Just One Lie

by Kyra Davis

  My hands move to the hem of his shirt and I pull it off him, my legs wrapping around his. His scent is clean, like fresh water and sunshine. His teeth graze my ear as his fingers slip into my waistband. Slowly he pulls on the cotton and Lycra, sliding it down my skin so that it almost tickles before finally yanking it from my body.

  And now I’m wearing nothing. Nothing but him.

  His hand moves up the inside of my thigh as he kisses my waist, my belly, the curve of my breast. As his lips move up so does his hand, until he’s kissing my mouth just as I feel him touching me right at my core.

  And with that touch everything in me just lights up with a new kind of vitality. I writhe beneath him as he nibbles on my neck. His left hand is pressed between me and the firmness of my mattress; my breasts are pressed against the hard muscles of his chest as his fingers of his right hand toy with me, little movements bringing forth sensations that are so intense, so powerful, so fucking fantastic that I think there’s a chance I’ve gone mad. I mean nothing this amazing can be real, right? It has to be a fantasy, a hallucination. And yet, these feelings are most definitely real. The denim of his jeans scratches provocatively at my skin and I begin to shake, not just tremble, shake as my hands begin to claw at his back. My body is no longer under my control. The whole world has become a blur. I’ve never been this wet before, this wanting . . .

  . . . this in love.

  And when the orgasm comes it’s the most delicious sensation I’ve ever experienced. I cry out his name as he kisses my cheek, my hair, as one hand slides away and the other moves along my skin. I’m in a daze as he pulls the condom from his back pocket, pulls those jeans off his body, exposing himself to me, showing me everything.

  It’s doubtful that Adonis ever looked quite as hot as Brad. Every muscle is hard and perfectly sculpted. He could be a model, a world-class athlete, an Olympian.

  He could be mine.

  I finally allow my eyes to move down to his erection, which is reaching for me . . . well, if the lawyer and president thing doesn’t work out, he could always go for porn star.

  I let my fingers dance down the ridges of his cock as it strains for my attention. “I want you, Mercy,” he says, his low voice vibrating against my skin.

  I gently take the little gold packet from his hand, open it with my teeth. “Do you always carry around condoms in the pocket of your jeans, Brad?”

  “No,” he says with a little smile, “this is especially for you. This is all for you.”

  I feel my breath catch in my throat. And it hits me: I don’t have to second-guess Brad. I don’t have to wonder if the things he’s saying are true. There is no mystery here, just barefaced desire . . . and genuine affection. And love. I can trust him.

  I let the packet and the condom drop to the floor. “I’m on the pill now,” I say. “And I want to feel all of you.”

  A little groan escapes his lips, and in an instant I feel him, for a moment just the tip, and then with a powerful thrust he’s filling me, all of me to an extent that no other man has before. Again I find myself clinging to him, my face buried in his shoulder as he continues to move, rotating his hips against mine as I squeeze my legs together, finally lifting my hands from his body so I can brace myself, placing my flat palms against the wall behind my head. And he continues to rock against me, each movement hitting nerve endings that shoot sensations of pleasure through my body. With a start I realize I’m still trembling.

  And that’s when he uses the might of his thighs to open my legs wider, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of my head, lifting himself up like a cobra as he continues to ride me, now in a slow, sensuous figure-eight motion that allows me to feel not just the full length of his erection inside me, but the hardness of his pubic bone brushing against my clit.

  Oh . . . oh wow!

  Nope, this is definitely not possible. Not possible that I could be this close to coming again. That’s never happened before, and yet as he continues to massage my body with his, my trembling increases. He grabs me and turns us on our sides, never breaking our connection, and I spider my legs through his, my lips inches from his face. When he looks down at me, taking me in even as he possesses me, I truly go a little crazy, my hips gyrating against him, his grinding against me, and the second orgasm comes fast and hard, totally overpowering me. I hold on for dear life as he claims my lips with his, absorbing my cries of passion.

  This. Is. Happening.

  When he finally ends our kiss, I gasp as if I need air. I look around wildly, once again taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms bulge as he places a firm hand on the curvature of my back, making me feel delicate and feminine, feeling him, still hard inside me. He’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman on earth.

  And this time it’s me who lays my hand against his cheek as he gazes into my eyes. “My turn,” I whisper. And while he’s least expecting it I throw all my weight against him. He offers no resistance as I turn us over so now I’m on top. I dig my knees into the mattress, hook my feet around his legs just below his knees, almost as if giving myself little stirrups, and while grabbing fistfuls of sheet on either side of his head I start to make controlled, evenly paced little thrusts. He’s looking up at me smiling, but I can see that he’s now struggling for control. I start to increase the rhythm. He’s all the way inside me, making us completely connected, and my movement is rubbing my clit against him again just as my sensitive aching nipples slide against him, tickled by the spattering of hair on his chest.

  He wraps his arms around the small of my back, gripping me, but I still manage to increase the pace. My hair falls forward, over my shoulders, brushing against his as his hold on me tightens. Still, I pick up the speed even more, each little movement adding more friction against my clit . . .

  . . . oh my God, I’m going to come again.

  And as I move faster and faster—no control, only want, only need, only love—I am utterly and completely overcome. I cry out his name once more, and I hear him cry out mine. Mercy. And I feel him throbbing inside of me, filling me with the very essence of what makes him a man, making me his and making him mine.

  It’s not like anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s perfection, it’s crazy . . .

  . . . it’s pure.

  It’s love.

  CHAPTER 32

  HE SPENDS THE night. I don’t ask him to, even though it’s what I desperately want. It just happens. We fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, cuddled up together in the way people do in the movies but so rarely do in real life. I love feeling his breath in my hair, his sweat on my body, hearing the beating of his heart.

  I wake first, just as the sun begins to sneak in through the gaps in my blinds. When I realize who’s with me I think I must still be in the middle of a blissful dream.

  And then reality smacks me across the face and that bliss is replaced with panic.

  I prop myself up and shake him by the shoulders. “Brad! Brad, wake up!”

  His eyes blink open, and when he sets those sleepy eyes on me I almost give in to the temptation of just falling back down against his chest. But with herculean effort, I resist the urge. “It’s morning!” I say. “Where’s June? Is she with Maria? How long can she stay? Should we—”

  “Shh,” he says, and gently places his fingers against my lips. “She’s not with Maria. She’s well taken care of.”

  “Oh phew,” I say with a little laugh, now willingly falling back against him. “I got a little freaked there. Is she with your mom?”

  “No.” There’s just a hint of strain to his tone. “She’s with her mom.”

  “What?” I sit up again, clutching the sheet to my chest.

  Brad sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “A lot has happened in the months since I’ve seen you.”

  “I guess! When the hell did Mommy Dearest show up?”

  “Just under six weeks ago; this is the second time June has spent the night with
her.” He pushes himself up to a sitting position and stretches one arm, then the other across his chest. “Do you have coffee?”

  I lean back, shaking my head. “Coffee? Are you . . . your ex is back and you want to know about coffee?”

  “Granted, there was a time when talking about my ex made me crave tequila,” he says with a little smirk, “but things are better now. Coffee will be fine.”

  I shake my head, completely baffled by his calm. “Okay, I have coffee.” I get up, still completely naked, quickly grabbing my oversized sweatshirt from the floor and pulling it on, tugging it down to my thighs under his watchful gaze.

  “You truly are a beautiful woman,” he says softly.

  I turn to reply, but stop as I now have the distance to fully take him in. The sheet is resting just below his narrow waist as he leans his broad back against the wall. For this man to look at me naked and then call me beautiful, it’s sort of shocking.

  And then my mind travels back to that photo I found in his sweater drawer and I feel an uncomfortable tightening in my chest. Keeping my head down so my hair blocks my face, I go to the kitchen and start the water boiling. “So what,” I say, my back now to him. “She just dialed you up and said Hi! How ya doin’? Mind if I reenter your life?”

  “She called to apologize,” he explains as I pull the ground coffee and some half-and-half from the refrigerator. “She’s older now, we’re both older,” he says with a slightly self-conscious laugh. I glance back at him. I’ve never known Brad to be self-conscious about anything. “She’ll be starting in a PhD program in the fall.”

  “Uh-huh.” I grab two mugs, one with an exhausted and grumpy-looking Tinker Bell on it and another with Rosie the Riveter. I’ll be nice and give him Rosie.

  “She knows how badly she handled things and, predictably, she’s been thinking a lot about her daughter. In the end she just couldn’t stay away anymore.”

  “Well gee, it only took her four and a half years.”

  Brad doesn’t answer, and I can’t bring myself to turn back to see his expression. The kettle works up to a high-pitched whistle and I take it off the burner as I put coffee cones on each cup. “She’s not a bad person, Mercy,” he finally says as I place the filters and scoop the coffee in. “She made a mistake. We’re all guilty of that.”

  I take a deep breath and then blow it out through pursed lips. “What does she want, Brad? Shared custody?”

  “Visitation. Just any time I’m willing to give her. She just wants the opportunity to know our daughter.”

  Our daughter. Dear God, do I hate the sound of that. “What about you?” I ask tersely. “Has she said anything about wanting you?”

  Again, silence, and this one’s loaded. If I could I’d crawl into a corner and cry. Instead I brace myself against the counter, staring down at the coffee as it slowly drips through the bottoms of the cones. “What about you?” I whisper. “Do you want her, too?”

  I don’t hear but feel Brad’s approach. When he places a hand on each of my shoulders I lean back against his chest, close my eyes as he kisses the top of my head. “I want you,” he says quietly. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve chosen you.”

  Something about the phrasing sets off alarm bells, although I’m not sure why. “Where’s she getting her PhD?” Another long pause, and this time I don’t need to wait for an answer. “She’s getting it at UCLA, isn’t she? You fucker!” I pull away and glare at him. “She’s the one who convinced you to apply there!”

  “No,” he says sternly. “She’s going to UCLA because it’s one of the few schools that has a strong genetics program. She wanted to attend Cambridge, but UCLA was always a more likely scenario. And me? I’m applying there because this is where June and I live and because of you. I’ve been afraid of not being there for June when she needs me, but you were right when you pointed out that I couldn’t use that as an excuse forever. You made me see that a plan postponed is not the same thing as a plan destroyed. I can be inflexible at times, even rigid, certainly stubborn. But you shook some sense into me. I hope that Nalla will stay involved with June, and if she does, that will help, but if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t be the man I want to be. You helped me see that. I owe you everything, Mercy. Just you.”

  I swallow hard, force a smile, mumble an apology. I have no reason to doubt Brad. He’s never misled me, never lied. Plus he’s here with me, not Nalla, me. I let my eyes run over his body. He’s not wearing any clothes.

  “You, get rigid?” I ask, reaching between his legs, feeling him immediately grow hard against my palm. “I think I can live with that.”

  “Can you?” he asks as he gently moves the coffee cups farther down the counter. “I’m so glad to hear that.” And with that he grabs me by the waist and lifts me up onto the counter, quickly stepping between my legs. “And now that I think about it,” he says as he pulls up on my sweatshirt so that there’s nothing beneath me but the hard, cool countertop, “there are ways to start the morning that don’t involve coffee at all.”

  I stretch my arms forward, wrapping them around his neck, and tip my head to the side coyly. “Show me?” I ask with false innocence.

  He yanks me forward so that now the tip of his cock is right up against me, opening me without quite entering me. “Are you ready for me, Mercy?”

  I bite my lower lip and give him a slow nod, and then he pulls me forward again, entering me, thrusting inside me; I can’t believe how wet I’m getting so quickly. How does he do this to me? I scrape my teeth against his skin and he rocks against me.

  I bend my knees, lifting my feet up, digging my heels into the counter so I can take him in even deeper, and he responds by grabbing my ass and pulling me against him, pushing even further inside me, moving me back and doing it again. It’s intense and incredible. My nails scratch against his skin and I hear him let out a little moan.

  That moan speaks of victory. Knowing I can draw that out of him ignites me in a whole new way. I scratch and claw even as I kiss his skin and cry out his name. The rhythm he’s set for us is ferocious and I absolutely love it. Already I’m close to coming.

  But then he lifts me up, still inside me, and slams my back against the refrigerator door. As I cling to him, I put one leg down but keep the other wrapped around him as he bends his knees and now penetrates me in an upward motion. It only takes seconds before the orgasm completely overtakes me. And again he comes with me.

  And here I had thought that the simultaneous orgasm was just short of a myth, something as rare and elusive as a solar eclipse.

  But not with Brad. With Brad I’m in sync. As I struggle to catch my breath, my cheek against the warmth of his skin, my back against the cool of the refrigerator, I try to convince myself that this is forever. That he and I will always have this. That no obstacle will ever stand in our way. That our bond will never be broken.

  But as he gently pulls away, as he kisses my forehead, I know I don’t really believe it. The kind of bond I dream of takes decades to form. Brad’s been my lover since yesterday.

  I could lose him tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 33

  EARLY THE NEXT evening, I go over to Brad’s, TJ’s bag in hand, and cook dinner for him and June. It’s a wonderful night. Really wonderful. I had feared that June would be more aloof with me. After all, I haven’t seen her in quite some time, and now with her mom around, any other woman by her dad’s side might be seen as a threat. But June is nothing but warmth and giggles. She does tell me about her mom, whom she still calls Nalla. “She’s the prettiest lady in the world!” she gushes. “And everybody says I look just like her.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I say sweetly as I stab a potato chunk with my fork.

  “I just wish she was more cool,” June says contemplatively. “Like you, Mercy!”

  Okay, that’s enough to mollify me. “What’s so cool about me?” I ask. Brad gives me a bemused look, but I just flutter my eyelashes innocently. As far as I know, there’s no rule against mil
king a compliment.

  “You have pink in your hair!” June points out. “And you sing cool songs! And you . . . you have . . .” She looks at her father for help.

  “She has a certain je ne sais quoi,” Brad supplies. June gives him a blank look.

  I lean over and whisper conspiratorially. “That’s French for ‘your dad’s a dork.’ ”

  June breaks into giggles immediately. “Can you stay to watch a movie with us? We’re going to watch Toy Story 2, right, Daddy?”

  I glance at my watch. “We’d have to start it in the next twenty minutes. I have to work tonight.”

  “Are you going to be singing?”

  “Dancing,” I say automatically before I have a chance to think better of it. This time Brad shoots me a warning look. “I . . . I sing, dance, you name it, I do it.”

  “But where do you dance?” June asks, her mouth full of chicken.

  “At a club,” I say, shifting slightly in my seat.

  “What kind of dancing?”

  “Ballet,” Brad says testily.

  “Yep,” I confirm as I reach for my sparkling water. “It’s Swan Lake every night.”

  “Can I dance ballet, Daddy?”

  “Yes,” he says with a relieved sigh. “Next year we can sign you up for lessons.”

  “And can we be done with dinner in twenty minutes?” she presses.

  “We can,” he assures her, squeezing my knee under the table.

  “Good! Toy Story 2 is the best movie ever! And Buzz Lightyear is just like Daddy.”

  “She’s so right!” I press my hand against my heart. “You’re Buzz Lightyear!”