Little Lies

by Elena M. Reyes

  “Pie?”

  “Yes, pie.” My mouth waters at the response, my mind going straight for the sweet little slice of heaven between her thighs that I’ve yet to devour. Because I will. Not today, but I will, and it’s hard to pull myself from those dangerous thoughts when I’m hard and hungry. Her saving grace is the rough day she’s had and the hospital visit. “I want a piece of the PB&J masterpiece from the Pie Bar.”

  There’s this wistfulness in her eyes as she tells me, almost as if tasting the treat, and I jerk hard behind the confines of my zipper. Such an unknowing tease. So sweet.

  “Anything else?” It comes out a bit gruff, but Gabriella doesn’t pay any mind, too lost in her thoughts of dessert. “Can I get you to eat something heartier first?”

  “No. Just pie.”

  “Done.”

  17

  Theodore

  Gabriella’s taking a shower when I step out of the penthouse and head down to the garage, the low moan as the water meets her skin becoming almost too much to bear. She was unaware of my presence inside the guest room while I dropped off a pair of sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt for her to wear.

  I also left a note atop the bed telling her I’d be right back. That my house is hers to use as she pleases while ignoring how close she was.

  Naked.

  Wet.

  Motherfucking mine.

  I’d wanted to give her something that would make her comfortable, and instead, I received the gift of her sighing in contentment. That blissful sound made my already-hard cock throb, pulsing in pain for the release I denied it once again.

  Soon, I whisper into the empty cab of my car while driving toward the Pie Bar like the easily manipulated man she’s made me; something the beautiful woman is unaware of. Ignorant of the many ways I admire her and have for longer than she knows—I’ve wanted her since seeing the first stroke of her brush on a blank canvas.

  Each new color moved something within me. I saw the world through her eyes.

  Turning right onto the street where the restaurant is located, I hit the number two on the vehicle’s screen and then wait. It rings once, and then there’s a click followed by heavy breathing. “Tero.”

  “Evening, sir.” There’s a small yip from his end, and the owner doesn’t sound amused. “As you can hear, I don’t have a fan as a guest but an enemy waiting to pounce.”

  “He can pounce all he wants.”

  “I’m already aware of being his personal chew toy.”

  A bark of laughter escapes me as I pull into a parking space, putting the car in park. “She’ll want to video call him in a bit to make sure he’s okay. I’ll need you to stay awake as long as it’s necessary, my friend.”

  Even though I can’t see him, I can almost imagine Tero nodding his head. “Will I be taking him into the office with me or—”

  “No. Bring him to the penthouse at ten.”

  “Understood.” There’s a heavy silence afterward and then the sound of a door closing. For a few beats, I wait for him to gather his thoughts, but nothing. Instead, my patience grows thin and right before asking him to say whatever’s on his mind, he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Elise called the office as you predicted a few minutes before it closed, demanding to know where you live and why Miss Moore is at your home. She was downright hostile toward Meera.”

  I close my eyes and tilt my head back, scratching my jaw. “I’m to assume she didn’t ask how Gabriella’s doing?”

  “That was the least of her worries,” he hisses out, tone heavy with disgust. “That woman is a rat in the grass without honor. Most pests hunt for survival while she leeches off friends to gain social status.”

  “Is that a personal observation?” I ask, already knowing the answer. His judgement is one I trust. “Or did you do your own analysis?”

  “Both.”

  “Speak up as my friend, not an employee.”

  “They didn’t meet by chance or accident, Theodore. Something else is at play here, and I’m worried for her safety.”

  “I know.” There’s a beep coming from the dash alerting me to the car turning off in thirty seconds if I don’t press the okay button, but I ignore it. It’s not important. “Someone wanted Elise to befriend her for a reason I’ve yet to uncover, but I will. No one will touch a hair on Gabriella’s head.”

  “And I’ll do what must be done, Theodore.”

  “You have my blessing.”

  My eyes follow the smooth glide of her fork past those berry lips and then the slow tick of her jaw as she chews the bite of pie, emitting a low kittenish sound of approval at the taste. And fuck me, I find myself a little jealous of the inanimate object.

  I’m hard in my seat. Fucking throbbing.

  And yet, I don’t make a sound or move while imagining those plump lips wrapped around my shaft, head bobbing up and down while that soft tongue traces the underside.

  “God, this is hitting the spot after today’s shit show.” Another groan, her tired body wiggling a bit in the chair I placed her in. Each noise is a temptation. Each smile a caress across the head of my cock, the bulbous tip leaking for her. “Is there more?”

  I pour myself a second glass of red wine. “An entire pie, if you behave.”

  “What does behaving entail?” The sass in her tone is alluring, but I hold myself back and instead focus on the red-rimmed eyes that look so tired. On the small sigh she tries to hide and the tense way she holds the fork.

  “It entails your promise to sleep right after or at the very least, relax while watching a movie in the guest bedroom downstairs.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” Her sharp brow lifts, but it’s the grateful expression I’m captivated by. What have they done to you, sweet girl? “This is all I’ll ask of you.”

  “Thank you.” The tension in her body drains, and a bashful smile takes place. “You got yourself a deal, and I want another piece, please.”

  “I’m a man of my word.” Standing from the table, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the pie she chose and take it back with me, placing it before her to take another slice. And she does so without prompting, opting for the larger cut while I’m left swallowing hard and reminding myself that I need to go slow for her.

  I’m an obsessed man with this beautiful girl.

  I’m going to enamor her until I’m the only thing she can focus on and allow as a distraction.

  “Seriously, this place is a gem. Makes everything temporarily better.”

  “How can I make that feeling everlasting?” Picking up my wine glass, I take a sip of the sweet red liquid. “We can do this at your pace, Gabriella, but please know I’m here for you. I will listen and help you get through this as best as I can.”

  She swallows her bite, nodding her head. “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you ready to talk?”

  “No.” Even though the one word shuts down the subject, her tone is apologetic and the last thing I want is for her to feel remorse of any kind. Extending a hand toward her, I wiggle my fingers until she smiles and places her warm hand in mine. “Now what?”

  “Now, you breathe and eat and then lay down. In that order.” Her fingers squeeze mine at that. “I will not push you to talk tonight, but tomorrow is another day. At some point you’ll need to, and I hope you trust me enough to accept my help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “None needed, but if you don’t hurry up with that, I’ll be stealing—” I’m cut off by her pretending to stab my hand with the fork.

  “Touch it and die.”

  “Dare me.”

  “You wouldn’t dare harm my sensitive mind tonight, would you? Someone under traumatic stress?” I’m surprised by her humor but don’t let on and instead, grab her plate with the pie and pull it toward me. Gabriella doesn’t approve and growls at me, the sound so damn cute, and I smirk. “Put it back.”

  “Apologize.”

  “
Sorry,” she mumbles under her breath, face pinched. “Now give it.”

  “Only because you’re just as sweet.”

  “You suck.” A bark of laughter rumbles through my chest while she giggles. It goes on like this for a while; the harder I chuckle, she does too. Tears spring to her eyes and Gabriella wipes away the few that fall, shaking her head as her amusement lingers. “I needed that, you know.”

  “Needed what?”

  “To laugh, because all I’ve done today is pretend.” Gabriella takes her hand from mine and runs it down her face, the action showing me a glimpse of her true emotions. There’s frustration but also fear. “I keep telling myself that it’s not real. That this is a dream, but it’s not, and the fact remains that a man was killed in my backyard and I stared down a large snake while discovering the body. There’s no getting rid of that mental picture. There are no words to calm down the panic I feel at just the thought of going home, but tomorrow I will because facing my problems head on is what I’ve always done. This is just another disturbing blip in my road.”

  “You don’t have to do it alone this time.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Theodore. Sadly, I do.”

  18

  Gabriella

  There’s something so comforting about finding someone with the same affinity as you. To stumble across the same similarities while opening yourself up to the possibility of more even in the midst of chaos. It gives you an anchor. A reason to ignore reality, even if it’s for a few minutes.

  What that more is, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never quite figure it out, but today he’s brought me peace within a whirlwind of fear that’s made me thankful—susceptible to his every charm.

  It’s in the simplicity of a look or a conversation about the preference he has for the color black, one that matches my own. Because colors and shades are things I understand, and within his home and our conversation I found a bit of normalcy, a tranquil middle ground for my mind that’s fighting back panic while high on whatever concoction the ER department gave me.

  And while I appreciate the reprieve these medications have given me, they’re not long lasting nor do they erase the damage done.

  My eyes shift, and I look from right to left and right again. I take in the elegant wallpaper on one wall with what looks to be a black lattice design and then toward the gold sconces, giving the living room a warm feel. There’s opulence here and from my quick glance, I can tell that these items are made out of real gold and not painted metal. At least, to a degree, as the karat and thickness and other materials used all come into play.

  Every square inch of his home is decorated in different shades of the lustrous color—contrasting beautifully against each other while bringing its uniqueness to the forefront. The items give his home a gothic Victorian aura, a sense of what’s dark and edgy, yet to me, it also feels homey. It puts me at ease.

  Is it smart of me to even be here? No.

  Do I find myself caring? No. At the moment, I don’t.

  Instead, I follow him down a dark hallway toward a large door where he stops and then turns to face me. His expression is soft and eyes hold so much understanding. Not pity. Theodore doesn’t think of me as weak and shows me this by giving me the time to work out my thoughts before I can express them.

  “This room is yours for as long as you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me for taking care of you.” He brushes past me on his way back toward the main living area, but before he can take more than three steps, my hand on his arm makes him pause. For a minute neither of us says anything, but the ball is in my court now and I walk around his tall frame and stop where I can meet his warm eyes.

  “I do have to thank you, Theodore.” There’s an automatic twitch to his lips, the need to deny his act of chivalry, however, the truth remains the same. He owes me nothing, yet stayed by my side. He brought me to his home without knowing me without asking for anything in return. “For the first time, I had someone beside me in my time of need, and that’s something I could never repay you for. And while it might sound silly to you, you being here makes it better. I wasn’t alone.”

  Theodore stands there surprised by my words, and I take advantage, standing on the tips of my toes to reach his chin. The man is tall, so tall, and I’m barely able to press a light kiss to his skin while taking his scent into my lungs. It happens so fast and I’m inside of the room before he can utter a single word, back pressed against the door while my chest rises and falls fast.

  There’s no denying the shock of electricity that flows through me from the simple touch. The way my lips tingle and nipples stand at hard little peaks as I push off the structure and take in the room in detail this time, not the semi-high pass through I did before and after showering. Distract yourself. Don’t think about him.

  Easier said than done. Especially when it seems as though his scent—that man and earth with a hint of woodsy spice, infiltrates my senses and weakens my knees.

  “He’s a god in human form,” I whisper to the room before forcing myself to concentrate, to not seek him out and ask for a goodnight hug. Instead, I look around the room I’ll be sleeping in. At the center of the large space is a four-poster bed in wood that seems to have been burned to get that Shou Sugi Ban treatment, taking it to the point of being a step before charring so the grains would become more pronounced. Then, you have the matching nightstands and the feather-down black bedding, the thick fabric looking inviting—cozy—while the gothic pendants and chandelier give a romantic vibe. “This is beautiful.”

  Further into the room is the bathroom and closet, both stunning and following the same scheme of the home with more wood and dark stone and expensive lighting. Definitely making use of that tub before I leave. It’s perfect for added decompression. My eyes continue their nosy sweep and land on a painting on the wall to the left of the bed, admiring the simplicity, yet the emotion behind the piece is there.

  It’s the sole source of color within this room that is not the customary black throughout the home. The backdrop is a blood red while the silhouette of a naked woman with long hair, her back to the artist, is highlighted in white.

  And I find myself drawn to it.

  It speaks to the artist in me and signals eroticism within purity. Freedom and love.

  I wonder who the artist is? There’s no signature that I can see, and while the curiosity kills me, I stay where I am and don’t investigate further. The last thing I need is to have it slip through my fingers and land on the floor if I go searching for a name on the back. “Bed it is, then...” nodding to myself, I walk back over “...before I get myself in trouble.” The comforter has already been turned down, and I don’t hesitate to slip between the cool sheets, grabbing the remote to my left that’s within reach and pressing the power button.

  At once, a smile spreads across my lips when the screen clears and a Nat Geo special on the Amazon plays. It’s then that I relax. Give in to my exhaustion. Christ, this bed is heaven. Comfortable, I find myself sinking into the plushness as some wild bird caw caws from what seems like a great distance.

  It becomes lower with each inhale and exhale.

  So low I almost don’t hear it.

  And when the jumbled words of the narrator start again, I hum before everything goes black.

  The next time I come into awareness, there’s a low hissing sound near me, then that of crunching leaves, and a squeak in the distance that causes my eyes to snap open. Immediately, I fear the worst, almost shielding my face with both hands as yesterday morning’s encounter comes to mind and my body betrays me.

  And yet, my reality is different. It’s nothing more than another animal documentary playing on the television, and this time, on venomous snakes.

  On cobras, to be precise.

  The narrator is busy explaining their ophiophagy tendencies while my heart races and palms sweat. His voice drones on in the background, giving off some fact or another that doesn’t comput
e in my head as I watch this predator eat its own kind after fighting to the death.

  Her reason evades those responsible for the nature show as just moments ago she was bedded by the male counterpart. But then again, maybe this is nothing more than a show of survival instincts—a strike first without questioning his motives.

  This moment on camera is cannibalism at its finest, and yet, her poise is unapologetic and majestic. There’s beauty in her strength, a command to her presence that I understand on a level that’s confusing, and more so is the sudden appearance of these beasts at every turn.

  “Maybe I should be watching cooking shows instead? Baking seems innocent enough,” I say aloud a second before there’s a knock on the door. It’s gentle, three quick raps that are followed by a low call of my name. “Coming!”

  “I’ll wait,” he says, then mutters something else that I don’t quite catch while I’m too busy scrambling off the bed and rushing over without caring what I look like. I also move too quickly and bump into the solid wood corner, my toe paying the price—the shooting pain nearly taking my breath away.

  “Shit!” I cry out, hopping back and almost falling off the edge of the mattress when the door slams open and a worried Theodore finds my eyes. He’s beside me in four long strides and picking me up, cradling me against his bare chest while walking out without a single word.

  His body’s so warm against mine. Feels so good, and it’s easier to pretend my whimper is one of pain and not this uncontrollable attraction.

  Being in his arms overrides my senses, and I quickly forget why he’s carrying me in the first place. I forget about the hurt toe and that I’m only in his shirt, having kicked off the pants in the middle of the night when it got too warm.

  All I can focus on is the feeling of his muscles surrounding my flesh and the feverish sensations that travel through each of my limbs.

  We enter his living room and bypass the couch as he heads into the kitchen, placing me atop the granite countertop. There’s a slight chill that makes me gasp, but I’m quickly warmed up by the hand massaging my thigh, squeezing in a way meant to be comforting when all it does is raise the temperature in the room.