Truth Be Told

by Marie James

  I don’t question the way my body obeys him, rather I climb out of the bed and head in his direction.

  The second I’m within reach, his arms are around me and my body is flush with his.

  God, why did I wait so long to let him do this?

  My tears drip onto his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He closes the bedroom door behind us, picking me up in his arms when I can’t convince my legs to move. Burying my nose in his throat, I keep from looking at the bed as he walks us closer.

  Ignacio and I were intimate more times than I can count when we were younger, but privacy and a cozy bed were never a part of the equation. As lascivious teens, the location we got naked didn’t really matter, just that we got naked and pleasured one another.

  I tense in his arms, the memories choosing this very inopportune time to come rushing back. The taunting, hurtful words, his confession that he was only using me because he wanted my virginity. The way I so easily gave into him because of the dedicated interest he showed me. I was starved for it when I was younger because my parents were so busy with work trying to provide a better life for us. He saw me coming, a game to play, a brand-new toy he needed to break.

  “Easy,” he whispers as he lowers me to the bed. “I’m just going to hold you.”

  I know I should pull away instead of getting sucked back into him, giving him just one more opportunity to hurt me, one more kick when I’m already so far down I can feel the ground against my face.

  But I don’t. I let him lower me to the bed, trying not to look when he pulls his t-shirt over his head in that sexy way by grabbing at the fabric between his shoulder blades. Is it another ploy, a way to get my undivided attention on him?

  I don’t have the energy to evaluate what I feel as he climbs in the bed, immediately pulling me against his warm skin. My hand goes to his upper abs, the muscles jumping under my touch as I settle my head on his shoulder.

  It shouldn’t feel so good to be this close to him again. We’ve had sex, but there’s an intimacy happening right now that I don’t know that we ever took enough real time to accomplish when we were younger.

  His heartbeat is soothing in my ear, his breathing shallow and calming, and for a second I let myself imagine a perfect world where my mother is healthy, and my son knows his father because the man raised him. I let myself picture a happy home without drafty windows and a job I love rather than one that makes me want to pull my hair out in the parking lot each day before I walk inside. In this version of my fantasy, Ignacio is there, a smile on his face and arms willing to wrap themselves around me because he loves me not because he feels obligated.

  His fingers sift through my hair as my eyes drift closed, the soothing touch turning into something more when his fingers tangle, making my head jerk a little.

  “Sorry,” he whispers, but the sound is more of a growl with my head so close to the source, and it makes other parts of my body come alive, parts that have been denied for far too long.

  Jesus, my mother died less than twelve hours ago, and I’m getting turned on by this man. When I try to pull away, to put a little distance between us, his arm tightens around my back.

  Closing my eyes again doesn’t help. Licking at my dry lips doesn’t help. I’m certain getting up and going back to the other room wouldn’t even calm the fire building inside of me at such a ridiculous time.

  When I pull my head back and look down at him, I’m met with hooded, dark eyes and an unspoken warning.

  “Tinley, don’t,” he warns as if he can read my mind.

  It’s a bad idea. I know it and he knows it but he doesn’t stop me when I lower my mouth to his. He doesn’t push me away when my tongue swipes at his lips begging for entrance. He gives me what I need, tangling his tongue with mine, his grip around my back becoming so tight I can hardly breathe.

  Or maybe it’s the feel of his mouth on mine, the culmination of the two times we nearly kissed what seems like a lifetime ago.

  “Tin,” he groans, the whisper a warning against my mouth.

  “Please,” I beg, needing something to take my mind off my shitty life, needing it to be his touch that takes me to a different place than the fucked-up reality I’m currently suffering through.

  He shifts us then, his body covering mine, his mouth devouring mine as if he’s just as starved for me as I find myself in need of him.

  “Fuck,” he grunts when I guide his hand down my stomach to the apex of my thighs.

  He seems content to touch me over my clothes, but that isn’t going to work for me. His mouth kisses down my neck, a rough but attentive hand groping at my breasts as I slip out of my jeans and panties. His fingers don’t need direction this time when I reach to pull off my shirt and unclasp my bra, but when I’m fully naked, panting on the bed and looking up at him, he takes a moment, pulling back and looking down at me.

  His fingers trace over the stretch marks, the evidence of my pregnancy in the white slivers on my lower belly.

  I’d be self-conscious of them if it weren’t for the awe I can read on his handsome face. When he inches back further, lowering his lips to them, I have to look away. The sincerity feels real, but I’ve been fooled by this man before. I want the pleasure without the hope, so I let my eyes flutter closed.

  He’s not ravenous, aggressive in his actions like he was when we were younger. His movements, the lick of his tongue, even the tempo of his breath against my skin is measured. My body trembles, my legs shaking uncontrollably as his intentions become clear. A talented tongue swipes at the most intimate part of me forcing my back to bow off the bed. My fingers tangle in his hair, the sharp intake of his pleased breath at the action enough to nearly send me over the edge. I bite my lip, rolling it between my teeth to keep from moaning. The sound, trapped in my throat, turns into a whimper, a demand for more, more, more.

  And he obliges.

  God, does he give me what I want, what I’ve been needing and didn’t know to ask for.

  One suck on my clit is all it takes before my body bends to his will and detonates. The room spins, tiny prickles covering my skin as a halo sensation blankets me. He works me through my orgasm, his mouth and tongue a perfect combination of bliss.

  God, I don’t think it was ever like this before. The man was hell-bent on giving me pleasure before, but this, this is something altogether different.

  “Jesus, Tin,” he whispers, his mouth finally releasing me from its power as he kisses the inside of each thigh. “I told myself I wasn’t going to. I was going to give you what you need.”

  He pulls back, hands immediately going to the zipper of his jeans, making another thrill run through my entire body, the tingle so forceful the muscles along my spine begin to ache with the effort.

  “Yes,” I say, the plea clear in my voice.

  I reach for him, wrapping my hands around his length before he can get his jeans all the way down his muscular thighs.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  His head leans back, eyes pointed to the ceiling as I stroke down him, trying to recall if it’s just been too long and my memory is faded or if he’s possibly bigger than he was before.

  “Tin, goddammit.” Then his head snaps forward, eyes drawing me in before hot spurts of cum hit my belly.

  He groans, his eyes going a little unfocused as a small smile plays on my lips.

  “Wow,” I murmur when he finally breaks eye contact.

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “If you say we shouldn’t have done that, I’ll strangle you,” I hiss as I release his cock.

  He huffs a humorless laugh. “No way. I was going to apologize for coming so fucking fast, but going by the pleased look on your face…”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads. I wanted him inside of me, but I think things worked out perfectly. Taking that step with him again isn’t something I had time to consider the consequences of, but knowing he was so hot for me it took just a few strokes of my hands to help him
find his release makes pride swell in my chest.

  “You used to last longer,” I tease as I look down at the mess on my stomach.

  “It’s been—I—let me get you a washcloth.”

  He disappears into the bathroom, coming back with his jeans zipped up. He’s no longer smiling, and instead of wiping away his orgasm like he’s done before, he hands over the washcloth before finding his shirt and pulling it back over his head.

  He takes the washcloth from my hand, trading it for my own pile of clothes, the order to get dressed in the action.

  I’m feeling vulnerable again, the promise that I made to myself that I wouldn’t regret what we did creeping in and making a liar out of me in less than an hour.

  We don’t speak as he climbs back in bed. I don’t try to move away when he pulls me back to his chest, but the action seems more forced than it was before.

  Eventually, I fall asleep with a million questions pinging around in my head. I don’t know what to do about him, or the house, or my mother’s death. I don’t know how this day will affect Alex or what I can do to make my brother see reason.

  But some of those questions are answered when I wake up alone and find Ignacio asleep on the couch. As much as I could focus on the pain that settles into my bones from that situation alone, I have too much other stuff on my plate to give it a second thought.

  Chapter 21

  Ignacio

  Things are different the second I meet Tinley’s eyes in the morning.

  Regret. Anger. Hatred.

  It’s all there on her pretty face when she comes into the living room. I somehow managed to sleep through her getting her bag from the other room and going back to mine to shower.

  Alex, unaware of the tension in the air, watches television while waiting for room service to deliver breakfast as Tinley actively avoids my eyes.

  I hated not waking up to her in my arms, but when I went to check on Alex after she fell asleep, she was starfished on the bed, her tiny body somehow taking up space nearly to all four corners. Knowing she needed her rest, I crashed on the couch, waking up with a rock-hard cock and a twinge in my neck. I’m sure she has the ability to work out both for me, but the nasty look I got warned me to not even ask.

  God, the way we were last night. We didn’t even have sex, and I can easily rank it as my number one top sexual experience. I should probably regret it, should focus on the lies she’s told me, but there’s no way. Her coming apart against my mouth… If my son wasn’t in the room right now, even despite her attitude, I’d throw her chef kisses and ask when she’s serving lunch.

  I cough, clearing my throat when she walks in, her jeans hugging her ass like a second skin. I don’t regret my son. I haven’t for a single second since I found out about him, but I’d give my retirement account just for five minutes alone with his mother in this moment, knowing it would take mere minutes to make her get over her attitude, make her realize just how good we are together. Two minutes to get my cock inside of her is all I’d need.

  “I’m going to take an Uber to the funeral home,” she says, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

  She’s dealing with so much shit, and I’m wondering when I’ll get to put my mouth on her tits. I’m the biggest asshole that’s ever walked the earth.

  I didn’t forget about Brooke’s passing, the pain of the loss was clear in Alex’s eyes when he lumbered into the living room thirty minutes ago. I just let my mind wander to my own needs, and that’s a total dick move.

  “We can go together,” I offer. “Breakfast is on the way up.”

  I don’t miss the way she avoids looking at me.

  “I need to go alone,” she says. “Can Alex stay here with you?”

  This makes the second time she’s asked me to be responsible for him, and I’d take joy in that if it weren’t for the fact that both times, the first at his baseball game when she got the call about her mom and again now, she’s simply asking out of necessity.

  “He can.” I stand, reaching into my pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”

  Her eyes dart to Alex, and I understand. Hashing out final details with the funeral home isn’t something she wants him to experience.

  “Ok,” I agree. “But take the truck so you don’t have to wait for a ride.”

  She takes the keys when I offer them, and I use the opportunity to run my thumb over the back of her hand. She doesn’t respond the way I want. She simply pulls the keys away and heads over to Alex. She whispers softly to him before pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving the suite.

  There’s a finality to the sound of the door closing behind her, as if the door is a wall she’s just firmly locked back in place. It screams I regret it, it’ll never happen again, you took advantage of me when I was weak.

  I get the message loud and fucking clear.

  Alex, thankfully, is ignorant to what happened last night and what just happened, and for that I’m grateful. Now I can only hope that Tinley doesn’t use the latest mistake of mine to make my son withdraw from the relationship we’ve been working on.

  Alex eats breakfast in a nearly catatonic state, muscle memory making his fork shovel food into his mouth as his eyes stay locked on the television. The sound isn’t even on, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice.

  I sit with him in silence, not tasting the eggs and toast I ordered for myself.

  I’m so out my element right now. I don’t know what to say to make things better. I don’t know that there’s actually anything I could tell him that would set him at ease a little, so I don’t even try. The last thing I want is his anger, and I know it’s bottled up inside of him waiting for an outlet. I know he needs to release it, but I’m a selfish bastard, not wanting it to be directed at me. The tenuous bond we’ve built could be shattered with a few hate-filled words, and I’m not willing to risk it right now, not with the look on Tinley’s face when she left. If he told her he never wanted to see me again, I don’t know that she would defend me at this point.

  I fucked up big time last night. I wanted to stop it. I knew deep down that no good could come of it, but her persistence, even if it was just a blink in time before I gave in, was too much to deny. When her mouth met mine, when her tongue begged for entrance, I was already gone, lost to her and the warmth of her body against mine.

  I knew deep down before I crawled in bed with her that if things went that direction, she wouldn’t see me the same way before we touched.

  I fucking knew.

  And I did it anyway.

  “I’m going to go make a phone call,” I tell Alex, unable to sit idle and do nothing.

  The call connects, a video chat with Wren before I break the threshold into the bedroom.

  “Tough news yesterday, man,” he says when the call connects.

  “Yeah,” I agree, a small smile playing on my lips when a squawking version of Bob Marley’s version of Everything’s Gonna Be Alright comes from Puff Daddy.

  “Now’s not the damn time,” Wren snaps at the bird, only to be met with raspberry sounds from his African Grey parrot.

  “Just let it happen,” the bird snaps before he dives right back into the chorus of the song.

  Wren rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

  “How are things at work?”

  “You really want to talk about work?”

  I look away from my phone screen.

  “Unless you have a magic wand to wave over this entire situation?”

  “Man, do I wish. Deacon asked me earlier if I thought sending a couple of the guys down there would help.”

  The offer hangs in the air between us. Having the guys I work with—men I view as brothers—would be amazing, but I have to focus on Alex and Tinley and what they need, not what would benefit me right now.

  “The offer stands,” he says when I don’t answer.

  “I appreciate it.”

  “We can talk about what’s going on here,” Wren offers.

  “Tel
l him, fucker!” the bird yelps. “Tell him what happened!”

  “More drama in the Nelson household, I presume?”

  Wren and his live-in girlfriend share the same last name and is the sole reason they ever met in the first place. After a misplaced package of sex toys was mistakenly sent to him instead of her months ago, he did what he does best by researching her and practically falling in love with what he found before he ever laid eyes on her in real time.

  Wren is distracted and glaring at his bird, and I take the time to really look at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if Tinley looks at my familiar face and only sees the man I used to be or the man I am now. From the way she acted this morning, I can only presume it’s the former.

  “Tell him!” the bird urges again, his animal voice marked with anger. “Tell him what Satan did!”

  “Simon—”

  “That fucking devil cat!”

  “Simon—” he begins again.

  “Deserves to die!”

  “Do you want me to tell him or are you going to keep—”

  “A slow painful death!”

  Wren pauses, his eyes focused across the room at his interrupting parrot.

  “Look at me!” the bird insists. “Look what he did!”

  Giving in, Wren turns his camera so I can see the fucking bird. I swear the damn thing has to be the center of attention in every situation.

  Puff Daddy, the name he already had when Wren got him as a teenager, has his back to the camera, his little body bent over with what should be his tail feathers stuck in the air. If a bird can have a bare ass, then that’s what I’m looking at.

  “Where are his feath—”

  “That goddamn cat!” Puff spreads his wings, jumping up and down like a maniac.

  We both wait for the squawking and long tirade of cuss words to end, but they seem to go on forever.

  “What’s going on?”

  I turn to find Alex standing in the doorway of the room, his face marked with trepidation. I can only imagine what it sounds like to him.

  “Who is that man?” Puff demands.

  I want to scoff. Alex is far from a man despite his size.