Cheater (Curious Liaisons Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

And the minute I felt Avery’s tight body surrounding mine—I knew.

  This would end badly.

  Sex would change us.

  I would break her heart.

  Logically, that meant I needed to stop.

  I tried pulling back, but the vixen hooked her feet behind me, trapping me in the most perfect hell I’d ever experienced, where the heat from her tight walls nearly suffocated me—brought me sweet death and then constricted, releasing me, only to tighten again. And from the look on her face, she was doing it on purpose. Tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing, building a rhythm I became driven to match. Looser . . . press forward, tighter . . . pull back. In and out. I was past that point of no return, past rational thinking and into straight-up pleasure.

  So I stayed.

  I tried to control it.

  But the thing about sex—when it’s with someone you have feelings for, you can’t hold back.

  She moaned.

  We locked eyes.

  I thrust harder.

  She groaned louder.

  Her lips parted.

  I captured her mouth, my body slamming into hers in a punishing thrust as I gripped her hips and kissed her, bruised her mouth in an effort to make sure she never forgot it was me, it was us—together.

  “Thorn—”

  I pulled back and clenched my teeth in an effort to make the moment last longer—you’d think with all the sex I’d had, it would have been a simple matter of control.

  But that’s another thing—when you’re with the right woman, you can’t help it.

  One last thrust, and she clawed at my back and screamed my name so loud that I was pretty sure the neighbors were going to complain.

  Release exploded through me with Avery Black’s name on my lips. I lowered my head and fused my mouth to hers, swallowing her cries as she contracted around me.

  My heart would never be the same.

  Because when we both pulled away from one another, I could have sworn I saw her grab the still beating vessel from my chest and hold it in the palm of her hands.

  Without her—I felt empty.

  Or maybe I’d always been that way.

  The moment was crushed when she burst into tears.

  I was still inside her.

  And she was crying.

  “Did I hurt you?” I tried to sound gentle rather than horrified that I might have harmed her physically.

  Her answer was to shake her head and cry harder. Tears streamed down her cheeks to her swollen lips—and damn, I knew she was crying, but could she have looked any more beautiful?

  “Avery, you gotta help me out. I don’t know how to fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” I wiped her tears away with both of my thumbs and waited.

  She sniffled. “I kind of wish you were a jackass right now. Quick, do you think you can go back to being really insulting?”

  “I’m still inside you. We just had sex,” I said slowly. Incredible, brain-numbing, heart-stopping, wanna-do-it-again-soon sex. “And you want me to . . . insult you?”

  She nodded quickly and then pounded a fist against the mattress. “Damn it, Thorn!” Her eyes widened. “Insult me!”

  “You’re, um”—I coughed—“short?”

  Avery flicked my nipple.

  “Hey!” I swatted her hand away. “What the hell kind of postcoital ritual is this?”

  With a grin, she shrugged. “I just needed a reminder.”

  “A reminder,” I repeated. “Of how to inflict pain on me?”

  “No.” Her expression sobered. “That I’m not different.”

  “This is a fun game, Avery Bug, really, talking in circles and then hitting me every time I do exactly as you say . . .”

  “Never mind.” She waved me away. “Also, you’re really heavy.”

  “It’s called muscle.” I rolled my eyes as I pulled away from her and dropped back against the feather pillows. I thrust my hands behind my head to keep myself from grabbing her again and asking for another round.

  Asking.

  Since when had I ever asked?

  “Thorn?”

  “Hmm?”

  Avery scooted toward me until her face was in the crook of my arm, her hand pressed against my chest. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Depends. Will you tell me why you cried?”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “Woman,” I corrected. “And what’s this favor you speak of?”

  “Can we have steak in bed?”

  “As opposed to the table?” I smiled, unable to help it. “Oh, I see what this is—you like all your meat in bed.”

  A pillow pummeled my face, once, twice.

  Laughing, I grabbed it and let it fly against her face.

  She cursed. “THORN!”

  “Ah, there it is. You know how many times you screamed my name during—”

  The pillow cut me off, and then I found myself getting strangled by a curvy vixen who, not five minutes ago, had been sobbing in my arms.

  I liked her this way better.

  “Are you trying to beat me up?” I burst out laughing. “And stop squirming if you don’t want to end up tied to this bed, Avery.”

  Her eyes lit up.

  I groaned.

  “What?” She lifted a shoulder and gave me a coy look. “I bet you tie good knots.”

  “Hmm, maybe after we eat the steak?” I was about ready to beg for her body, when she hopped out of bed and grabbed my shirt from the floor.

  “I agree to these terms.”

  I quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper, then pulled on my briefs, only to see her staring at me, jaw nearly hitting the floor.

  “Avery?” I snapped my fingers in front of her. “Steak?”

  Her eyes never left my cock. “I could just eat you.” And then slowly, her gaze lifted to my face and she winked. “But steak first.”

  “Tease.” My body strained toward her.

  She shrugged and skipped out of the room, leaving me too aroused and confused for my own damn good.

  Chapter Thirty

  AVERY

  Be normal. No sweat. I could totally be normal after having the best mind-blowing sex of my life. Admittedly, that wasn’t saying much, given my lone previous disaster in the sack, but that was already ancient history, and my body was still overheating at the memory of his hands, my hips, or his mouth.

  That.

  Mouth.

  I took a deep breath and braced my body against the kitchen sink. All I needed was air, just a bit of air, and I’d be totally fine.

  Air and steak.

  In that order.

  The microwave dinged.

  But when I turned around to bolt toward the food, Lucas was already there, pulling out the plate, serving it up for both of us—nearly naked.

  His body glistened—seriously, it glowed with a mixture of sweat and awesomeness.

  How did I get myself in this situation?

  Oh, right, it all started with wine.

  Most poor life choices start and end with alcohol.

  But tonight?

  I was completely sober.

  And I had still jumped into bed with the devil. What was worse? I enjoyed it.

  “Avery”—Lucas didn’t look up from the steak—“you’ve been staring at me for a good four minutes, and it’s starting to freak me out, even if it is a bit flattering. You keep eying the knife too, so could you move that sweet ass over here and eat before I use the plate as a cock shield?”

  Rolling my eyes, I moseyed over to him in what I thought was a sexy, confident stroll.

  Fake it ’til you make it.

  Don’t cry.

  I was torn between wanting more of him and making up some lame excuse about being sick so I could make a run for it.

  One session in his arms was incredible.

  But two? Two would be like poison.

  Suicide.

  Another round would kill me.

  I was sure of it.

  I�
��d be down for the count.

  Lucas patted the barstool next to him. I climbed up onto it and inhaled the aroma of steak, closing my eyes as the scent of pepper and spices filled my nostrils.

  A fork was placed in my hand. I opened my eyes. “You’re giving me weapons?”

  “Just be careful where you point the sharp points, Avery Bug.” He winked.

  I grinned and stabbed a piece of meat, then shoved it into my mouth. The steak, even though it was reheated, was amazing.

  “So . . .” Lucas ate a bite.

  I ate a bite.

  It felt normal.

  Push it away, Avery, he doesn’t want normal.

  He wants a different girl every night. The steak almost got stuck in my throat—I had to chug water to wash it down.

  “So . . .” I licked my lips.

  Lucas’s eyes darted to one corner of my mouth. He leaned forward and wiped it with his fingers. “You always were a messy eater.”

  “I embrace food the way most people embrace life—with extreme purpose and vigor.”

  His sexy mouth twitched, and then he was full on smiling. “I like that.”

  “Well, I like food.” I shrugged.

  His hands moved down my arms, then back up, then down. The tension was so thick it was hard to breathe.

  “Fuck it.” He slammed his mouth against mine and lifted me by the ass off the chair and placed me on the counter. I bit back a hiss as my skin came into contact with cold granite.

  Lucas ripped open the shirt.

  A button flew past my ear and made a pinging noise as it landed.

  It was five seconds.

  Before I felt him inside me again.

  Before he was yelling my name—before I was maiming his back with my fingernails and begging for more.

  When I almost slid off the counter because I was trying to get a better angle, he lifted me in the air and walked us over to the couch, then bent me over it, only to apologize for being so rough.

  I was too busy kissing him to care.

  Too busy tasting him and hating myself for letting it happen again.

  When I’d promised myself it would only be once.

  When I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t be one of those girls.

  It was over too quick.

  Sweat dripped from his head onto my chest; both of us out of breath, we stared at one another—the gap of silence was deafening.

  I waited for it.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “For the scratches.”

  “Believe me when I say”—his voice was hoarse—“I didn’t feel a damn thing.”

  “Oh?” I teased.

  “You know what I mean.” His tone turned serious, and then he paled and pulled away from me. “Avery, we need to talk about this—”

  “Nope.” I shook my head way too many times. “No talking, remember? We agreed not to talk about it.”

  “But—”

  “You know what? I think I should go. It’s late and”—I yawned—“you have a big day tomorrow because it’s Thursday . . .”

  “Avery—”

  “And Thursday’s—”

  “I have a feeling my Thursday isn’t going to work out anymore.” He crossed his arms.

  “Sad for you.” My fake laugh needed work. “But anyways, I’m just going to—”

  Lucas swept me up into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. I banged his back the entire way with my fists.

  “Put me down!”

  “There.” He tossed me onto the bed and crossed his arms. “You’re staying the night.”

  “Lucas.” Why was he being so nice! I needed the jackass more than air right now. “It’s fine; just treat me like you treat them.”

  His nostrils flared as he joined me on the bed, flipped me over onto my stomach, and slapped my ass. Hard. “If you ever compare yourself to another girl again, I’m going to leave a mark.”

  “Thorn!” I yelled. “I’m not a child!”

  He laughed. “Oh, I know.”

  “Hell, if you weren’t such an arrogant ass, I’d maybe actually admit that you were superhot right now, all dominant and such.”

  “Well, my life purpose has been met—you called me hot.”

  “You know you’re hot, that’s the problem.”

  “Or the solution? It’s all in how you see things, Avery Bug.”

  I rolled my eyes and willed the smile away from my face. The last thing that man needed was encouragement. “If I stay, I need to shower.”

  He rolled off the bed and held out his hand. “Follow me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  LUCAS

  “Hey.” Avery sniffled—her eyes were watery, her smile nonexistent. “Mom just wanted to know if you needed anything before the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

  “Avery Bug.” I opened the screen door and leaned against it. “What happened?”

  “I hate men. Except you, Grandpa, and my dad. Well, I guess I like your dad too, and my dog is amazing—at least he doesn’t run around humping random girl dogs like that bastard son of a . . .” She burst into tears. “I’m sorry. Ugh, it’s the day before your wedding and—” She wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “See? Totally fine. So do you need anything? I can go to Starbucks for you. Run some errands. Do you have your tux?”

  I frowned. “Avery?”

  She blinked up at me.

  “Did your mom really send you?”

  “I believe her words were ‘Leave the house before you upset your sister again,’” Avery said in a wobbly voice.

  I snorted. Unbelievable. I loved her mom—hell, I loved their entire family. But Kayla had a tendency to make everything about her, especially lately, and with the wedding so close she’d turned into a bitch. Especially to Avery.

  Damn it. I was literally five minutes away from calling the entire marriage off. But people were already here for the wedding, and what was I supposed to do? Tell Kayla that it just didn’t feel right? That I didn’t feel the same way I used to?

  That I felt more connected to Avery than to her?

  That whenever Avery smiled at me, it made my day?

  That when Kayla told me she didn’t have time for me, a giant weight lifted from my shoulders and my first instinct was to call Avery?

  Yeah, I was sure all that would go over like a car wreck.

  With a sigh, I opened the screen door and Avery came barreling into my arms, all snot and tears.

  My heart sank when she started crying harder. “It’s not even that I was in love with him—but he cheated on me with Desiree! Austin saw them making out last night at Taco Bell.”

  I smirked. Oh, to be in high school again. “Avery, do you really want a guy that makes out with some girl at Taco Bell, of all places?”

  She pulled back and grinned up at me. “You know how I feel about food, Thorn. But Taco Bell?” She scrunched up her nose. “Where’s the decorum? The class? As in ‘No, you may not kiss my mouth while you eat that taco!’”

  “That’s a girl.” I burst out laughing and pulled her in for a hug again. “I promise that one of these days you’re going to find someone that sees your true worth, and he’s not going to cheat on you.” My entire body tensed. Because it would never be me.

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.” I kissed the top of her head, itching to bring my lips lower. Her beautiful green eyes blinked up at me. She was so trusting, so unaware of the battle that raged within me.

  Wanting to do the right thing.

  When the wrong thing looked so damn good.

  Time stood still in that moment.

  Again.

  Because I was touching her, and my body wanted more.

  She clung to my shirt.

  Just seventeen. She wouldn’t be eighteen for a few more days.

  “Let’s hang out for a bit,” I encouraged—well aware that I was adding kindling to the already growing flame. And when she skipped ahead of me into my parents’ house, I saw her as more than a passing flirtation. />
  I saw her as my future.

  The day before I was supposed to say “I do”—to her sister.

  “Thorn!” Avery slapped me across the cheek. “Swear to the steak gods that if you snore one more time, I’m suffocating you with your boxers!”

  My vision was blurry from sleep—and my breathing out of control from the dream I’d had. “Huh?”

  “You. Dead. Steak gods. Boxers,” Avery grumbled, tucking her body next to mine. “And for the record, I’m only cuddling because you’re a coldblooded psychopath who clearly doesn’t believe in heat!”

  I glanced at the clock. “Why? Why are you yelling at me at three in the morning? Is this what living with you is like? Waking up with screaming? About hell? Threatening talk about killer food?”

  “Huh? Killer food?”

  “Death,” I said in a gravelly voice. “Steak?”

  “Go to sleep, Thorn.”

  “I was asleep,” I grumbled. “Until a little hellion woke me up.”

  She yawned. “Stop complaining. Now go back to being my human blanket.”

  I fell asleep with Avery in my arms.

  And a smile on my face.

  It was a first because—though Avery didn’t know it—I never slept with girls.

  I had sex with them.

  I never slept with them.

  I never held them and allowed myself to imagine anything past the twenty-four hours we spent together.

  It was a first since Kayla.

  But with Kayla it hadn’t felt this way.

  Not at all.

  I was . . . happy.

  My alarm went off too early. I begged for time to go in reverse.

  I rubbed my face and wiped the grit from my eyes, then glanced at a sleeping Avery. Her mouth was open, and she had one leg spread across my legs, the other touching the other side of the bed. Apparently, she slept like she ate—with abandon.

  “Avery Bug,” I whispered, “time to get up.”

  “Sleep.” She shook her head.

  “I wish,” I confessed. “But we have to work.”

  At the mention of work, she bolted out of bed and nearly fell backward against my window. She righted herself with the curtains, only to have them break and fall against the floor while she still clung to the fabric.

  “Oops,” she whispered groggily. “Sorry, I don’t wake up well.”

  “Obviously.” I pointed at my poor abused curtains.