Little Lies

by H Hunting

  I take in all of her, naked and on display. Just for me, not a room full of people who all got to stare at my half-hard cock for three hours because I was trying to get a rise out of her. Because I wanted her but couldn’t face the consequences of admitting it. Because I was being an asshole.

  I exhale a shaky breath, and the arms of the chair squeak under my grip.

  She’s almost bare. A thin auburn strip guides my gaze down to the sweet cleft between her thighs. “See something you want?” she taunts.

  “Yes,” I groan.

  “Too bad you’ve been too much of an asshole to deserve to have me.” She skims her lips with a fingertip. There’s pink paint under her nails. She drags her finger down her throat, circles her nipples and continues the descent until she dips between her legs.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak.

  “You’re about to be.” She drops to her knees on the floor, in the middle of the mess of sex toys I dumped out. She grabs a very sizeable, very authentically real-looking dildo, complete with balls, and slams it against the hardwood floor. It’s then that I realize it has a suction-cup base.

  Without looking, she grabs a bottle sitting by her knee and flicks it open. She pours a thin stream over the head of the veiny fake cock and starts stroking.

  Generally I feel pretty good about my size—better than pretty good. But this seems like a lot for someone as small as Lavender. “Baby, I don’t think—”

  “Pet names? Someone’s getting desperate. And you’re exactly right; you didn’t think, at all—not about how your asshole behavior affected me, not about whether I was important too. You used your friendship with Maverick as a cop-out. I’m sick of being ignored and protected. I’m done with the bullshit, Kodiak.”

  “I was protecting you from me.”

  “Still finding excuses, I see. Pretty dumb for someone so smart.” She’s kneeling in front of the dildo, so I can’t see what she’s doing when her hand disappears between her thighs, but the wet sound and her soft whimper are enough to give me an idea.

  Her hand reappears, and she lifts her fingers to her mouth, licking up the length of the middle one. “Mmm, tastes like not yours.”

  Half of me wants to dispute that—because as far as I’m concerned, she’s always been mine—but the other half, the slightly more voyeuristic side, wants to see where she’s going with this. Will she actually go through with it, or is this Lavender trying to push me over the edge?

  I should know better.

  Lavender has spent years sitting in the wings, behind her brothers, behind a stage, behind a canvas or a sewing machine. Lavender is usually the quiet one, watching the action and not participating—unless she’s been drinking.

  But she’s stone sober right now.

  She grips the dildo and slides up the length. She rubs the head over her clit and lines it up with her entrance. Her lids flutter as she sinks down, stretching, accommodating, fucking moaning. Her thighs flex as she rises up, and the head appears before it disappears again, and this time she takes more, up and down, in and out, until all that length and girth is swallowed up inside her.

  All I can think about is what it would be like if she were riding me like that, tits bouncing, my tongue in her mouth, breathing in her moans.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like?” Her fingers dip between her legs, pinching her clit as she slides down the length again. “Being surrounded by all of this . . . ego all the time. Everyone wants to be the best, the biggest, the most, and all I want is to be seen. Acknowledged.” She rises up. “You saw me, didn’t you, Kodiak?”

  No one calls me by my full name. Ever. Not even my parents. It’s not even on my school records. Only Lavender has called me that. As soon as she could pronounce my full name, that’s what she’s always called me.

  “Yes. I saw you. I see you.”

  “But you didn’t want to.” She lowers herself with a quiet sigh. “Too much of a complication.”

  “You were seventeen.”

  “I’m not talking about two years ago.” Rise up. “I’m talking about now.” Slide down. “It’s awful to want something you’re not allowed to have, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry. There was so much to lose.” I move my hand to my thigh.

  “Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t touch yourself. You need to know what it feels like to be me. Always on the outside.” She circles her clit. “Wanting to be wanted.” Her eyes fall closed. “But believing the person you want will never want you back.”

  She shudders, and in true Lavender form, she ducks her head and whimpers quietly as her entire body convulses. Because she’s coming.

  But she hides it.

  Like she hides everything.

  Her wants. Her needs. Her anger. Her hurt.

  Until tonight.

  Silence follows, heavy and thick with lust and something that terrifies me. My dick is so hard, it hurts, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to ask for anything right now.

  Slowly, Lavender unfurls, rising up. The wet suction sound is excessive and loud. She stumbles a few steps, finds her balance, and crosses the room. Grabbing her robe from the back of her door, she shrugs it on and flips the lock.

  “Get out.”

  I uncurl my fingers from the armrest and push out of the chair. I have to rearrange myself, and even that contact almost makes me blow my load. “Lavender.” Her name is guttural—a plea, an apology.

  Her eyes shift from the open door to me, hard and angry. “I hope all the suffering was worth it. If you really want me, I guess you’re going to have to find a way to deserve me.”

  Present day

  I WAKE UP the next morning, and immediately my mind goes to what I did last night. I might have some kind of weird fetish, considering the way I got off on making Kodiak watch me get off. My thighs clench, and I grimace. I’d say I need to do more squats, but I’m unlikely to follow through on that.

  I scrub a hand over my face, aware that I have to deal with Kodiak and whatever this new development is in our relationship. I’m still trying to get over the fact that he spent half a decade avoiding me and the past several months being a giant asshole because he was afraid to ruin me. I’m unsure if that’s narcissistic, sweet, or something else entirely. Although, when I factor in my conversations with my mom and Queenie, I guess it all kind of makes sense.

  I don’t have class, but I want to stop by the theater and work on a project this morning, so I get dressed and prepare to face whoever I may run into in the kitchen. Hopefully everyone is already out of the house or still sleeping.

  I should be so lucky.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, with a massive textbook laid out in front of him, is Kodiak. He’s wearing a Seattle hockey T-shirt that probably once belonged to his dad, based on how worn it is. In the short time he’s been living here, I’ve never seen him study in the kitchen, or anywhere that isn’t his room.

  The fact that there’s a box of Lucky Charms, a bowl, a spoon, coconut milk, and a canister of something I can’t identify because it’s half-hidden by the cereal box, tells me the studying is likely a ruse.

  He looks up from his textbook when I open the cupboard to retrieve a mug. My nondairy creamer is already on the counter, along with the organic agave syrup and a carafe of pressed coffee.

  “The coffee’s fresh.” His voice is a low, quiet rumble that pours over me like warm butter.

  I don’t respond, because it’s not a statement that requires one. I fill my mug and add creamer and syrup, stirring for far longer than is necessary. I’m mentally fortifying myself for whatever is about to happen. Will he go back to being an asshole? Will he say something horrible about what I did last night? Or is he going to magically be the Kodiak I once loved?

  I turn to face him, the mug raised to my lips, sort of like a shield.

  “Hey.” He pushes back his chair and stands. He runs his hand through his hair, eyes moving over me in a slow sweep that makes me feel as naked as I
was last night. He licks his lips and motions to the bowl and cereal. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Yeah, I worked up quite an appetite last night.” Normally my sarcasm isn’t this on point first thing in the morning, but I’m deflecting some fairly intense embarrassment.

  Kodiak cough-chokes, but doesn’t comment otherwise.

  I move the bowl and spoon to the chair across from him, rather than the one beside him, to avoid any potential physical contact. I pull out the chair and sit, somewhat gingerly.

  Kodiak looks like he wants to say something, or ask something, but doesn’t know how or what so he sits back down and says nothing. He also looks tired, as though he didn’t sleep well—unlike me, who slept like a damn baby. It was the same kind of passed-out-like-the-dead sleep I have post-extended panic attack. And I suppose in a lot of ways, it was, because I’d spent a lot of years believing one thing was true, only to be told something else entirely last night.

  I figure blasé is pretty much the only way I can play this without having some kind of epic, girl-style fit that may or may not include screaming and possibly crying.

  “Rough night?” I ask as I shake cereal into my bowl.

  Kodiak is in the middle of a sip of coffee, which he sprays all over his textbook. He coughs a couple of times and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Seriously, Lavender?”

  I shrug and reach for the coconut milk. “You look tired.”

  “Yeah, well, I had a lot to think about.” He pushes the other container toward me.

  I spin it around so I can read the label. “Cereal marshmallows?”

  “You eat all the ones out of the Lucky Charms, so it’s pretty much Alpha-Bits by the time you’re done. I figured this would make the boxes last longer, and you can adjust the marshmallow-to-cereal ratio.” His cheeks flush, and the table shakes, likely because his foot is going on the floor.

  “You think cereal marshmallows are going to make up for years of lies and you being a giant asshole to me?”

  He flips his textbook closed and clasps his hands on the table. His expression is pained. “Are we unfixable?”

  “I don’t know, Kodiak.”

  He goes still and silent. His eyes fall closed, and I watch his chest rise slowly to the count of four, his breath leaving him even slower through slightly parted lips. It feels like all the air is suddenly sucked out of the room.

  So much pain swims in his northern-light eyes when he opens them. “Can we try?”

  “Try what exactly?”

  “To be something again?”

  “I won’t go back to how it was. I don’t want to be that girl ever again, and you can’t undo damage that’s already been done.”

  He nods. “I don’t want it to be like it was before either. And I don’t think it can be, because you’re not the same. I mean, last night you were—”

  I arch a brow, and he drops his head, blowing out a long breath before he shifts course. “Maybe we could try to be something better, something . . . equal?”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” I’m not asking to be difficult, or a bitch, but because I honestly don’t know. I made him into a god as a child and never really stopped believing he was, when truly, he’s as fallible as the rest of us.

  “All I know is that it’s torture being this close to you and feeling like you’re forever out of reach. I wanted to get over you, but I can’t, and I don’t know if I ever will, so please, can we just try?”

  “What are you going to say to Maverick?”

  “Nothing he doesn’t already know, even though he pretends otherwise.”

  He’s not wrong. Maverick has always known there’s something between us, and yet he’s never once said anything. “And River?”

  “I figure you can handle him.” He bites the inside of his lip, fighting a smile.

  I turn my head and huff a laugh. “Making coffee and pulling a box of cereal out of a cupboard doesn’t erase all the awful things you’ve said and done.”

  “I know.” He reaches across the table, palm up. “I’m so tired of trying to make you hate me. I just want to love you again, but better this time.”

  I line my fingers up with his, the tips touching. “I don’t need to be saved anymore, Kodiak. I slay my own dragons now.”

  He curls his pinkie around mine and nods.

  And we begin again.

  Present day

  IRONICALLY, NEITHER OF my brothers is home this morning, so Kodiak and I end up driving in together in my car. It’s weird at best. He doesn’t make any snide, shitty comments. In fact, he doesn’t say much at all, but I can tell by the way he keeps his hands on his knees that he’s seriously anxious.

  “Talk,” I tell him.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s eating at you?” I point to his legs.

  “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”

  “Want to get a little more specific?”

  “I don’t know how to be around you. I want to touch you, but I don’t think I’m allowed to yet.” He runs his hands up and down his thighs.

  “You would be correct.”

  He nods and blows out a breath. “I need to earn your trust again.”

  “You do,” I agree. “And we don’t even really know each other anymore, Kodiak. What if you don’t like this version of me?”

  “I already like this version of you. I like that you don’t take shit. I like that you’re strong and independent and that you know what you want. I like that despite knowing what’s best for you, you still took into consideration what was best for River when you decided you were going to live in that house with them this year, and that you deferred declaring your major so you could get a handle on things first. I like that you won’t just forgive me and let it all go. And even though I have no idea whether or not you’ll ever really be able to forgive me, this is the most at peace I’ve felt in a lot of years.”

  That he’s paid attention gives me hope that maybe we can be a better version of us. Something new and redefined. I pull into the lot and find a spot near the back, shifting the car into park and cutting the engine. “Why is it like this with us?”

  “I don’t know, but fighting it has been torture.” He places his hand palm-down on the center console and splays his fingers out. I spot the small infinity sign tattooed into the webbing between his ring and middle finger on his left hand.

  I trace the sign on the back of his hand. “When did you get that?”

  “Christmas break two years ago.” He flips his hand over again, his expression hopeful.

  “Why?” I slide my fingers between his, and he curls them around mine, squeezing gently.

  “I needed a reminder so I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.”

  “Mistake?”

  “Thinking I could handle being near you without fucking things up.” He stares at our twined hands. “I don’t think I ever got over that night at the carnival. I knew we should’ve waited for you and River, and we didn’t, and then you went missing. It was the longest hour of my life, Lavender, and after . . . none of us was ever the same. You weren’t the same. But when I figured out I could help you with the anxiety, it felt like I got you back, that we were connected again, and I didn’t want to lose that. So I did everything I could to keep you close, and by doing that, I screwed us both up. After we moved, I thought it would get easier, but it never did. And then you stopped answering my messages, and I figured you’d realized how bad I was for you.”

  “Except it was River blocking your messages.” Talking to River about this isn’t going to be pretty.

  We sit in silence for a minute, eyes on each other, absorbing this new situation, until his phone chimes with an alert. He glances at the clock on the dash. “Dammit. I have class in fifteen minutes.”

  We untwine our hands. I feel off-balance after just that innocuous contact, because now that the walls are coming down, there’s potential for so much more. Also, the shit I pulled in my bedroom sits between us lik
e a fresh cum shot.

  So I should not be surprised when Kodiak falls into step beside me as we cross campus and mutters, “Uh, about last night . . .”

  “You really want to talk about that now?” There are people everywhere. Girls gawk openly, as if I don’t exist. He’s walking close, but not quite touching me.

  He side-eyes me. “I was kind of wondering if that was, like, a one-time thing, or if maybe it was going to happen again?”

  “Is that you saying you’d like it to happen again?” How is this even a conversation I’m entertaining at nine in the morning?

  “I wouldn’t be opposed, you know, until I earn the actual right to be the one who does that for you.” We stop in front of the theater, and he jams his hand in his pocket. He looks halfway between earnest and like he wants to devour me.

  “I guess you better talk to Maverick, then.” I turn and walk away, smiling to myself. It’s odd to have the upper hand with Kodiak. Or maybe I always had it and never realized. Either way, he needs to know who he’s dealing with now.

  I could tell Mav, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to make much of a fuss either way, but Kodiak has been his best friend our entire lives, so it’s a conversation they need to have without me to mediate. Also, like I told him last night, Kodiak needs to nut the fuck up about this.

  Besides, I’m going to deal with River, and that on its own is enough.

  I don’t see my brothers or Kodiak for the rest of the day, but I do meet the twins and BJ at the café for a dairy-free latte and one of their edamame salad things. I figure I can’t exist solely on Lucky Charms and muffins, although I would like to try.

  Lovey and Lacey jump up and hug me when I arrive. “How are you? How is everything?” they ask, nearly in unison. “You know you can always come stay with us, if you want to.”

  “I’m fine. Everything is okay. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t live without my sewing machine.” This is the truth. I was going through withdrawal by the end of the first twelve hours. The fact that my roommate was getting plowed outside my door added to my level of desperation.