Liar, Liar

by T. L. Martin

  “That’s not going to work,” I say, arching a brow. “I need you to remove a few layers of clothing.” His brows shoot up, and my cheeks flush as I realize how that sounded. Being mature is a fucking buzzkill. “Because of the heat. It’s important you don’t get too cold or too hot, so I already had the heater turned up since it’s raining outside.”

  His lips twitch. “I’m not taking anything off.”

  “Easton—”

  “But I’ll let you take it off for me.”

  Heat curls in my lower stomach. He’s playing dirty. I might be all grown-up now, but I’m still Eva. No one plays dirty better than me.

  I smile slowly, and I step between his spread legs. “I’d love to undress you.”

  I trail my finger along his jeans, then watch his Adam’s apple work up and down when I drop to my knees.

  “First,” I say softly, sliding my palms up his T-shirt. His stomach rises and falls beneath my touch, abs tightening as I work my way higher. Reaching his shoulders, my fingers slither under his hoodie, and I start to slip it off. “Your jacket.”

  His eyes are heavy-lidded on mine as I slowly pull the sleeves past his biceps and down his arms. I lean close to pull the material from behind him, allowing my cheek to brush his jeans, right below the button. He hisses in a breath, drawing a warm flutter of satisfaction from low in my belly. Except the sensation doesn’t stop; it grows heavy with the weight of his attention on me, and I’m suddenly too hot, too clammy.

  “Your shirt too,” I breathe. “Let’s take it off.”

  A low sound rumbles up his chest as I start at the bottom and take my time hiking the material up slowly, so slowly. He shudders with the glide of my touch on his bare skin, eyes settling on my breasts as I rise to pull the shirt over his head.

  I open my mouth to tease him when my attention finds the marks on his skin—one a clean vertical line starting between his rib cage and ending above his belly button, while the other is messy, horizontal, and stretches from the right side of his waist to his back. I suck in a breath, lowering to my knees again and trailing a finger alongside each wound that’s sure to scar. Warmth for him overwhelms me, stealing my heartbeats and making them skip. He promised to keep me safe, and he did. Even when it meant almost losing his life in the process. My lungs constrict as the full weight of what he did for me sinks into my pores, and the longer I look at his marks, the more I believe in the nurse’s words: scars really can be beautiful.

  “Easton,” I whisper shakily. Leaning forward, I close my eyes and press soft kisses to the one leading to his back. He trembles slightly against my lips, fingers threading my hair. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

  When I tilt my head to peer up at him, he’s watching me so closely I shiver. His brows are slanted, eyes soft yet severe with an emotion I can’t read.

  “I’d do it all over again,” he says. “You know that, don’t you?”

  With a swallow, I nod. There’s not a doubt in my mind he would. Stealing my resolve, I press a final kiss to his abs, then stand up. “I’m going to be the best take-care-of-you person who ever existed. Stay here.”

  Cocking a brow, he stays seated as I turn and head toward the mini kitchen area. When I return, I’m balancing a salmon dish in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. I carefully set them on the coffee table and remove the lids.

  “So, I know the doctor said you don’t need a special diet, but WebMD has suggestions for keeping your remaining kidney strong.” I squint and glance away, trying to remember what the hell I memorized. I might not know what I’m doing, but I know I can’t mess this up. “For example, we need to focus on high-fiber foods and less carbs. Did you know there’s also such a thing as too much protein? Apparently, consuming too much can make your kidney work too hard.”

  He looks at the dishes before him, staring at them hard, then settles his focus on me. “You did all this for me?”

  I smile sweetly, touch a finger to the Amex card at the edge of the table, and slide it toward him. “I can’t take all the credit.” He doesn’t look at the card. He doesn’t look away from me at all. I inhale, clasping my hands in front of me, and nod toward the food. “It looks good, right?”

  His gaze grows heavy with something I can’t place—something that makes my stomach flip, palms dampen.

  For the second time in my life, I find myself fidgeting, and both occasions are totally Easton’s fault. “Or, if you’re not hungry, I can get the essential oils going.” I suppress a cringe at hearing those words leave my mouth. I wouldn’t even be saying them if it wasn’t for Whitney.

  Before I left the hospital, she came to my room. After she explained who her dad is, I felt sick. She was the first girl to hold my hair back while I puked. Then, she apologized so much I almost puked again. When she suggested essential oils, claiming they could help my nausea disappear, I looked it up. I can tamp down my pride if there’s a chance they’ll help Easton feel better.

  “I guess we just . . . sit and breathe them in?” I ask, not bothering to hide how stupid that sounds. “I don’t know how to use the diffuser thing, but I’ll figure it out, and there’s even a meditation channel on the TV. There—there’s also a spa, or we can do homework. I’m caught up on the stuff your mom sent from school, so I could help you—”

  “I’m thirsty.” The words are rough and dipped in heat, inflaming me until my knees are unsteady.

  “Okay . . . um, I have cold-pressed kale juice in the fridge.” Head buzzing, I turn around to grab it, but Easton’s hand catches my wrist, stopping me. My heart pounds, and I look over my shoulder.

  Still holding my wrist, he shakes his head slowly. “I want orange juice.”

  My throat goes dry. On his lips, the drink sounds dirty and wanting and filled with hidden meaning only we would understand—everything those dark whiskey irises confirm he intended. “Technically . . . technically, orange juice is on the forbidden list.”

  He cocks a brow, tugs me close, closer, until I fall onto his lap. A strong arm slides around my waist, his other hand finding my jaw and guiding my face toward his. His gruff voice curls low in my stomach. “Then it will taste that much sweeter.”

  He takes my mouth in his. His tongue tangles with mine, palm sliding to the nape of my neck, and he kisses me like he needs me—with deep strokes and breathless promises. He’s kissed me every day I’ve spent with him in the hospital, but this time’s different. This time, he does it with abandon, without limitations, without restraint, and each pull, suck, nip, sends an overwhelming rush of liquid heat between my thighs.

  His hands coast down my back, around my hips, then he squeezes, effortlessly adjusting me so my legs are wrapped around him. My breath catches with the brush of his erection between our clothes, a tremble coursing through me, and his throaty groan makes me grind against it.

  He breaks away from my mouth to trail slow kisses along my jaw, my neck. I can’t take it.

  I want to give him everything.

  I want it so badly my next words sting my tongue. “You’re . . .” My eyes flutter shut when his teeth pull gently at the base of my throat. “You’re supposed to rest.”

  “I’ll rest tomorrow.”

  “But what if you get hurt? What if I hurt you?” It’s fucking stressful caring about another human.

  His lips curve against my neck, and he returns to my mouth, pulling a long kiss from me. “You won’t. And, Eva, you should know, every word out of that mouth is only turning me on more.”

  Warmth flares inside me, and I know I’m not going to last. I’ve already decided to give him more than he realizes, but the stubborn part of me makes one final, feeble plea. “I’m . . .” He trails his lips down my throat again, and my thighs clench around him. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

  “Believe me, Eva. You are.” His exhale heats my neck, rough voice vibrates down my spine. “You’re taking such good care of me.”

  Both hands still gripping my bare thighs, he
moves his mouth along my collarbone, uses his teeth to lower the strap of my dress, then travels to the opposite side and does the same with my other strap. The dress slips, and his gaze darkens like night on the revealed portion of my black lace bra, the rapid rise and fall of my chest. Vulnerability crashes through me, and I wonder if he hears the chaotic beating of my heart. I wonder if he feels the endless ache like I do. An ache that begs to be satisfied.

  Maybe Google is overrated. Maybe essential oils and lavender baths and kale-pressed juice are so fucking far from who we are they deserve to be locked up in Bridget and Vincent’s ivory tower. And maybe . . . maybe trusting my heart is enough.

  “Easton . . .” I breathe, drawing his focus upward. “I want . . . I want you to show me what it’s supposed to be like. I’m ready to give you everything.”

  His fingers dig into my flesh on the outsides of my thighs. He works his throat, studying my expression in that heady way he does. I thought once Easton’s golden-brown eyes were like a tornado, because they caught me when I was unprepared and didn’t release until they were done with me. I realize now how true that is. I was prepared for it this time, for his undivided attention, and it still raises goose bumps on my skin.

  Finally, once my heart is about to beat out of my chest with anticipation, he stands up with my legs still wrapped around his narrow hips. “You’re sure?” Despite his uneven breathing, the possessive grip that’s traveled to my ass, his gaze softens on mine. “Remember . . . once we do this, there’s no going back.”

  I swallow, wrap my arms around his neck. And I let my words spill from the most honest part of me. “I don’t want to go back. I’m never going backward ever again.” He stares at me, taking in my certainty, and I realize what’ll prompt him into action. Leaning close, I whisper into his ear, “I have condoms in the nightstand. Take me to bed, Easton.”

  His muscles tense against me. Then, he runs a hand up my back, curls it lightly around the nape of my neck, and brings my mouth to his. He kisses me deeply as he walks us to the bedroom, and my head spins so fast I’m light-headed. The roller coaster I was suspended on before he entered the hotel room drops, crashes, bursts into a million unspoken promises.

  I’m still latched onto him when he lowers us onto the bed and my back touches the comforter. Propping himself on his forearms on either side of me, he pulls away from my lips to peer down at me.

  “You . . . you should be the one lying down,” I breathe.

  He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

  My pulse skips, breaths heavy, at the slow, deliberate way he slides his gaze down my body, as if he’s trying to memorize what I look like beneath him. The backs of my eyes sting, a rush of emotion hitting me.

  I knew my past sexual experiences felt wrong. I knew all along it was supposed to be different. This past week, I’ve tried so many times to picture it, what my first time with Easton would be like—my real first time. But how could I have pictured this? How could I know to imagine the slow part of his lips, the warm tickle of his breath, the soft, reverent burn in his gaze? No one ever told me the magic was in the details, or that those details would take my breath away.

  Reaching up, I trail unsteady fingers along his jaw. His eyes fall shut, and when my thumb glides over his lips, he presses a kiss to my skin. The softest kiss I’ve ever felt.

  “Eva . . .” My name is hoarse on his lips when he meets my gaze with heavy-lidded ones. The soft burn I noticed behind whiskey intensifies into a warm glow. “I don’t want to scare you away. But I need . . . I need you to know . . .” His brows slant, and I recognize the desperation in his voice, the pleading. “I need you to know I’m in love with you.” He pushes out a shaky breath. “I’ve loved you since that night I left orange juice for you in my backyard, and I’m going to love you for the rest of my life. You don’t have to love me back, not yet, but if you’ll let me, I’ll love you better every day. I’ll love you enough for the both of us.”

  A tear slips past my lashes. Something wraps around my chest, tight and permanent, and I think it might be happiness.

  He waits, watches, hangs onto the silence until I speak.

  “Six,” I finally whisper. Confusion crosses his expression, and I add, “You said love six times,” as if that clarifies anything. “It’s been eleven years since anyone’s told me they love me, and in ten seconds, you’ve said it six times.”

  He exhales, drops his forehead to mine, and shakes his head. A breathy chuckle fans my cheek when he says, “I’m just getting started.”

  His mouth skims mine, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he dips lower. My heart thumps as he kisses my neck, my collarbone, between my breasts. He reaches up to pull my bra down slightly, exposing them fully, and I gasp when his tongue grazes my nipple. Then, he wraps his hot lips around it and sucks.

  I shiver beneath him, my legs falling open, and he groans as he sinks between them. Even through our clothes, the heat and pressure of his erection against my panties combined with the wet lick and pull on my nipple sends my body into overdrive. My fingers find his hair, lips parting with my broken exhales. He moves to the other nipple, stroking and caressing, but just when my eyes start to flutter shut, his mouth disappears. My eyes snap open, and I watch breathlessly as he moves down my body until his face is between my thighs. He lifts my dress above my belly button, hooks his thumbs into the material at my hips, and drags my panties down my legs. Then he looks right at me—legs spread, completely revealed to him. The heat in his gaze makes me squirm, his closeness prickling my skin. I can’t imagine what it will feel like when he actually touches me.

  “Do you know how long I’ve waited to taste you here?” he rasps, harsh breath stroking where I need him.

  I tremble at the sensation. “I hope as long as I’ve fantasized about it.”

  His nostrils flare, and he makes a low rumble of appreciation at my response. Then, without warning, he grips the insides of my thighs and drags his tongue along my slit. I draw in a breath, and before I can collect myself, he does it again. Only, this time, he stops when he reaches my clit and closes his mouth around it with a long pull. A burst of heat spreads through me, tightening my core, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes. He continues licking and sucking and pushing me to the edge, and with each hungry stroke of his tongue, pleasure pulsates deep inside me. He’s not the first to try this with me, but—my hips jolt up—holy shit, he is the first to make it feel good.

  One of his hands on my thighs disappears, then I feel fingers, pressure, at my opening. My eyes fall shut when he slips a finger inside me, and the sensation reaches me so deep it sparks along my spine. When I start to grind against him, he groans against my clit and adds another finger. That’s all it takes to send me over. Heat rushes through me, drawing a delicious quiver from my core and rolling my eyes into the back of my head. He doesn’t stop until languid gratification warms me, and I sink into the comforter with heavy breaths on my lips and stars in my eyes.

  I’m still coming down from the high when he places a tender kiss below my belly button. Then on my hip bone, and the other. A long sigh spills from my mouth, every touch from him a seductive caress. He pushes my dress up my stomach inch by inch, trailing soft kisses higher, higher. When he reaches my breasts, I raise my arms. He pulls the dress over my head and drops it on the floor. He gazes down at me, heavy-lidded, Adam’s apple bobbing as I reach behind me and unclasp my bra. A heady buzz prickles over my bare skin at that look, and I pull it off the rest of the way, letting it fall beside my dress.

  My heart pounds, pulsing with the selfless desire to please him. To give him everything he’s given me.

  I run my palms up his bare chest, lost in my need for him. “Lie back,” I whisper, giving a little shove. “Lie back, and let me make you feel good.”

  His eyes flare, and he watches me closely as I sit up, guide him onto his back. Crawling down his body, so much bigger than mine, I revel in the way his abs constrict beneath me, the tangible clu
tch of his undivided attention. For years, I craved it, to be the center of his universe, and now that I finally am, he won’t let me forget it.

  Shivering, I trail my lips down the mark that leads to his belly button. Fingers tangle in my hair, and he trembles under the stroke of my tongue as I move lower, lower. My hand finds the button of his jeans, and I undo it before sliding his zipper down. Then, I grip his jeans and boxers together and pull them down his body with his help.

  Naked and resembling a sculpted statue from the Roman era, he sits up partially, resting his weight on his forearms. Lust-filled eyes watch me come back to him. My breath catches at the full sight of his erection, so much bigger than I realized, and an unfamiliar thrill courses up my spine. Is this what he felt when he wanted to taste me? This overwhelming need? Settling between his legs, I lower my head to his hard length. Then I run my tongue from the base to the tip. He hisses a breath, and when I wrap my lips around his crown and swirl my tongue, a low groan vibrates into my mouth. Finally, I take as much of him as I can in my mouth, using my hands to tease the rest. The rough noises he makes are so sexy and tantalizing I clench my thighs together to ease the throbbing ache.

  I slide up, down, up—

  “Fuck, come here.” His grip curls around the nape of my neck, and he pulls me up his body until my mouth connects with his. My core tightens from the ferocity of his kiss—insatiable, messy, and starving, and I gasp when he flips me onto my back. Strong hands hold my wrists above my head, but the heated kisses he peppers along my naked body are so tender and worshipping I tremble with each taste, surrendering myself to him in a way I never thought I’d be able to. His mouth travels over my breasts, teasing my nipples and drawing a full-body sigh from me. When the length of his erection presses against my wetness, he stills above me, shoulders pulling tight. I hear him swallow, and butterflies blend with the heat pooling in my stomach.