Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “Let me touch you,” I beg.

  “No.” The words are muffled on my skin, and I squirm, redoubling my efforts to touch him when the head of his cock slips inside. “Stop moving,” he growls.

  I don’t stop until he’s all the way inside me and he clamps both hands on my hips. I need to move. I need friction. When I tighten my inner muscles, he shuts his eyes and hisses out a breath. “Cass.”

  “Please.” We’re just sitting here, his cock pulsing inside me, my clit throbbing, and while I don’t think I’m anywhere close to orgasm, I don’t care. The connection that comes alive whenever we have sex is about more than release. I feel him everywhere, like he’s invaded my soul, like he’s become a part of me and turned me into a sappy, gooey love-struck mess. Heat crawls up my neck to my face, and I wind my arms around his shoulders. “Make love to me.”

  Such cheesy, clichéd words. Words I’m embarrassed by. They’re so out of place, yet they’re the only ones I can think of that describe exactly what I want to do, and what I want him to do to me. It won’t change things between us, but I can’t ignore that we both need it. I kiss him slowly, coaxing his lips apart with my tongue. Pressed together from mouths to groins, nothing can break us apart.

  One kiss leads to another, a string of them growing hotter and hotter, and I start rocking. Not hard, not fast, just tiny, shallow strokes that inch me closer to the edge. Another stolen moment, one that spins out as our breathing synchronizes and our hips move in counterpoint. I want to crawl inside him. I want to fuse us together.

  “Fuck, but I love you,” he murmurs. “Bear down. Can you do that?”

  “I d-d-don’t know.” What new thing is he going to show me? I slow almost to a complete stop, breath hitching in my lungs as I try to do as he asks and clench around him. I must do something good because he groans, and the building tension increases tenfold. “Nick?”

  “Like that.” Hands on my waist, he encourages me to roll my hips. The pressure becomes a weight, and I strain against it. “You’re incredible,” he whispers.

  I don’t know what’s happening. I am so lost, lost to this raging inferno scorching my veins. I tremble and kiss him. Kiss him hard, hoping he’ll ground me because I’m about to fall apart. “I love you.” I repeat the words against his lips, over and over again, as the trembles become shakes and the heavy weight low in my belly blooms and spreads.

  Ever since I discovered what an orgasm was, I’ve had all kinds. Never this. Never this slow roll consuming everything in its path, climbing gradually to a peak and shimmering there for ages. I’m vaguely aware of Nick grinding out my name and the bruising grip of his hands on my hips.

  My head is spinning.

  I remember I need to breathe to live, and I drop my head to his shoulder, panting for air. His chest heaves and brushes mine. “Fuck,” he gasps out. “Fuck.”

  I turn my face into the crook of his neck. “Mmmm.” He smells like…mine. Cinnamon and sweat and…home.

  A cramp spasms in my hip, and I grunt at the sudden pain. “Back in a minute.” I lift myself off him and crawl from the bed, then limp my way to the door as my muscles unlock.

  Nick joins me in the bathroom as I finish cleaning up. Even in the soft glow of the bathroom nightlight, I can make out the weary lines digging into his skin. “We need to talk.”

  Cold rushes over me. We need to talk. The four most hated words in the English language. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s right. Shivering, I hurry to the guest room and pull on the first thing I find, which is unfortunately Nick’s T-shirt.

  I walk into the living room. He’s slumped on the couch, crutches propped against the arm. I pull the throw off the back of a nearby chair and wrap it around me before curling into the opposite corner of the couch. “I’m not going to like this, am I.” It’s not a question; whatever he’s about to say is sure to be displeasing at best and soul-destroying at worst.

  “Probably not,” he says. “We can’t keep doing this.”

  I don’t want to speculate on what this is. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  He waves his hand toward the hallway. “What just happened shouldn’t have.”

  The cold seeps through the blanket, creeping into my limbs. “We shouldn’t have what? Had sex?” Once the words are out of my mouth, I realize he’s right. Sex, or at least sex where we’re at, only complicates matters.

  “You can’t tell me you suddenly forgive me for what I did. You do, I’ll know you’re lying, and I’ll want to know why.” He sighs. “We both need some space, and circumstances are ensuring we don’t have any.”

  I pull the blanket tighter as the cold penetrates my core. I asked for this, and as badly as I need it, it still hurts to hear. “There’s furniture in the apartment now. Since class starts on Monday, it would be easier for me if I was there. You’re welcome to stay here until you find a place to live.” A shudder wracks my body. “You’re still angry.”

  A car drives by, and Nick cranes his neck to try to see out the window. “Not angry. Anger’s a useless emotion.” I cringe, the unintentional insult burning. Anger fueled my need for revenge, and while I knew he didn’t approve of my methods, I thought he appreciated the end result, same as the rest of the organization. “Trust is a two-way street, and you damaged mine. A few days of behaving like the mature, methodical Cass I know helps, but it’s not enough.”

  Just like his acquiescence to my request to live alone and take a step back isn’t enough. We both have needs that aren’t being met, and they deserve equal weight. “I know.”

  “We’ll stay here while we figure out what to do next.” He picks up his crutches and struggles to his feet. But my brain’s awake, and it’s already thinking of possibilities.

  “No,” I say slowly. “We can do this apart. We can make this work. You can stay here until you find a place to live, and I’ll move into the apartment like we planned.”

  “Cassidy—”

  “Don’t,” I warn. “Do you really want to have this argument? Because I don’t.”

  Somewhere down the street, two of the neighborhood cats start fighting, their screeches filling the silence. I struggle to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Please. I need this. So do you. We can’t keep putting it off because the timing isn’t right.”

  He growls low in his throat. “You’re right.”

  “So we do this? Like we agreed?” He nods once, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Is there anyone left that you trust to handle security?” I tuck the blanket more securely around my shoulders. “Turner installed the system here himself. Anything you can’t figure out, I can explain, except for the gun safe. It’s a biometric lock, and I don’t know how to program it to allow you access. But you should have someone you can call if something goes on the fritz here.”

  He remains on his feet, hovering over the end of the coffee table like a shadowy mountain. “I’ll take care of the security at your apartment. I’ll need a few days to get everything together. Until then, I’d like you to stay here. It’s safer.” His voice softens to a plea. “Please, Cass.”

  Is he scared? As scared as I am? And he’s still letting me move out before this is over? I don’t deserve him. I stand and pad toward him, trailing the blanket. “Go back to bed.”

  He shakes his head. “Only if you come with me.”

  I arch a brow. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of this whole conversation?” I would race him down the hall right now. I’m not ready to sleep alone. Not again.

  His lips brush my forehead, and I lean into him. “One more night,” he whispers.

  One more night. To comfort. To say good-bye, at least for now. “Okay.”

  * * * *

  “Where’s Nick tonight?” Charlie asks, reaching out to take the crust Denise hands him.

  “Spending time with his family. His dad’s in the hospital, so he wanted to be there.” I lick sauce from my lip. “Can you turn it
up a little?”

  Charlie glances over, remote in hand. “Hospital? Everything all right?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be fine. Just some surgery.” Surgery necessitated by a couple of bullet wounds, but if Denise and Charlie haven’t heard about the shooting from the local news, I’m not about to enlighten them. I work up a grin. “Volume? Please? We’re missing some epic whining right now.”

  “I think this may be the worst one yet. How did you hear about this movie?” Denise leans forward and selects another slice of pizza.

  “Some entertainment site was talking about a remake. And it’s not that bad.”

  Charlie groans. “It’s called Mother, May I Sleep With Danger. Cass, how does that not equal a bad movie?”

  I shrug and reach for another slice of pizza. “I could have chosen, oh, The Amanda Knox Story. Or that one about Wills and Kate.” My phone buzzes from its place on the arm of the sofa. After a glance at the screen to assure myself it’s not Nick, I decline the call.

  Our talk in the early morning hours resulted in a daylong awkward silence, broken only when he told me he’d texted Lia to drive him to visit his father. I’ve spent most of the day assuring myself this is normal, that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.

  So far it’s only sort of working.

  “We should all try and get together for dinner or something.” Denise picks up a glob of cheese and pops it into her mouth. “Provided there’s actually time for a life this semester.”

  “Sure.” It’s a few steps back. We’ll still go on dates. I pick up the slice on my plate and put it down again. “We’re… I dunno. I guess kind of taking a break?”

  Denise and Charlie’s heads whip toward me in unison. Charlie recovers first and picks up the remote. The image of a much younger Tori Spelling freezes on the screen. She’s in the middle of crying or yelling or something, so her face is all wonky.

  Denise puts her plate on the coffee table and scoots across the couch. “Did you guys have a fight?”

  It’s not quite accurate, but it’s the safest description I can think of. “Sort of.” The pizza doesn’t look the least bit appetizing anymore, so I set my plate next to Denise’s. “And it’s not a breakup. We’re still together.”

  My phone buzzes again, and I glance at the screen. I have no idea what Constantine could want with me. I decline the call, then turn my phone off. “We both realized we’ve moved awfully fast, so we’re slowing down, taking a few steps back.”

  Denise chews on her lower lip, and Charlie says her name. At his low warning tone, she releases it with a guilty look in his direction. She shifts on the couch so she’s facing me. “You’re okay with this?”

  I slump back into the cushions. “Yes? No? I’m the one who brought it up. We do need some space.”

  Before our talk, I figured Nick would spend most of his downtime at my—our—apartment, leaving me on my own for a night or two every couple of weeks. It’s basically the opposite of what I told him I needed, and the realization I could be spending weeks on end alone in an apartment I can’t actually afford is strangely painful.

  Ever since Nick came along, the loneliness that’s followed me around for years has disappeared. I’m not looking forward to experiencing it again.

  But I think I need to.

  I push my hair behind my ears and reach for my plate, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening. Charlie hasn’t spoken a word, and Denise is watching me carefully. I force a smile. “It’ll be fine. Like I said, a break, not a breakup. We’re not going to stop talking or spending time together. He’s got a project that’s been eating up a lot of his time recently anyway, and he needs to focus on that and his family.

  “He was there when I needed him,” I say quietly. Nick sticking by my side through the aftermath of Turner’s murder is more than I deserve. “We’re not going to throw this away just because we’ve finally decided to be smart.”

  I point at the screen. “I’m a little afraid to find out what’s going on. Judging by her face, it’s either scary, sad, or she’s just discovered that she really can’t act and she has no idea how she’ll get through the rest of this movie.”

  Denise snickers and picks up her plate, and Charlie restarts the movie. I glance at my phone and contemplate calling Constantine to see what he wants.

  Nothing good, I figure. And I bite off the end of my slice.

  Chapter 21

  I’ve used this mug countless times. The silver’s scratched in places, and the black lid doesn’t always want to screw on properly on the first try, but it still works. Steam wafts over the rim, and if I dip my head a little, I can see the deep brown liquid.

  It’s the one familiar object in a sea of unfamiliarity. New clothes, new bag, hell, new kitchen.

  Though I haven’t had a chance to use it or my new bedroom. I won’t until the security system’s installed at my new apartment. We stayed at my parents’ house last night, Nick in the guest room, me in my old room. I thought sleeping apart would be hard, but I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.

  Nick darts his gaze from the lid lying next to the cup to my face. “I think that round thing is supposed to screw into the cylinder.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “Funny.” I pick up the lid and twist it into place. “You want some toast?” I point to two slices smothered in grape jam, a single bite taken out of the corner of one of them.

  His crutches thunk on the linoleum floor as he rounds the counter. “No, because you’re going to finish it.”

  My stomach cramps, and I suck in a breath. “I don’t think so.”

  He leans the crutches against the counter and nudges the plate toward me. “You need to eat, Cass,” he says quietly.

  Needing is so far away from able in this instance, and I am nowhere near able to eat. “They’d call me,” I whisper. “First day of the new term, Mom and Turner would call me. Mom always told me to learn.” I smile despite the tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “Turner wouldn’t say much. Usually a terse ‘good luck’ and a reminder to stick to a schedule so I could get my work done in a timely manner.” The lump in my throat aches something fierce. “I don’t think he approved of my choice of major. Or maybe he just didn’t care.” A tear sneaks past my defenses, slides down my cheek, and I dash it away. I fist my hands on the countertop and concentrate on my breathing, pushing away the rising need to fall apart. Nick winds an arm around my waist and turns me into him. I rest my head on his shoulder. “When does it stop hurting?”

  He sighs and holds me tighter. “I don’t think it ever will. I just think it fades into the background.” He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to class?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice.” If I withdraw now, I risk having to drop out completely, forcing me to reapply to the college in order to finish my degree. While it’s not the end of the world, it is a major inconvenience, and there’s no guarantee there’d be room if I have to reapply.

  I lift my head. “Come on. We need to leave now if I’m going to get to class on time.” With Andreas in the hospital, his thoughts for increased protection for the two of us never became an actual plan. I’m driving Nick to the office, then re-parking the car near my apartment and walking to campus.

  He gives the plate of toast a final pointed look. Sighing, I pick up the piece with the bite out of it and take another one. The sweetness of the jam triggers my gag reflex, and I swallow convulsively. I manage to get the bite down. “No more. Unless you want it, I’m dumping it.”

  “I’ll eat it in the car.” He tucks his crutches under his arms while I transfer the toast to a paper towel. We grab jackets and bags, and all too soon we’re out the door, ready to start the day.

  Nick’s new phone rings the moment he’s settled in the passenger seat. Balancing the toast on one leg, he growls at the phone before answering. “What?” he barks. I ease the car out into the street. “Fuck’s sake,
Con. We’re on our way.” The volume on Nick’s phone is loud enough for me to hear his cousin’s voice, though I can’t make out any of the words. “I don’t fucking know. A half hour?” I stifle a wince. I didn’t bother calling Nick’s cousin back last night because I didn’t see the point. And other than the brief moment in the emergency room, I haven’t brought up my renewed concerns about Constantine. Nick’s a captive audience now. I might as well get it over with. I turn left and check the rearview.

  “Fuck,” Nick mutters. He picks up a piece of toast and crunches into it.

  I scrape my teeth over my top lip. “So, um. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah?” The word comes out garbled, spoken around a mouthful of jam and crunchy bread, and I smile in spite of myself. Nick’s maturity is usually miles above the college boys I’ve dated. But he still talks with his mouth full. Stupid, but it makes me love him more.

  “Nice to see you smiling this morning,” he says softly. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  The smile drops abruptly. “Constantine.” I stop at a red light and check the rearview. Was that black SUV behind us a few blocks ago? Nick remains silent, and I sneak a quick look at his face. Closed off. Does some part of him suspect what I’m about to say? “I think he’s behind the shootings.” The light turns green, and I swing a quick right. No black SUV in the rearview.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nick pick up the toast. “Explain.”

  I can do this. I’ve done it before. But that was before Turner’s murder and the attempts on Nick’s life, and finding that blank, remote detachment is a struggle. I flex my hands on the wheel, speed up and pass another car, blow out a breath and draw in a new one.