Liar, Liar

by T. L. Martin

  My legs are open for him, his need for me so consuming he’s shaking, and yet instead of outright taking what he needs, he gives me an out and waits for my reassurance that I still want this. Gratitude overwhelms me, seeping from my heart and reminding me why I love him the way I do.

  Our gazes connect, hot and burning with a passion so deep it dampens my skin. Reaching between us, I wrap my fingers around his erection. An uneven exhale leaves his lips as I guide him toward my wetness, but then his hand curls around mine, stopping me. I look up at him questioningly, and his voice is tightly leashed when he says, “Condom.”

  I watch as he reaches into the nightstand and pulls one out. Even the way he rolls it onto his erection makes me hotter. Then, he’s back on top of me, his heat curling around my body, and I’m ready. My heart pounds, breath quickens, and his tip pushes inside, stretching me open. A harsh sound rumbles up his chest, his forehead touching mine. He slowly moves deeper, deeper, pulling a moan up my throat, then he pauses, allowing me time to adjust to him. After a beat, my eyes flutter shut as he fills me completely. A long tremble wracks his body. His lips are unsteady when they brush mine, and he runs his palm down my waist, grips lightly, then he starts to rock against me. Heat erupts in my center, my pulse beating in tune to my broken panting. We move together, breathe together, find our rhythm together. His tongue slips between my lips, and he kisses me in a language only we understand.

  Worthy.

  Beautiful.

  Wanted.

  This time, our tongues whisper the words to each other. We pour everything we are into our kiss, our rhythmic dance, our uneven breaths. This. This is what I was missing whenever I ran to guys in the past—I didn’t need their bodies; I needed the connection. My hips rise to meet every deep, slow thrust, and when he breaks away from my mouth to taste, pull, tease the sensitive skin on my neck, the heat in my core grows so hot, so tight, I grip him hard and beg with my movements for him to go faster. A low rumble vibrates from his chest to mine, and he obliges—faster, harder. The bed creaks with our chase, mixing with the sounds of our panting and coarse noises. His fingers tighten on my waist, his other hand finding my thigh and pushing my leg up. I cry out his name as he goes deeper than I thought possible, throwing my head back, and the fiery heat at my center coils, clenches, and bursts into a thousand liquid hot trails along my body. He releases a low, rough groan. I feel him tense against me. His grip clamps around my thigh, and a series of violent tremors roll through him.

  A slow, satisfied warmth consumes me, making my body heavy and light all at once. “So,” I breathe, eyes weighed down with the afterglow of pleasure, “do you feel better?”

  “Fuck, Eva,” he rasps, tensing as another spasm rocks him. A harsh exhale fans my neck, and he tries to hold himself up by his forearms as his heavy, languid weight collapses against my body. “You’ve fucking cured me.”

  I laugh, and I feel his lips curve against my neck, but he doesn’t bother to lift his head. After a moment, he releases a sigh, rolls onto his side, and pulls me against his chest. Eyes closed, his arms hold me tight; a promise to never let me go. As I listen to the deep sounds of his breathing, the steady beating of his heart, I make my own silent promise to myself. A promise to love myself. A promise to protect who I am. And, starting now, a promise of truth.

  “Easton?” I whisper.

  He hums a low sound, his thumb tracing soft circles over my waist.

  “I love you. I could love you forever. I think . . . I think I can even love you enough.”

  He lifts my chin to meet his steady, sweltering gaze. His Adam’s apple moves up and down. “You’re enough, Eva. You’ve always been enough.”

  My chest pounds, neck hot. And I know what I need to do.

  To my surprise, my voice doesn’t shake at all with my next words. All I hear is the certainty truth and trust brings. “And I’m ready to talk to you. To tell you what happened to me.”

  He angles his head, soft lips brushing mine. His exhale warms my skin and curls my toes. Then, he kisses me fervidly before he pulls back and meets my gaze. “You’re sure? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m sure, and I don’t want to wait. I want to tell you everything.”

  Draped in satin sheets and propped up on my elbow, I watch Easton’s shoulder muscles flex as he types on his laptop at the desk. My gaze slides to the duffle bag at his feet—unzipped, it reveals a corner of the police academy application packet Vincent dropped off before Easton was released from the hospital. It’s 1:00 in the morning, yet he’s working on the application.

  My heart flutters while I stare shamelessly at him, and something tightens my throat. I could have stumbled into anyone’s backyard that night, almost four years ago. But, somehow, I snuck into the bed of a stranger’s truck, and that man stopped driving at exactly the right moment. Somehow, that man even chased me in the right direction. Somehow, I lost my breath, my legs gave out, and just when I couldn’t bear to walk any farther, I found myself where I was meant to be.

  And, somehow, I heard my song.

  Her song.

  His song.

  The music behind every fighting bone in my body and every beat of my heart.

  Releasing an exhale, I slip my hand beneath my pillow and hold the small shard of opal in my palm. My savior, I once called it. I absorb the faded red stains, the tattered fraction of a broken flower petal. A tear slips down my cheek, and I curl my fingers around it. Clutching the sheet to my naked body, I silently slip from the bed, make my way to the glass door, and step onto the small balcony. City lights brighten the dark night sky like hundreds of twinkling stars. Detroit has never looked beautiful from where I stood, but hovering sixty stories above my past, an ethereal chill coasts down my spine and raises goose bumps on my arms. I take a step forward, then another. My fingers touch the cold railing, toes dangle off the edge. I shut my eyes and lift my face toward the open sky.

  Then I think of her. Of the girl I used to be. Sad, hurt, alone. But mostly, so afraid.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.” My tears fall for her, trailing down my cheek and disappearing with the soft breeze. “I’m sorry . . .” A shaky breath leaves my lips. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I told you you were weak. But I see you now . . . and I love you.”

  Hand trembling, I open my eyes and extend my arm over the railing, palm up. Slowly, my fingers uncurl. Then I release her, my savior, and I watch her glide in an endless fall to join the fluorescent stars of my past.

  Easton

  (Five years later . . .)

  Despite the overcast sky, the strong breeze, and the dusting of salt water that cools my skin, I’m fucking sweating. I inhale a lungful of fresh air. It doesn’t help. I stare into the endless sea water, the waves washing up a few feet from my shoes. Still, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and the collar of this white button-down is choking me even with the top few buttons undone. I won’t be able to breathe normally until her hand is in mine and I’m slipping on a promise I’ve been ready to make for too long.

  “Bro,” Isaac whispers, pulling my focus to the small book in his hands. You know your brother’s got your back when he gets ordained just to officiate your elopement. “Calm down. It’s only the biggest day of your life.”

  I shoot him a dry look, and he winks.

  “Ha.” A click sounds, pulling my gaze to Thomas as he lowers the giant, old-fashioned camera from his face. “Says the guy who was more nervous than a virgin on prom night on our wedding day.”

  Isaac chuckles, his neck flushing slightly, and Thomas smirks before he moves behind me and resumes snapping shots.

  If it were up to me, this day would have happened before I went through the police academy four years ago. But my fiancée, Miss Independent, wanted to start her Master of Social Work first. My lips quirk as an image of her in her black cap and purple gown resurfaces. She had a degree in psychology under her belt and a stunning grin that rival
ed the size of the NYU stage beneath her feet. Proud, tough as nails, and unapologetically herself, I should have known she’d fit right in. Whitney and Zach dragged us along to check NYU out initially, after they each got their acceptance letters, but once Eva and I set foot in the bustling city, there was no turning back.

  Zach, my best man, adjusts his yellow bowtie and nods toward something behind me. “Don’t look, but—”

  Chest pounding, I start to turn my head, but he grips both my shoulders over my vest and shakes me.

  “I said, don’t look, man!”

  Isaac chuckles, and a pang of jealousy unfolds when he looks at what I’m assuming is my wife-to-be. The only people who were invited to attend our wedding are the ones in it, which means Isaac’s got a crystal clear view of the person I want to see the most.

  “Patience,” Zach says, brows rising. “I was just gonna say, based on the daggers your wife is shooting at your ex, I think she’s going to kick Whit’s ass if she doesn’t stop messing with her hair.”

  Pride swells in my hammering chest. There’s something incredibly fucking sexy about the fact my fiancée is never afraid to show what she’s thinking. More click, click, clicks rattle off behind me, and I hope to God Thomas is capturing that spitfire look. I shove my hands into the pockets of my tan slacks, a pathetic attempt to keep myself anchored to my spot instead of succumbing to the painful urge to turn around.

  Whitney suggested we get a tent for some separation, but Eva and I both turned down the idea. We only agreed to let her be our wedding planner because she needed it to build her portfolio, but she made the ceremony more traditional than Eva and I intended for it to be. Minus the lack of a guest list and decor we made sure Whitney didn’t mess with, I’m not even sure the wedding counts as an elopement at this point. Now, however, as sweat runs down my back with the effort it takes to keep my eyes off Eva, I’m starting to regret opting out of the tent.

  “You might want to warn Whit,” I tell Zach. He’s the only one she listens to anymore.

  “Nah,” he says, looking over my shoulder with a little smirk. “They can both handle themselves.”

  After Eva and I got out of the hospital and returned to Caspian Prep, Zach took over my deal with Whit. She stopped paying me, of course, but she didn’t hide the fact she loved every minute of playing the jilted girlfriend of the guy who fell for his sister. The extra attention she garnered at school helped ease the stress of her home life, and she milked it even more when Zach rode in like a knight in shining armor to rescue her. At least, that’s how the story goes. Always the gentleman, he offered to keep up with the charade at university, but by then, Whitney decided she no longer needed it. I’m not convinced they aren’t up to something though. They’re together enough the rumors are still circulating.

  I pull in a breath, scanning the vast beach. From where we stand by the shore, heavy skies blanket the long stretches of open sand. In front of me, the outline of a single sailboat is visible in the water. We picked a weekday so people would be sparse, but also because I’m hoping fewer people means Alejandro will feel safer about showing up if he can.

  “Señor, salvanos debido a este acto de incesto. Soy una espectadora inocente.”

  Lord, save us all for this act of incest. I am an innocent bystander.

  At the prayer, I cock a brow to my left, where Maria’s Spanish mutters originate. She signs a cross over her chest and finishes with a kiss to the cross at her neck. As Eva’s maid of honor, Whitney insisted Maria wear something yellow, but she’s more of a rebel than I realized. Either that, or she got the occasion mixed up with a funeral.

  I chuckle softly, and Maria’s eyes flash to mine in surprise. It’s been two years since Eva and I started learning Spanish in honor of her mother and heritage, and Maria, living several states away, hasn’t quite gotten used to it. “No te preocupes,” I say calmly. Don’t worry. “El Diablo no está interesado en los lazos que se rompieron hace cinco años. Aunque escuché que le agradan las bellas damas. Podrias abrocharte el cuello del vestido.”

  She blushes as my words sink in. The Devil has no interest in ties that were broken five years ago. Although, I hear he’s fond of beautiful ladies. You may want to button up your collar.

  She shoves my shoulder and smooths her white hair pulled into a tight bun. “Muchacho tonto,” she mutters, still flushed. Foolish boy. Then, she glances away and discreetly buttons up her dress collar.

  My lips twitch before Isaac kicks my pulse into gear. “All right, big bro. It’s time.”

  Zach wiggles his brows at me.

  I inhale deeply, and the shaky sound drowns beneath the pounding in my ears. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so damn long, I still can’t believe it’s actually happening.

  Finally, I turn around.

  The breath is knocked out of me so suddenly I step backward. My throat goes dry—so dry, I force down a swallow. Eva’s dark curls are down and fall past her waist. Her dress is in two pieces: a long skirt, and a silky white crop top that hangs off her shoulders, revealing a glinting navel piercing. A black and white lily tattoo decorates her bare shoulder, covering her scar in a symbol of strength between mother and daughter.

  With her head held high, bare feet padding in the sand, and a single yellow lily in her hands for the only pop of color against her white dress and olive skin, fuck . . . she’s a goddess. My heart twists and thumps at the sight of her, and I’m sure it’s not natural for one person to love another this fucking much.

  Eva passes the lily to Maria, then her gaze lifts to meet mine. A smile plays on those perfect lips I’ve memorized. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I smile back, my fingers twitching with the urge to hold hers, and her brown eyes sparkle as she reaches me. Unable to wait any longer, I take her hands. Release a shaky exhale. A slight tremble makes my grip unsteady, but she gives a small squeeze that grounds me.

  “Please, take each other by the right hand.” We look at Isaac, whose focus slides to our already clasped fingers. “Oh,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he lowers his pointer finger down the book’s page. Finding the next part, he clears his throat and beams at us. “These are the hands of your best friend that are holding yours as you promise to love each other all the days of your lives.”

  A sniff sounds behind Eva, and I drag my gaze to her maid of honor. Maria’s scowl is permanent, but her eyes are too watery to bother concealing the emotion. She makes a valiant effort though.

  Isaac continues through the ceremony, and my grip on Eva’s tightens along with the pressure in my chest. Five years ago, in a hotel room that towered sixty stories above Detroit, I made a promise to love this woman, and to love her better every day. Today, I get to make that promise official. I get to be the only man to cherish her like a husband should, and I get to spend the rest of my life doing it. I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

  Eva’s attention catches on something behind me, and I frown as whatever she spotted makes a tear slip down her cheek.

  I stroke her thumb with mine, and she brings her gaze back to me. “What is it?”

  She smiles, shakes her head. “I saw someone, that’s all.” She squeezes my hands once more. “Someone I really, really hoped to see.”

  Peace of mind washes over me. Because of my job, she can’t say much more, but I know exactly who she’s talking about. Alejandro made it.

  My palms sweat as we exchange our vows. Eva’s undoubting, “I do,” is the most perfect sound I’ve ever heard, caught at the perfect moment with a camera’s click, and, finally, I slip the ring onto her finger. When I meet her gaze, her eyes are glossy. I can’t wait to pull that sweet mouth to mine and soothe her trembling lips.

  It feels like an eternity before Isaac says the words I’ve been itching to hear. “I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford. You may now kiss the bride.”

  I step forward. My chest hammers. Heat pulses through me. Eva smiles and matches my step, closing the gap. She arches a brow, waiting, te
asing, daring me to kiss her, and I fall in love a little harder. This will be the first time I ever kiss this woman as my wife. Fuck if I’m gonna rush it. I run my hand behind her neck, tilt her head up to meet mine. Her lips part, breath comes out faster, and I breathe in her exhales. I slip my arm around her waist. She gasps as I tug her against me, and, finally—

  “We’re here! Don’t worry, darling, Mommy’s here!”

  Click.

  My eyes shut, forehead drops to Eva’s, and I groan. Eva shakes slightly, drawing my gaze to hers, and it takes a second to realize she’s laughing.

  “Mommy?” she whispers. “I swear, every year it gets worse.”

  My lips twitch, but I’m not so amused. My mom’s timing is impeccable.

  “Darling! Did you hear me? I don’t know how the date was wrong on the invitation we received, but thank God Whitney cleared that right up.” My mom huffs, struggling to make it through the sand in heels without tripping over the hem of her excessive dress. One step behind her, my dad grumbles and smacks away her hair that’s blowing in his face. “Even if it was last minute. And she calls herself a wedding planner . . .”

  “Whitney did this?” I spot the redheaded troublemaker at the same time she backs slowly behind Zach to use his body as a shield. My jaw tenses. My parents have made huge steps in trying to be active in our lives, and somehow, they’ve become too involved. I intentionally didn’t invite them to ensure Eva could relax on her wedding day. “If you think he can save you from this—”

  “Baby.” Eva’s fingers touch my chin, and she guides my gaze back to hers. My eyes narrow on the laugh she’s not quite managing to suppress. This is only one of the countless moments I’ve wished I could stay irritated and see her smile at the same time. “It’s not her fault,” she says. “I told her to let them come.”