The Word of a Liar

by Beauchamp, Sally

  “I lied.”

  She faced him and stuck out her chin, surprised by her lack of embarrassment.

  “I knew it!” A wide smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  Ellen giggled.

  His thumb followed her jawline.

  She blew a puff of air from her mouth to control the blitzkrieg of desire his touch incited. Wetness pooled between her thighs. A warm, sultry breeze parted the curtains, carrying a dog’s distant barking. A devilish grin emerged under the cover of his dark beard. A deliciously dangerous flame in Mason’s eyes seared Ellen’s skin. She shivered.

  Standing, he pulled her to her feet. His lips rode the soft, elegant curve of her neck. Slipping from his embrace, she walked over to the door. A click and the room fell dark. She started to unbutton her blouse. White, natural light illuminated where she stood.

  “I want it dark,” she whispered, “like when you found me.”

  She unbuttoned the last button and her blouse parted. She stepped closer.

  He took her hand and then sat at the edge of the bed, capturing her hips with his knees. Slipping the blouse from her shoulders, he undid the clasp of her bra. Ellen dropped it to the floor, revealing the creamy white skin of her breasts. Mason took a moment to admire her then cupped a breast in each hand, brought them to his mouth and licked each nipple until they hardened. As he sucked them into his mouth, his cock swelled against his fly.

  She reached downward, tugging off his black T-shirt. Warm hands massaged his shoulders and neck, then combed through his hair; breasts enveloped his face. He suckled until Ellen cried out. As she looked up, moonlight captured her lascivious expression. He pulled her down on his knee.

  “I like you topless.” He grinned, pinching a nipple.

  She moaned, rolling her head back.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Ellen,” he whispered, feeling between her thighs, wanting her naked.

  “Stand up!” he demanded, his voice hoarse, lustful.

  She rose and then he stood, pressing her naked breasts to his bare chest. His tongue swept the curve of her ear; his teeth nipped her earlobe.

  Ellen stepped back, loosened his belt buckle, and then unzipped his jeans. Kneeling, she rolled them to his knees. Her fingers raked the dark curls surrounding his erection. She kissed him lightly and then looked up. Her eyebrows arched in a question.

  The soft light shimmered against her skin, amplifying the contrast of white breasts and tanned body. Immobilized by a foreign sensibility, he watched Ellen grip his manhood, stroking with one hand as she ran the other along the outside of his thigh and then around the curve of his buttocks. He closed his eyes.

  Weak with a conflagration of emotion burning somewhere deep inside, Ellen stopped her stroking, drawing him into the soft, hot wetness of her mouth. Her tongue stroked and swirled around the head. Groaning, Mason looked upward. His hips moved involuntarily to the rhythm of Ellen’s undulating caress. The uncontrolled heat of his passion raged; if he didn’t stop her, she would take him to the breaking point. Entangling his fingers in her hair, he freed himself.

  “Enough darlin’! You’re killing me.”

  Standing, she swept her hand down the side of his face. “Sit on the bed. I’ll finish undressing you.”

  The direct manner of her seduction rendered him powerless. He obeyed, watching helplessly as she stripped him naked. Hands on hips, Ellen rolled her head from side to side as her dark, intimidating eyes scanned his body. He imagined her in black leather, welding a whip, contemplating where and when to strike. A rush of sexual energy enflamed his groin.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” A defensive move to subjugate her power, he grabbed her wrists, pulling her down beside him. “I feel like I’m being auctioned off.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Ellen rolled the tip of her finger over his tiny nipple.

  “A real man can’t be beautiful.”

  Ellen’s hand roamed down his thigh. She grinned. “I’m glad I’m having sex tonight with a real man and not an imaginary one. I’ve had imaginary sex for quite a while; I’m ready for the real thing.”

  “Tell me what you did when you were having imaginary sex, and don’t leave out any of the important details.”

  Mason rolled on top of her, grasping her arms and pinning them above her head. Brown hair spilled around her face. Her liquid eyes, the color of whiskey and just as intoxicating, added to his hunger.

  A sly smile crept across her mouth. “I’d be willing to show you, Mr. Hackett, but I can’t seem to move.”

  “Hmmm, I can’t decide what to do. Let you up, or keep you like this?”

  He lowered to his elbows, her breasts flattening against his chest. He nuzzled her neck. “God, Ellen, you’re lovely.”

  He rolled on his side. “Show me!”

  He drew her hand to the waistband of her shorts.

  Ellen unbuttoned them and then slid down the zipper. Their eyes locked as her hand slid beneath her panties. She pulled up her knees only to let them fall apart. He watched the movement of her hips, the hump of her hand working beneath her clothes. Her breathing quickened. She licked her lips.

  Mason’s erection throbbed, his scrotum hardened, and an intense sensation brought him to the brink. He rose and went to the foot of the bed.

  Ellen’s hand stopped moving. Her eyes were fixed on him.

  “I can’t watch you do that any longer. You’re going to make me come.”

  “Without even touching you?”

  Mason inhaled, his heart raced. He enjoyed the smart ass banter, but it only added to his helplessness. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He felt like an inexperienced teenager. He needed to get it together. Gritting his teeth, Mason half sighed, half groaned.

  Grinning, Ellen gripped the waistband of her shorts, lifted her pelvis, and rolled them to her knees, red panties her only cover.

  Mason yanked off the shorts, gripped her ankles, and slid her hips to the edge of the bed. He positioned her feet on each of his shoulders. Ellen’s breath caught when his palm stroked the coarse thatch of hair through her panties. He paused. Hands back around her ankles, he moved closer, rocking his erection along her crotch. He watched her hips as she wiggled against him; sexual anticipation wet the smooth, silky fabric. Perspiration trickled down his temples. Control lessened.

  He drew back, allowing her legs to fall over the bed. On his knees, his face between her thighs, he bit small pieces of her panties. The smell of her sex and the flowery scent of soap clung to her moist skin. Growling, he rubbed his beard against her inner thigh.

  Ellen giggled, her hands fondling his hair. He forced the crotch of her panties to one side, parted her soft, tender folds, his fingers slowly exploring her slick flesh. He reached inside to discover the exhilarating warmth of her body. Ellen’s hips moved rhythmically with his touch; he rolled his thumb over her clit. Soft moans encouraged him. His mouth consumed the hardening bud. Ellen’s legs stiffened.

  “Mason, stop!” she cried, tugging at his hair.

  He moved away and looked up at her. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Her shaky voice apologetic, she rose to her elbows, slapping her legs closed. “I can’t do this.”

  He rubbed the top of her thighs reassuringly.

  “Relax and go with it.” He spoke softly to diminish her sudden fear.

  “No! Please, stop!”

  She backed up to the pillows as if a fiendish apparition had entered the room.

  He stood, perplexed and uncertain, but crawled in the bed.

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” She sucked her lips into her mouth.

  “No.” He brought his arm around her shoulders. “I want to pleasure you, like you did to me.”

  He cuddled her face in his hands; deep sadness pooled in the dark depths of her eyes.

  “Ellen, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?”

  Ellen drew in her breath then exhaled slowly. She nodded. “Okay.”

 
He smiled, lying back on the pillow. His raven hair fell away from his face.

  “You have an earring.” Ellen slid down beside him. “I didn’t notice before.”

  She propped her head up on her hand. “You know, Mason, with your hair off your face, you look familiar.”

  “Maybe we’ve met in another lifetime. Maybe I was your slave and you were my mistress.” His eyebrows arched.

  “That’s where I remember you. You were locked in my dungeon where I had you chained and did wicked things to you. But as I recall, you enjoyed it way too much.”

  “I remember. You wore a lot of leather and carried a whip.”

  She shook her head. “You’re very naughty, Mason Hackett, very naughty indeed. I’m going to have to punish you.”

  His blue eyes twinkled. Ellen rose, slipped off her panties and then straddled Mason. With renewed confidence, she placed her arms on either side of his head, breasts dangling provocatively before his eyes. “Like those?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Well, you can’t have them. They’re all for me.”

  She cupped her breasts in each hand. She hadn’t dared so bold an act with her late husband, but Mason liberated her. With closed eyes, she rolled her tongue over each nipple. Paul’s unearthly eye’s penetrated the darkness, condemning her. Go away! she begged. She didn’t want to think about Paul now. She wanted to see what Mason’s reaction would be. Would he make her feel ashamed, too? Banishing the ghost, she opened her eyes and simultaneously sucked her nipples.

  Mason sat up; lust ignited the blue of his eyes. She offered him a taste. Together they licked, tongues colliding, passions mounting. With practiced agility, he flipped her, wrapped her legs around him, grasped her buttocks and drove his hard erection deep inside. Ellen’s body stretched to accommodate his fullness, creating keen shock waves of pain and desire. He pulled back, tantalizingly close to complete withdrawal; in one quick movement, he entered her again.

  Ellen arched her back, craving further penetration. She moaned softly as the sensuous pace of their bodies resurrected feelings she thought dead and awakened new ones. Sweat dampened her skin and hair, but all vain considerations no longer mattered. Only he mattered. Only tonight mattered. Ellen sunk her fingers into Mason’s back, clinging to him. The ecstasy he conjured, primal and raw, roiled and screamed for release. He throbbed against her and in her, each stroke more intense, more demanding. He carried her to the very edge of the universe.

  “Mason!” she whimpered.

  The white light of the moon glistened on Ellen’s damp skin. Mason rocked against her. Thrusting himself further inside her hot, wet body, driven by the ache of wanting and pleasured by pleasing, he forced himself to maintain control. Exquisite pain tore through his loins. Every muscle in his body was taut with desire, yet his only thought was to please Ellen. To make her want… need… desire… him, as much as he did her. She tightened around him, meeting his body with urgency.

  “Hold on, baby,” he pleaded. “Hold on a moment longer.”

  Her body quaked and shivered. Cries of pleasure hung in the blackness but still he moved against her and with her, determined to bring her higher than she had ever gone. At the pinnacle of their arousal, he would cure himself of this abnormal ache.

  “Come with me, Ellen.”

  He leaned forward, devouring the softness of her mouth.

  He placed a hand over the dark hair of her pelvis, and he stroked her hard swollen clit with his thumb. Muscles tightened; he knew she was almost there. She called his name again, and the ache became unbearable.

  “Come now, Ellen!” Mason demanded. “Let yourself go!”

  Their intimate dance came to a climatic end. Mason drove deeper, muscles clenched, as the hot pain of ecstasy ripped through his body. Ellen’s nails scraped his back; her face contorted. Overwhelming release sent him into a free fall. Soft moans escaped as he broke against her body. Aftermaths of passion shook him. He cradled her, resting his face in her neck, her damp breasts cushioning his chest. He listened to her breathe, the ache in his belly intense as ever.

  Dazed, he slowly rolled onto his back. She slid up against him. He laid quietly, relishing the aftermath of their union. He knew he should say something to convey his pleasure. He’d learned women liked to hear romantic things after sex, and he was damn good at it, except now. He curved his arm around Ellen and kissed the top of her head, thinking of the unusual way she affected him. There were no words to describe what he was feeling.

  Ellen brought her arm across his chest and rested her head on the wings tattooed above his heart. His fingers played in her hair; his pulse echoed in her ear. Outside the window, the neighborhood slept. The moon traveled to another part of the sky; Mason’s fingers fell silent. Ellen wanted to tell him how much this night had meant to her, but she knew she couldn’t. He was with another. And even if he wasn’t, what kind of wife would betray her husband’s memory by admitting he never came close to making her feel like this? Deep inside, she knew she and Mason would never know how far these strong feelings could take them. Ellen pulled up the covers and allowed sleep to take her.

  Mason awoke. Eyes wide open, heart racing, Ellen’s warm body against him, he raised his head to look at the clock. 5:00 a.m. Ellen turned, moving away. His eyes followed the carved lines of the heavy crown molding. Its shellacked beauty was the only masculine accent in the room. He tried to discern what had awoken him. The troublesome ache persisted. He had been certain it would go away after sex; its presence frightened him.

  The smell of their love making still lingered. Awakening birds created a cacophony of sound outside the window, and the early morning light filtered through the red silk curtains. A soft, pink glow highlighted the room’s feminine décor. Their clothes littered the floor.

  Mason reached for Ellen but stopped midway as panic struck. What had he done? Ellen was not a one night stand kind of woman. A mother, a widow—she was looking for a husband, a father, commitment. Nausea coiled in his belly. He could offer her none of that. He needed to go, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay and have coffee with her, take a shower together, use her toothbrush. He grinned, rubbing the ends of her hair between his fingers. He couldn’t allow himself to think like this. It was too dangerous. A wife would be bad enough, but a kid…. with some kind of disability. No, that was not the life he’d chosen.

  He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. With great stealth, he moved off the bed and quietly gathered his clothes. He watched Ellen sleep as he dressed. Holding his boots, he took one last look and blew her a kiss from the doorway. Silent as a house cat, he left her.

  CHAPTER twelve

  A Harley’s deep roar irritated the stillness of the early morning. Ellen’s eyes fluttered open. Across the room, a warm breeze played beneath the silk curtains. Thunder rumbled up the street. Mason gone, the room fell silent.

  Daylight robbed her of ever being intimate with him again. She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Without a word, he slipped out of her life, leaving tender lips and throbbing nipples as souvenirs of his love making. She wondered whether it was love he made or only sex. Her first one night stand and she felt like she had to throw-up. She closed her eyes; tears trickled down her temples, wetting the pillow. He could have said good-bye, but no—he snuck away, leaving me to wake up alone like a common whore! Ellen’s lips trembled. She sniffled, turning to pluck a Kleenex from the nightstand. She was foolish to think that one night with Mason would be enough. But he had to know leaving her the way he did would make her feel cheap.

  Sitting up, she blew her nose. The buzz of the neighbor’s car pulling out of his driveway, registered the time. 5:30 a.m. Ellen’s hand ran across a stiff, stained spot on the sheet. She frowned. Another souvenir. She studied the stain. Like a wife who discovers her husband’s infidelity, anger seized her by the throat. She jumped out of bed. Determined to strip away every remnant of Mason’s presence, she ripped off the offensive sheet. Pillowcases, blankets, paddin
g—she tore them off, leaving the mattress naked. Sweat ran down her back as she rolled the bedclothes into a large pile then tugged the dead weight down the hallway. A killer disposing of evidence, she shoved the dirty linens one by one down the laundry chute. She slammed it closed and rubbed her palms together, satisfied.

  She went into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she held her hand under the stream until the water turned unbearably hot and then stepped in, allowing the painful heat to scorch her skin. Covering herself in a thick lather, she scoured away his scent. Steam filled the space; pink suds ran down her legs, pooled at her feet, and then ran in a thin stream to the drain. Ellen shivered; sobs choked the air from her lungs. She sank down, water pelting her skin. She rested her back against the shower, rocking slightly.

  “Dear God,” she cried. “What have I done?”

  ***

  9:00 a.m. Mason pulled his Sportster into the elegant-looking car dealership of Jack Nelson. Fortunate Sons’ Auto sprawled the entire city block. Cars whose names implied wealth—Lamborghini, Porsche, Ferrari—sparkled behind the expansive glass pane windows like diamonds at Tiffany’s. He walked into the showroom, gawking at all the vehicles that sat prominently on display. A young woman came from behind a desk to greet him.

  “Is there something I can do for you, sir?” she asked in a haughty tone.

  “Well, yes, there is, little darlin’.” Mason grinned provocatively. “You can tell Mr. Nelson that Mason Hackett is here to see him.”

  The woman walked away, heels clicking her annoyance. Relishing the new car smell and the sweet scent of money, Mason walked about the show room. Nervous energy and remorse twisted in his gut, making his hands cold and clammy. He should have said good-bye. No. He should have stayed. He wanted to.

  A sleek, silver Porsche caught his eye. He opened the driver’s side door and peered inside. Ellen is awake by now and probably hates me. Worse, she probably wants to kill me. The night before had been amazing, yet he slunk away like a coward. Mason ran his hand over the steering column then closed the door. Damn it! He had to stop thinking about Ellen and focus on Jack calling him about a job. He had to convince Jack that he was the right kind of tough. I can’t be fretting over a woman like a fucking pussy. Mason closed the door.