it weren’t for the help of Jose Cuervo. Instead, I’m pressed against a complete stranger. Letting him touch me, feel every curve of my body. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong either. When I dare look back into his eyes, he’s assessing me, silently begging me to relax against him.
I close my eyes, and I try.
He tightens his arm around my waist, bringing us even closer. This room is suddenly too warm. Too much Jose. Too much of the dark stranger. Too much of Blake. I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands so I wrap my fingers around his strong biceps. It’s safe—not too inviting.
“Relax,” he whispers against my ear.
I nod, drawing in all the oxygen my lungs will hold. He moves us together using his hold on me, and as the song switches, I find my groove. I slide up and down his body, enjoying how free I feel. I feel alcohol flowing in my veins.
The dark stranger glides his hands over the curve of my ass at the same time he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Is this what you had in mind when you looked at me like that from across the room? Because I had a little more than this in mind.”
His lips skim my neck. My breath is stolen from me. The English language leaves me stranded. I wanted to play, to dance, to make Blake jealous, because maybe deep down inside, I want something more than he’s given me.
“That’s enough!” an angry, unforgiving voice yells from behind me.
Blake’s eyes are something so fierce I can’t hold them. It’s too much but yet it’s exactly what I wanted.
“She’s with me.” The helpless man is now just a pawn standing in front of an angry king.
Blake sidles up to him, holding on to the stranger’s bicep so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Let. Go. Now. Asshole.”
“And, what are you going to do if I don’t?”
The grin on Blake’s face is evil. “Trust me . . . you don’t want to know.”
“She isn’t worth it anyway,” the guy says as he lets go of me.
Something immediately washes over Blake’s face, and he pulls his arm back and punches the guy. The whole scene flashes in front of me like lightning. My hand in Blake’s. Him pulling me off the dance floor. My heels click as I try to keep up with him. My head spins from shock and alcohol.
He pulls me into a dark corner and presses me against the wall, his knee wedged between my legs. “Tease Blake time is over. Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?”
“Do you want me to look at your hand?” I watch him flex it over and over again between us.
“No.” He shakes his head. “That dickhead was soft.”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth. I’m a novice at seduction . . . it’s the best I can do. “Dance with me.” Twice in one night. Good job, Lila.
He kisses the corner of my lips, trailing down my neck. His mouth is the equivalent of silk against my skin . . . it’s almost enough to convince me to skip all the nonsense and follow him wherever he leads.
“Blake,” I say, pushing against his chest. “Dance.”
He’s stronger than me—a giant next to my small five foot three frame. He pins my arms above my head with one hand and trails the back of the other along my side. “We’re going home. Now.”
I’d argue if I could speak, but I can’t. His thumb brushes the underside of my breast as his lips crash into mine. I never realize how much I like him, what he does to me, until we’re like this. There’s no denying this.
He grins. “What’s it going to be, Lila?”
Holy hell. I can’t say no to that gorgeous face. “Okay. Let me tell my friends.”
He comes at me like he’s going to kiss me again but stops just short. “Hurry.”
As soon as he gives me enough space, I all but run away from him in search of Reece and Dana. I could just text them. They’d understand. Our booth is empty so I scan the dance floor looking for the two polar opposites. Nothing. Ready to give up, I head to the bar to settle my tab, spotting them taking shots at the end of the bar. This isn’t going to be good.
“I’m leaving,” I announce, sliding between them.
Reece stumbles into the guy next to her when she sees me. “Lila, we’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Not really,” Dana chimes in. “Blake wasn’t going to take his eyes off you so we knew you were in good hands. He has good hands, doesn’t he, Lila?”
Before I can reply, Blake comes to stand behind me, curving his hand around the back of my neck. “How are you guys getting home?”
Reece chuckles, leaning her weight against the bar. “The same way I got here. I think I took the train, or maybe a cab. Do you remember, Lila?”
I’m about to set her straight when Blake speaks up. “What’s your address?”
“Umm. It’s a tall building with bricks. By the way, you better not hurt my friend here, or I’m coming after you. She’s amazing and beautiful and smart. You should be doing more than just fucking her brains out.”
I wince, taken aback by my new friend’s drunken threat. It’s bold and full of truth I’m not brave enough to speak.
Blake curses under his breath. He looks down at me, half irritated, half troubled. “I’m going to run outside and get a cab. We need to make sure these two get home before we do.”
I’m a little shocked by his gesture but can’t place why. Blake was minutes away from hitting the homerun he came to score, but that’s going to have to wait. Strange for a guy who’s self-absorbed most of the time, but I like knowing there’s a caring side to him. “Okay.”
He squeezes my shoulder and walks away, his figure quickly being swallowed by the crowd. It takes a minute to soak in, to see him as more than the god of my desires.
“Where’s he going? Do you think I made him mad?” Reece asks.
“He’s getting us a cab. Let’s pay up so we can get out of here.”
I motion for the bartender, letting him know we’re ready for the bill. While we wait, I practically pour a glass of water down Reece’s throat in an attempt to dilute the alcohol. Not wanting to hang around, I settle the whole bill and pull my friends away from the bar.
Luckily, Dana can still walk a straight line. That much cannot be said about Reece who struggles to keep herself upright. She’s so going to kill me when she sees me at work tomorrow . . . if she makes it.
Blake spots us coming out the door and comes over to help with Reece. He makes sure we’re all safely tucked inside and slides into the passenger seat, giving the driver instructions on which address to go to first.
Reece’s head falls against my shoulder as the car starts down the city streets. It’s quiet except for the occasional voices coming over the cabbie’s radio. Dana lives closest so we drop her off first, watching her disappear behind her door. Next is Reece.
“Wait here,” Blake instructs our driver.
He points to the meter that steadily climbs with every minute we spend in here, but Blake doesn’t respond. Something tells me this isn’t a first for him. He’s too good at it.
We help Reece out and hold onto her until we’re standing in front of the door. “Can I have your key?” Blake asks, holding his hand out.
She unwraps her arm from Blake’s, clumsily digging through her purse. It’s painful to watch this bright, sweet girl struggle to do something so simple. I make a mental note not to do it to her again.
“Here,” I say, reaching for her purse. “Let me help you.” A few quick shuffles and I have her key chain between my fingers. I hand them over to Blake who makes quick work of the door.
“What apartment?” he asks.
I watch her struggle, going from a drunken awake state to half asleep. “Last door to the right,” she mumbles. Thank God it’s the first floor.
We get her inside and carefully tuck her into her bed before retreating back to the waiting cab. Blake hasn’t said much, and my liquid courage is dissipating. He follows me into the backseat, giving the driver the address for his last stop.
Distance remains between us. His elbow rests against the door, his fingers running along his strong jaw as he stares out at the city lights. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t look. That spark isn’t burning as brightly, but that’s what always happens when I think too much. What changed in the little bit since we left the bar?
He does this all the time, hot and cold, cold and hot. It makes it harder and harder to trust him, to know that he has the best of intentions with my heart. But then again, my heart was never supposed to get involved in this.
“You okay?” he finally asks when we pull up in front of our building.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugs. “Did you have a little too much to drink?”
“Maybe, but it’s wearing off now.” Everything is as clear as it should be. Besides, I don’t think this much when I’m drunk.
Blake hands the driver enough cash for the whole ride plus tip and climbs out, holding the door open for me. He walks with me, but we don’t touch. The chilly night suddenly feels a lot colder.
He follows me up the stairs and unlocks our door before I get a chance. He holds it open then makes sure it’s locked again when we’re both inside.
I want the other Blake back—the one who’d set me on the counter and fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow. The one who’d touch me in ways that would make me quit thinking again.
“You should probably go to bed,” he says. He stares at the floor, combing his fingers through his hair.
“What if I’m not tired?”
He laughs—not from humor but from frustration—and looks up. “You have to work tomorrow, remember?”
I nod, disappointment stinging the back of my throat. I’m not ready to call it a night, but I can’t stay here like this. This isn’t how I wanted the night to end. I hurry to my bedroom, careful to close the door behind me. I turn on the shower and strip out of my clothes while I wait for it to heat up.
With a lot on my mind, I stay under the water a little longer than I should. The three corners of my world collided tonight, parts successfully, others not so much. If it weren’t for a few drunken comments toward the end, things would have been perfect.
By the time I step out, my fingers are pruned. My skin bright red. Not wanting to dig around for pajamas, I pull on my robe and haphazardly run a comb through my hair. It’s almost midnight, and I should be tired, but I can’t shut off my brain. It drifts to Blake—why he is who he is, why he’s not easier to read . . . why he doesn’t want me. We all have a story. The more we let people know, the better they understand us.
Most of the things I know about Blake are drawn from what I know about Mallory. Their parents are professionals, still married and all in all good people. I know they pushed Mallory a little bit, but not in a sense that made her struggle under pressure. She drew from it. It helped her keep her focus. Maybe it was different for Blake, or there could be a whole other part of him that I don’t know.
I want to know every part of him.
When I finally emerge from my room, Blake is standing in the kitchen with a beer bottle to his lips. His eyes land on me almost immediately, exploring every inch of my bare, exposed legs. If I’m going to get his whole story, I need to do it his way. I need to speak his language and pray that he eventually speaks mine. This isn’t ideal—it’s a flower that won’t bloom, a tree without leaves. There could be so much more. It could be so much better. But if this is what I get, I’m going to keep it alive.
I walk toward him slowly, noticing the way his fingers tighten around the bottle . . . craving those hands on me. My robe slips off my shoulder, and I make no attempt to fix it. I take slow, calculated steps toward him. He strides around the counter toward me. A force stronger than either of us pulls our bodies together. Clasp. Glue. Desire.
My heart pumps faster when he’s standing right in front of me. Neither of us has muttered a single word. We just stay . . . like this, eyes of lust speaking silently to one another.
The way his lips part, the way his eyes gloss over, is confirmation enough. He craves this just as much as I do. I run my fingers along my belt, slowly untying it as his hands clench at his sides. The cotton robe falls open just enough to give him a glimpse of what he’s trying to deny himself.
I take another step, running my fingertips over my lower lip, pretending it’s him. His tongue sweeps across his lips, and I swear if he doesn’t touch me soon, I’ll scream.
Seduction is new, but I’m finding it’s like riding a bike—I just need to stop over-thinking it and move my legs. To him. To us.
One step closer, and our chests would be touching. I flush just thinking about his skin against mine. The robe slips further down my arm, and, this time, the pull is enough to take it to the ground. So I stand in front of him, naked and exposed, waiting for either the worst form of rejection or the elevator to sexual bliss.
A slow smile pulls at his lips as he cradles my face in his hands. His mouth crashes down on mine. It’s not enough. I want him—no, I need him deeper. I need all that I know he can give me.
I run my fingers over his strained erection, wanting so badly to free him and push him into me. Sex has never been a necessity to me, but with him, I breathe it, dream it. I live for it.
“Not going to sleep?” he asks between kisses.
“I’m not tired.” Definitely not going to sleep after a taste of him.
He pulls away, still holding my face. “I don’t want you to think I’m just using you. What Reece said—”
“She was drunk.”
He runs his thumbs over my cheekbones. “Do you remember what I said . . . about not getting your heart caught up in this? I meant it, but I don’t know if you’re that girl. I don’t know if you can leave your heart at the door.”
My finger covers his kissable pink lips. “Blake, you promised me counter sex. It’s all I’ve thought about all damn day. Now, are you going to give it to me or not?”
“Promise me,” he says, “Promise me that this is all there is. That you won’t let yourself fall into something deeper, because Lila, I don’t want to hurt you.” His chest pulses. My heart clenches. “I can’t hurt you.”
If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Blake’s loved before. To understand pain and hurt, you have to have loved first. Who hurt him so badly that he won’t let himself go through it again?
“Touch me. Please.” I inch my fingers up, brushing against his stomach, his sculpted chest. His body is a touchable masterpiece.
“Fuck,” he mutters, claiming my lips with another kiss. My arms wrap tightly around his neck, pressing my body to his. It feels so right.
Standing on my tiptoes, I whisper against his ear. “I’ve been thinking about the feel of you inside of me all day.”
His cock twitches against my stomach. “Is that what you want?”
I nod, too nervous to say any more. He’s created a sinner. I’m addicted to the fire with which he burns my skin—a slow singe that spreads until my whole body is aflame.
The alcohol is starting to wear off. Just enough remains to give me the confidence for this—to initiate what Blake wouldn’t when we walked through the door. He showed a little bit of nobility—a miniscule version of Prince Charming—with his concern for my heart. It just made me want him even more.
He lifts me off my feet and carries me to the kitchen, his mouth connected to mine. He holds me to him with one arm while using the other to clear a stack of newspapers from the counter. Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m sitting on the edge with Blake between my legs. I’m done messing around . . . I need him inside of me.
Reaching between us, I work the button on his pants. There’s not an ounce of patience left in me.
“Hey,” he groans, gripping my wrist. “There’s no rush, Lemon Drop.”
I look up, using my free hand to run the back of my finger against his jaw. “Are you ever going to tell me why you call me that?”
He grins, pressing his index finger to my lips. “We’re done talking.” His hot lips replace his finger, but I pull back, earning myself a curious look. This back and forth thing . . . we do it a lot.
“Tell me, or maybe I’m not playing tonight.” He better freaking tell me, because there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep with this hungry sensation between my legs.
He leans in, and I think he might kiss me. Try to silence me. But he doesn’t. He pauses a few inches from my face. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing to get between those legs, and you know it.”
“Not true,” I mutter, shaking my head.
He grips my knees then skims his fingers along the inside of my thighs. I spread them wider, thinking it will interrupt his rhythm, but it works against me. His thumbs stroke the top my thighs and a thick groan escapes his lips. “I knew the second you walked out in that sexy little robe that I was going to fuck you.”
When he slips one finger inside of me, I gasp. “You’re so fucking wet and ready for me. I dare you to make me to stop. This pretty little pussy would hate you for it.”
He pushes a second finger into me. Pressure builds quickly. He’s winning, but when he’s winning like this, I’m anything but losing.
He stills his fingers, using his free hand to lift my chin so my eyes align with his. The intensity within them burns into mine. “Want me to stop?”
I shake my head as much as I can against his touch. There’s nothing but green lights when his hands are on me.
His fingers thrust into my body just once, causing me to shutter. “I didn’t hear you.”
I steady my breathing just enough, digging my fingers into his shoulders. It’s not what I want, though. Not even close. “No, fuck me, Blake.”
A smile spreads across his handsome face. “Good girl.”
I sit completely naked in front of him, the light above the sink the only thing illuminating the dark space. The intensity in his eyes is worth drowning in.
“Lean back,” he commands. I do as he asks, watching him strip out of his clothes. The moment I decided to step out of my room, there wasn’t going to be any going back. Blake’s an enigma. I want his body, but I don’t need his heart, at least that’s what I keep telling myself. It may be nothing but a sugar-coated lie, but as long as I still have him like this, none of that really matters.
He splays his hand between my bare breasts, slowly working it down against my flat stomach, circling my belly button. All I want is him inside of me, but he treats me like a wind-up toy—teasing and touching until I explode.
He uses his hands on my thighs to spread me, and then his hot mouth hits my core. His tongue laps my clit a few times followed by sucking. It’s the most amazing feeling . . . the pressure he creates, his skill. I wrap my legs around his back and tug his hair between my fingers in appreciation. This man . . .
My walls clench, causing me to scream out of pleasure. “Blake. Fuck.” I pull his hair harder, letting the silky strands fall from between my fingers.
“That was number one. Let’s work on two and three.” His words alone get the river of desire flowing again. Derek always made sure I had one. To him, that meant I got mine, but in actuality, it just made me want another.
Blake stands and kisses me, letting me taste myself on him. It’s sexy as hell. With his lips still on mine, he pushes into me with one quick motion. I’m so wet and ready . . . for him. His mouth trails my neck as he rolls my nipples between his fingertips. The combination—having so many places touched by him—puts my body into overdrive. I dig my nails into his back as my second orgasm rips through me. It’s better this time with his cock buried deep inside of me.
“Jesus,” he groans, pumping into me harder. He reaches deeper than I ever thought possible. This is what it’s like to be filled completely. “The guy at the club—he could never give you this. You were made for me. So fucking perfect.”
I moan, letting myself fall back on the counter, on full display for him. My mind fixates on the emotional explosion our connected bodies create. I’m so lost in the feeling, my eyes close unintentionally, and then I miss him. I miss the intensity I see in his eyes.
I watch as he pulls open a drawer, still buried in me. I hear shuffling below but don’t think much of it; the sensation of our joined bodies is enough to handle. He slams the drawer shut and puts his fingers to my lips. “Open.”
I narrow my eyes at him in question, but he doesn’t say anything more. He’s going to win . . . he always wins. I part my lips and taste sweet candy on my tongue . . . a lemon drop. Sweet on the outside, tart inside, it’s not my first choice but it has me thinking of him. He thrusts two more times then gently kisses my lips. “Pass me the candy.”
Placing it on the edge of my tongue, I allow him to suck it between his lips. He rolls it in his mouth a few times before bringing his head down to my nipple, lapping it with the candy between my skin and his tongue. The texture does things to me that I never imagined, heightening the sense of arousal. He moves to my other breast, repeating the same.
“Blake,” I cry.
The sticky candy falls from his tongue, slowly sliding down my stomach. He looks up at me, eyes hooded. “You want to know why I call you Lemon Drop?”
I nod, gripping his hair between my fingers. He moves his head back down, tracing circles around the candy with his tongue.
“Until I met you,” he murmurs against my skin. The candy slips lower, and I imagine what it would feel like in his mouth while it’s working my clit. “Life handed me nothing but lemons. Shit. Heartbreak. Bad Luck.” It glides even further. So close. I don’t even care why he calls me Lemon Drop anymore as long as he does what I want him to.
“And, since I met you, things aren’t as black. I even catch myself smiling sometimes. Life’s sweeter with you.” He clenches the candy between his teeth. His cock slips out of me, and I want it back.
“Blake.” His mouth covers my clit, licking and sucking. The lemon drop is cradled in his tongue, providing constant added pleasure. When he said three orgasms, he wasn’t exaggerating.
When I’m mere seconds from falling back into bliss, he stops. I whimper. He’s dangling something so freaking delicious in front of me, but I can’t quite grasp it. He’s a tease, but I keep coming back for more.
He works his way back up, licking a trail around my belly button and my breasts. He thrusts his cock back into me as his mouth trails up my throat. When our eyes are level, he brushes his lips against mine. “Take the lemon drop back, baby.”
His endearment clenches my heart. It’s nothing to him, but it’s everything to me. No one has ever made me feel as wanted as Blake does, and he’s not asking for all of me. With Blake, that will never come; he made that perfectly clear before we even started this.
He startles me from my thoughts when he sticks his tongue out, the lemon drop resting on the tip. I do as he did earlier, clamping it between my teeth. It’s not as good as it was the first time. Most of the sweetness is gone and only the tartness remains.
“How does it taste?” he asks. The question is almost impossible to answer as he picks up his pace, pumping in and out of me. So good.
“Sour,” I breathe, digging my nails into his back. I’m so close it almost hurts—the best type of pain. I’ve never wanted to take in my next breath as much as I do right now.
“That’s how my life was before this . . . before you.” A few more thrusts and my walls contract around him. He groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I clutch onto him like I might fall off the edge of a cliff if I don’t.
He’s going to let go . . . it’s just a matter of time. We’re just supposed to have sex—hot, intense, mind-blowing sex. Feelings and cuddles and long walks on the beach aren’t part of the package, but the more we do this, the more I wish it were. I should have never started this, because once I did, there was no going back.
“Shit,” he spits, quickly pulling out of me. “Shit.”
I’m sitting naked on the edge of the counter, watching him pace across the kitchen in the same state. I don’t understand how we go from one extreme to another so quickly. Somehow, I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to hold. I slip off the counter and start toward my room before he sees the unshed tears in my eyes.
“Lila.” His voice is low, tortured. I want him to call me back to wrap me in his arms, but that’s not going to happen. I turn around anyway.
Unable to speak without crumbling, I stare. He looks like the weight of the world has been dropped on his shoulders.
“I forgot to use a condom.”
A million things flash through my mind but none of them are probably the same as what’s going through his. If he got to know me a little better, he wouldn’t be fretting over this. If I’m not worthy of a relationship with him, I’m definitely not in the running to carry little Blake babies.
“I’m on the pill. I never miss one.”
He sighs, combing his fingers through his hair. “Oh, thank God.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“I know you have more . . . experience than me. Are you clean?”
The curious expression switches to one of irritation. He assumed I was irresponsible; it’s only fair for me to do the same. “I always use a condom. I’m not stupid.”
I nod, feeling the reminder of our sex sliding down my inner thigh. This is crazy. Why do I keep doing this when it leaves me with so much regret?
Blake comes to stand in front of me in all his naked glory. His eyes search mine, and he sees it—the torment he’s caused within me.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t inherit the sensitivity gene.”
“The pretend-to-care one would have been nice,” I chide, folding my arms in front of my chest.
“Lila.” He cradles my face in his hands. “I care, and I’m going to find a way to make this up to you. Do you want me to run you a bath?” He leans in to kiss my lips tenderly—a peck for each corner, then ending in the center.
As soon as he lets go of me, I start walking backward. “I think I’m just going to go to bed. Besides, it’s going to be hard to top the lemon drop.”
He laughs, real and throaty. “I already have that covered.”
“We’ll see.”
He reaches out, running the back of his fingers along my jaw and down my neck. “I meant what I said earlier . . . why I call you Lemon Drop. This is all I can give you, and I hope it’s enough for now because I don’t want to lose this. I swear you’re the only thing I look forward to these days.”
I lean into his hand, buying myself time to form a response that won’t give away what I’m really feeling. He’s not equipped for that right now. “I don’t want to lose this either.”
“We need to be smart about this.” I know he’s talking about the condoms, and maybe even my falling heart, so I don’t ask for any more explanation. I don’t want to hear it.
I nod, and without another word, I turn to walk back to my room. The lemon drop was the most sensually sweet thing I’ve ever experienced, and he just ruined it. Realizing the tart remnants of the candy are still in my mouth, I roll it against my tongue. Still tart. When I stop and think about it, the tartness lasts longer than the sweet coating. Sex for us is the sweet coating, and everything else that comes with it, or doesn’t come with it, is the unwanted tart center.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop eating them.
