Lies You Tell

by LaQuette

  This motherfucker is going to ruin me…again.

  * * * *

  Dante was on fire. That was the only way he could describe being inside Sanai again. It was the most welcoming heat that burned him from the inside out as he joined his body with hers. His body instantly remembered that intense zing of electricity that flew from his heart straight down to his cock and balls.

  He pressed his full length inside her, bottoming out in the tight, hot depths of her cunt. Bliss was what he felt. It was soul piercing, ripping at the very core of his being. He’d ached for so long to feel this connection, the thing that had kept him whole, sane, human during their time together.

  He bent down, resting his weight on his elbow, sinking his teeth into the flesh on the gentle curve of her neck. “Gotta move,” he growled. His hips snapped, bringing his full weight down against her. He’d apologize later for how quick this was going to be, for how sore she was going to be when this was done. Taking care of her had always been his priority, but finding her alive after so many years of crippling grief had fire shooting through him, need he couldn’t control if his life depended on it.

  If he were in his right mind—well, if he were in his right mind, none of this would be happening. That ship had long since sailed from the moment she touched him and looked at him with those wide brown eyes that always made his heart still for moments at a time.

  He placed a firm hand behind her knee and pressed, opening her for him, giving himself more room to do what his body commanded—drill.

  He buried himself to the hilt with each rapid thrust of his hips. Her body quivered around him. They were only moments into this, and he could feel her nearing her breaking point already. He changed his angle slightly, remembering instinctively where her sweet spot was. He rammed inside her with repeated staccato movements, trying his damnedest to abrade that little bundle of electricity that would send her tumbling over the edge of ecstasy.

  He felt his balls hiking up with each thrust, tight, heavy, begging for release. He kept up his punishing pace, keeping his cockhead zeroed in to the same spot, waiting for her to break.

  He felt the first tremors of her orgasm ripple around him, grabbing on to his cock like a clutched fist. He pulled her other knee up, deepening the angle, pulling guttural noises from her with each stroke.

  Those strangled cries pressed against his sensitive hair trigger.

  “Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkk!” he ground out as fire erupted from the tightness in his balls, up his shaft, and into the thin latex barrier separating them. Each spurt drained him of the fire he’d been carrying since his mind first latched onto the idea that Sanai could be alive. When the last jet of cum left him, he collapsed, his balls wrung dry, changing angles just in time to keep from crushing her, landing most of his weight off to the side on the floor.

  Life had played a cruel trick on him, had gouged his heart and soul with a fiery poker. He’d been left with a soulless shell of an existence. So now, on the floor, in the presence of the only woman he’d ever loved, he wrapped his arms around her, cradled her into his secure hold, and rested. Every inch of him, even the soul that’d been gone for so long, rested and slept in peace.

  Chapter Four

  Sanai absolutely loved her bed. It was one of the few luxuries she’d allowed herself since her son’s birth. It was one of those memory foam mattresses that folded around your body and hugged you into slumber. The price had made her cringe, but the effortless way she fell into sleep during the day when she returned from a grueling night shift was proof enough she’d spent her money well.

  She must’ve been more tired than she realized, or the bed was even more luxurious than before, because her entire body felt surrounded by this incredible warmth, a warmth she’d only known in her past. Not now, not here in her bed in Brooklyn.

  She attempted to pull herself from what had to be a dream, the feeling of security surrounding her too right and familiar to be real. She felt a strong force pulling her farther down into her mattress.

  “Dante?” she queried.

  The heat intensified against her back. She pressed into it before reality began to crowd into her mind. Brief glimpses of how they’d rolled around on the floor like animals, grunting and humping until they were both breathless with completion.

  She shrank against that thought, of how easily she’d allowed him to crawl up in her without the slightest bit of hesitation after six years. She tried to pull away from him again, but he tightened his hold around her waist and pulled her into the cocoon of his chest.

  “No running,” he huffed out.

  “Dante,” she answered, her voice pleading.

  He shook his head, not willing to give in to her silent pleas. “No, Sanai, no waiting, no stalling. Why the fuck did you let me believe you were dead?

  The sharp tone snapped her out of the sleepy fog in her head and propelled her mind toward the here and now.

  She forced her eyes open, forced herself to revisit the anger and pain etched on his face. It was less sharp than before, but it was still there, bubbling just below the surface of his skin. His eyes were wide with what looked like disbelief. Even after he’d fucked her into oblivion, she could see doubt cloud his eyes. Asking all the questions his mind and lips hadn’t formed yet.

  He reached out to her, but she backed away, the movement causing a darkness to fall over his ebony eyes.

  “Please… I just… I need…” he begged.

  He didn’t need to finish that sentence. The fragmented pieces made more than enough sense to her. Encounters with ghosts may not have been rare to the human experience, but finding one who was still alive couldn’t be all that common.

  She nodded and leaned forward into his touch. A well-known, calloused hand cupped her cheek and caressed her skin reverently. Her body relaxed into it, falling into the memory of its feel, of its power. There was a strength there, one she’d always believed would protect her from any threat.

  But it didn’t. It hadn’t.

  Before she could fully form the thought and command herself to leave his grasp, she was being drawn into his embrace, his arms pulling her closer to him, locked around her back, crushing her to the hard wall of his chest.

  Her eyes instinctively closed when her body made contact with his. How many hours had she spent wrapped up in these very arms that were holding her now? How many times had she found the greatest bliss pressed against his skin, his muscles, surrounded by this embrace?

  Too many times to count.

  Common sense told her to get up, but sense memory begged for just a moment longer in those solid arms. It had been so long since she’d experienced that excitement, the love, the safety.

  These last six years had been spent constantly glancing back, always afraid of every dark space she encountered. In the shadows lurked a monster that’d nearly succeeded in ending her. But there was something else in the darkness, something besides the fear of her unknown assailant chasing her…there were memories of him, of this.

  Loneliness swelled inside her as her mind drifted back over that time. The first three years had been spent raising a child while she fought for a college education. Her son was just six weeks old when she’d entered college. When he refused to let her sleep at night, she’d cradle him in one arm and her respiratory therapy textbooks in the other.

  She and Nazario had survived that exercise in torture without bloodshed—well, without too much bloodshed—and they were each still alive. She walked out of community college with a degree, a solid job offer, and a means to support her child and herself on her own terms.

  She wouldn’t trade the pride she felt for the life she’d created for the two of them, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t missed this particular man’s touch.

  She felt a violent tremor shake her insides. She stiffened as a reflex to stop it.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he released his hold on her. “I didn’t mean to hold you so tight.”

  Please don’t
let me go.

  If she could only say those words out loud. Beg him to keep her in his embrace, to let her rest for once.

  “I was on my way to your house from school when my father called and demanded I take care of an errand for him. It seemed like I was never going to be done. As soon as I finished up I rushed to get to you,” he whispered.

  “We were supposed to go away that weekend,” she added softly. They’d been planning that trip since the beginning of the semester. They were going to come up to New York to meet his best friend Big Tony. Dante spent so much time talking about his friend and his friend’s family, Sanai had been just as eager as Dante to put a face to the legend.

  “I wanted Big Tony to meet you so badly. I knew I was ready to make a life with you, and I needed you to meet Big Tony and his son before I took the next step. I just wanted to be done with my father’s errand and on our way to New York. I knew once the trip was over I was going to have a ring on your finger and a promise that you were going to be mine forever.”

  She closed her eyes to the images his words were creating. There he was in a vivid reality that was so far from the truth of what had actually happened that night, smiling, looking up at her proudly from bended knee with a shiny engagement ring in his hand. She was there too, shaking with happiness, tears streaming down her face, love swelling inside her, threatening to burst her chest open with its fullness.

  She would have said yes. There was no question in her mind. She loved him, had loved everything about him with her entire being. If he’d asked her to be his wife, there was no doubt she would have happily agreed.

  “I’d finally turned onto your street when I saw all the commotion. I don’t remember how I got out of my car or through the crowd that was out there that night. I just remember seeing the flames licking the dark sky. I remember the water pouring on the house from the fire truck’s hose. It wasn’t until I saw Mrs. Johnson’s old pickup truck that I knew it was your place on fire.”

  She heard a break in his voice, a small tremble followed by a sniffle. She didn’t want to see his hurt, not after what she’d done. It was so much easier to just pretend he’d gone on with his life without much fuss over losing her. She spread her fingers across his chest and let him continue.

  “I tried my damnedest to get through the crowd, but the authorities caught me. It wasn’t until I saw them bring your body out that all the fight left me. There wasn’t much for me to look at. The only thing that survived on your person was the locket I gave you for your birthday.”

  He removed one of his hands from around her back and reached across her to the nightstand. When he brought his hand into her view again, a large, oval, white-gold locket spun from the necklace he was gripping with his thick fingers.

  “How did she have your locket, Sanai? Why did you let me believe you were dead all this time?”

  * * * *

  Pulling out of those arms, even after so many years had passed, was still a difficult thing. She fought to keep her eyes off his face. If she looked at him, if she saw the pain her ears detected in his voice…

  She braced herself on her elbows and pulled herself up against the headboard of the bed. She dragged the covers with her, keeping her naked body shielded from his burning gaze. Should she feel this vulnerable in front him? No, especially not after she’d been spread-eagle on the damn floor for him, moaning like she’d lost her damn mind.

  “It fell off, Dante,” she whispered, her voice shakier than intended. She heard a hard gasp and followed it until her gaze collided with his. They were obsidian, so dark and so deep she felt as if she were falling into endless night.

  “How?” he barked.

  “My friend from beauty school, Shana, she’d come over to braid my hair for the trip. The chain from the locket must have gotten caught in the braiding hair. I got up to go to the bathroom and the clasp popped. I went to my bedroom to get a pair of tweezers to see if I could fix it.

  “Once inside I heard a crash through the front door. I went to see what was going on, but I caught Shana’s gaze through the hall mirror and watched her slightly shake her head no. I quietly closed the door to conceal my presence.

  “I’d caught a glimpse of two burly dudes—white, dark hair, built—and this pretty brunette with these strange blue eyes in the living room before I’d closed the door. I heard them slam Shana against the wall.

  “I could hear Shana yelling through the closed door. The woman thought Shana was me. She didn’t seem to know my name—just knew that I was involved with you. Told Shana she wasn’t about to let some little black bitch steal what was hers. After that I heard slapping, kicking, and punching. What I didn’t hear was Shana. She took that beating quietly to protect me, to keep them from finding out I was hiding in the bedroom.

  I grabbed my cell from my bed, made sure it was on silent, and texted the police and you. I didn’t know at that time the local nine-one-one system wasn’t set up to respond to text messages.”

  “I never received any messages from you that night,” he answered.

  She knew he hadn’t, but telling him how she knew would break a promise she’d made long ago.

  “When I heard quiet, followed by a car engine turning over and zooming away, I put my hand on the doorknob to go help Shana, but it was hot. I touched the wood of the door. It was hot too. I looked down, and there was smoke seeping under the door.

  “I grabbed the comforter off the bed and blocked the bottom of the door, trying to keep some of the smoke out.

  “Before I could think to try to escape through the window, I heard another crash, glass was everywhere, and then a set of strong hands was pulling on my arms, forcing me toward the window, pushing me out to safety.”

  She made sure to keep her eyes focused on the threads of the sheets covering her. Dante had a way of seeing beyond the facade she showed to the rest of the world. If she looked at him now, she knew he would see a truth she couldn’t reveal.

  “One of the neighbors heard the commotion. He spotted me and broke the window to help me escape. He helped me get a couple of things together and get here to New York.”

  He pulled himself up against the headboard, the heat of his skin searing the flesh of her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me, Sanai? I would have protected you.”

  “Protected me?” Her brow arched and her neck turned in a sharp, irritated motion. “I was placed in danger because of you. Because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. Some crazy chick killed my friend while I hid in the next room because you were fucking us both at the same time. How exactly could you have protected me from that?”

  He shook his head. Biting fingers grasped her chin and forced her to keep her gaze on him. “I never cheated on you. You were right—that bitch was crazy—but it had nothing to do with me cheating on you and everything to do with a family business dispute she was attempting to sway in her favor.”

  He closed his eyes, took a small, calming breath, and let his heavy gaze bear down on her. “I loved you, Sanai. There was never anyone but you in my life. You were all that I…”

  She saw his gaze waver, stumble over something behind her. Cold washed over her when she realized what he must be staring at. He leaned past her, effectively securing her against the headboard so she couldn’t stop him. He picked up the lone picture frame resting on her nightstand and positioned himself against the headboard next to her.

  She didn’t need to look at the photo to know what he was seeing. That picture greeted her every time she opened her eyes to welcome a new day or closed them to say goodbye. It had been taken when Nazario was four. It was his first day of Pre-K, and she was both proud and sad at the same time, watching the child she’d shared with only Mrs. Rossi and Becca up until then.

  His bright smile was so full of excitement, and that picture had been taken as a final memento to get her through the upcoming six hours she’d have to spend without him.

  “I’d ask you who this is.” The quiet strength of his voice seem
ed to shake the entire room. “But since it looks exactly like a picture I took when I was that age—you know, except for the cornrows, of course—I’d say you left Florida carrying more than just luggage.”

  His voice was so cavalier if she couldn’t feel his body vibrating next to her, she might just have believed he was joking.

  “Tell me, Sanai. When did you and Bernadino conspire to steal my son from me?”

  Chapter Five

  “How did you—”

  “Know Bernie was the good neighbor that helped you escape? I grew up in Brooklyn, Sanai, with Big Tony and Bernie. Where do you think we spent time as kids? Downstairs eating at Mrs. Rossi’s table. If you’re gonna lie, be sure your audience has no way of finding you out.”

  He said nothing further, simply pulled his phone from the nightstand on the opposite side of her bed, tapped a few times, and then shoved the phone in her face.

  It was an old picture. Even though this copy was digital, she could tell from the faded colors and the faint lines that marred the photo where someone had apparently bent it in half. He’d probably scanned it to create this digital copy she was now staring at.

  There was a young woman, dark-chocolate eyes and hair the color of midnight cut into a short bob around her chin. On her lap was a smiling boy with his hands thrown in the air. The face, the nose, the lips, eyes—everything was a match for her son. She’d always known Nazario favored his father, but never had she understood just how much. They were twins born more than a quarter century apart. One with raven curls, the other with raven cornrows, both holding equal parts of her heart hostage.

  Quick movements next to her jostled her, forcing her to look up at his naked form. Strong back, carved in thick muscle. A high curved ass. Its lack of jiggle told her how firm it was, even without the benefit of touching it. Ropes of corded muscle contracted and flexed as his thighs moved him to the center of the room. He picked up his boxer-briefs, pulled them on, and snapped the waistband in anger.