Under the Lies

by Green, Sarah E.

  I take the cotton ball still in my hand and focus on my task. Cleaning his wounds. I’m about to dab it on the split skin above his eye when Noah’s hand shoots up, grabbing my wrist before I can make contact with his skin.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks, huskily. The sound washes over me. “Taking care of me.”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  He still holds my wrist, keeping it suspended between us. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t feel it.”

  It doesn’t. “Do you feel anything?”

  He raises his split brow. “Is that really the question you want to ask, Sayer?”

  Maybe it’s the way he says my name, a dare waiting, or maybe it’s because this has been on my mind since the night Noah came back into my life, but I feel the seal on my lips break, wanting to know the answers to questions I’ve been too afraid to ask.

  “Do you hate me like you hate my sister?”

  A pause. But his thumb moves in slow circles on my wrist. “No.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for more. Needing more.

  “No, I don’t hate you, Sayer.” I feel him press against me. “I hate how you make me feel.”

  Ba-bump. Ba-ba-bump.

  “How do I make you feel?” I ask, quietly.

  “Crazy. Alive.” Noah’s grip tightens on my wrist. “Like the light has finally returned to my dark life. Like I need to protect you when all I want is to destroy you myself.”

  “So do it.” My voice is breathless.

  With a growl and a tug on my wrist, Noah pulls me into his lap. “You make me insane.”

  “Ditto,” I breathe right before our lips slam together, hungry for what’s been building between us since the night at the art gallery. Since the first night at Heathen’s Hell…maybe it’s been building for even longer. Maybe since I was fourteen and he searched me out in my childhood home.

  We’ve kissed before but never has it felt like this.

  An all-consuming, soul rendering kiss. It courses through my body, down to my core, all the way to my toes. His fingers lace through my hair, holding me firm, like he’s trying to keep me from going anywhere.

  Trust me, I want to whisper as his tongue finds mine, I’m not going anywhere.

  But since I don’t have control over my words, I’ll tell him with my actions.

  Clinging to him, I dig my nails into his shoulders, greedily taking all that he gives me.

  And he gives me his all.

  The kiss is primal and possessive. Our tongues dance until Noah pulls my hair, pulling my head back. His mouth trails kisses down my neck to my collarbone. They’re not the gentle kind of kisses, but the kind that feel like branding. Marking me as his. I want to mark him back.

  Skating my hands down his chest, I pull at the hem of his sweater. “I want this off.”

  His gruff chuckle vibrates against my throat, stretching down to my core and I shift, wanting more friction. But Noah’s hands go to my hips, keeping me still.

  “Noah.” I fight to move, but his grip is firm.

  Giving me a smile that feeds the fervor growing in me, especially when one of his hands trails down my hip, fingers dancing along my thigh as they finger the hem of my dress. “And I want this off.”

  Desire feeds his stare as he looks into my eyes.

  “Then take it off,” I whisper, and the room turns into a blur as Noah stands up with my legs around his waist and a rumble in his throat.

  Walking around to the end of the couch, he sets me down, pressing my thighs into the arm of it. In a quick, swift motion Noah pulls the dress over my head and sinks down to his knees, ripping my tights in two.

  And with it goes the last remaining calm in my chest.

  He finds my tattoo, the little rose outline I got last year. His eyes dance as he leans in to trace the pattern with his tongue. Leaving a trail of passion in his wake.

  “Noah.” My hand stretches out, gripping his hair and pulling him even closer. But even that doesn’t feel like enough.

  My skin is scorched as his hands grip the back of my legs and his mouth presses to my aching center.

  “Hmm.” The sound vibrates against me, making my body purr. “I’ve barely touched you and already you’re so wet for me.”

  I clench around him, his words are husky and rough and I whimper as he pulls away. I want him back, finishing the job he started.

  Only to whimper again, more tormented than before, from the feel of his tongue licking me. Tasting me. Ruining me.

  His moan of satisfaction thunders from his throat. “So wet,” he hums, his tongue darts out licking between my folds, circling my clit. My hips buck. “I could play with you all night.”

  I’d be a puddle by the end of it.

  Already my legs quake, my breathing erratic. If Noah drags this out for hours, I don’t know if I’d actually survive it.

  He’s already robbing me of thoughts as he goes back to pleasuring me. My body arches against the couch when his teeth graze my clit, hips pressing more into his face. Aroused by not only the feelings he’s stirring up in me, but by the fact that I’ve brought Noah to his knees not once, but twice now.

  It fills me with a power, a high I’ve never felt before.

  Noah puts all the adrenaline in his veins into torturing me, taking my body higher and higher; building me up for a crash that doesn’t come.

  He pulls away and my head snaps up, glaring at his devious face as he pushes himself up. His chest brushes mine as he stands. In a touch almost too gentle to be felt, he cups my cheek, crashing his mouth to mine.

  The feel of his sweater is too coarse against my chest. Reaching down, I grab the hem and pull it up, over his shoulders. Noah unfuses our mouths to let me finish, stripping him free of the layer between us.

  Once it’s tossed somewhere across his apartment, his arms lock around me, pulling us together. Mouth back on mine.

  I feel lightheaded, drunk on his touch. His lips a sin I never want to atone for.

  Pushing him away long enough to catch the breath he’s robbing me of, I see the feral look in his eyes, wondering if a twin expression is in mine.

  “You have freckles,” I marvel breathlessly, my fingers reach out to trace the dark spots that dust across his shoulders, traveling to his back. Brown and tan paint splotches splattered along his skin.

  Almost memorized, I trace them with my fingers and then with my mouth. Wanting to taste them. To taste him.

  Pressing kisses on his shoulders and down his chest. Soon the freckles fade away but I’m still traveling a path with no guide.

  Noah’s chest moves steadily beneath my touch, his fists clenched at his sides until I’m on my knees, eye level to his belt, his straining hard-on salutes me as my fingers work quickly to undo the buckle.

  “Sayer,” he growls as I dare to press my mouth to his hard tip with only the fabric between us. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

  He thinks I won’t. I see the mischief, the disbelief as I stare up at him.

  “I don’t plan on it.” I smirk.

  I start to pull his hardness from his pants when my hands get slapped away. Before I have time to process why, I’m being hauled to my feet. The room spins and my back is pressed to Noah’s chest.

  But only for a moment before he bends me over the couch. My forearms catch my fall before Noah blankets my body with his.

  “I’m going to make you scream my name, Sayer. Scream it because it’s going to be the only thought in your head while I’m fucking you senseless.”

  My throat closes up, heavy with excitement, with nerves, with need. A chariot of horses race in my chest, their steps gaining speed when I hear the unmistakable sound of foil ripping.

  And he slides in with one powerful thrust.

  I gasp, he fills me to the hilt and it’s almost too much.

  I feel full. Close to breaking as Noah slams into me, making my body sing.

  Blood and death have marred his
hands, but when they touch me, they breathe life into my body, awakening senses that had long since gone quiet.

  He’s the bad, the wolf I shouldn’t want, but it’s hard to remember that when he makes me feel so good.

  More than good.

  Extraordinary.

  He works me over, reducing me to only noises and incoherent words.

  “Noah.”

  His name is like a prayer to be heard from the stars. A prayer that turns to a chant as he licks and sucks and bites in tune with his thrusts, taking me to heights no man has achieved before.

  It’s not until I’m sweating and shaking, it’s too much, it’s too much, that he stops, leaving me suspended.

  I whimper, trying to clench my thighs together to soothe the ache he caused and left.

  “Noah,” I beg, my voice hoarse and trembling. Desperate.

  He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his fingers on my spine, pushing me until I’m arching like a bow, an arrow cocked back ready to be pulled.

  I almost fall against the cushion, but Noah’s other arm snakes around my chest and grips my neck. Noah moves at a controlled, torturous pace.

  “I can’t,” I moan as he starts to pick up speed, giving himself over to the demand. The need.

  He sticks two fingers in my mouth, his stubble brushing my cheek. “You can. Now suck.”

  I do, taking his fingers in my mouth and am rewarded with another thrust. And another.

  “That’s it, Sayer,” he burns into my skin.

  Thrust. “You’ll take everything I give you, Sayer.”

  Thrust. “You’ll beg for more.”

  Thrust. Grunt. Thrust. “But this is mine.” His hand goes to my clit, rubbing the swollen bud and making me jolt. A tiny noise escaping. “You’re mine.”

  He flicks my clit and that’s enough to send me over the edge, screaming his name. Noah’s hips pick up speed, more aggressive and wild before he quickly follows me in release.

  My arms give out and I collapse into the couch, forehead resting on the cushions as I try to find my breathing.

  I’m a limp, sweaty mess when I feel Noah’s hands reach for me. With one arm around my back, he dips low for his other to go to the bend in my knees, picking me up.

  I’m cradled to his chest, barely able to keep my eyes open as he walks across the room to the stairs. I twist into his body, breathing him in. He smells like he always does, leather and amber and mahogany, mixed with more. Sex and me.

  My eyes close before we make it halfway up the stairs, but I don’t care. I fall asleep feeling Noah’s lips on mine once more…even if it’s only part of my dreams.

  “Fuck,” I mumble, tripping over something solid as I get off the elevator. Glaring at the culprit, I see Sayer’s school bag. What the fuck does she have in there? Bricks? Lead? Water bottles?

  Eyeing it with distaste, I shove the bag against the wall before walking farther into my home.

  Looking for the blonde that has me going up the damn wall.

  I’ve spent hours, countless, painstakingly useless hours looking for the person who sent her that letter. As I have every day since she showed it to me. But today was different.

  Last night, long after she went to sleep, a text was sent to her phone from an unsaved number.

  I had some things to take care of after I put her in bed, knowing she was out by the time I laid her out on the mattress and maybe that’s why I felt compelled to give her the sweet kiss that I did, but when I came back downstairs to grab my phone, I heard hers go off.

  Not caring it was going against her privacy, I checked it. I had to.

  And I almost threw her phone across the room when I saw what was on it.

  A picture zoomed in on Sayer and me, naked with her bent over the couch. A face of pure ecstasy.

  Accompanied by it was a message.

  Or rather, messages.

  Sluts must run in the family.

  Hope you enjoy your sister’s seconds.

  It’s only a matter of time before he grows tired of you and I get my hands on you.

  X

  Forgetting the work I was going to do, I strolled to the window. The appearance of calm was just that, an appearance. I wanted to smash the phone, shatter the windows. And keep Sayer locked away.

  I won’t do that though.

  Sayer’s a bird that will never go back in a cage.

  The number the texts were sent from was a burner phone, completely useless.

  But the picture had to be taken from one of the neighboring buildings. I took inventory. Assessed what floor could have potential to see into my place with a camera zoom. I made a list.

  A list that got me fucking nowhere today.

  The only lead I got was from one room. It was abandoned. It was actually in the perfect position to spy into my downstairs. But there was no trace, no clues. Gabe and I went there finding nothing. We even dusted for prints and got nothing. Thea looked on the security and ATM cameras and struck out as well.

  Sayer doesn’t know about the messages. I deleted it and blocked the number right after sending everything to Thea.

  And Sayer isn’t going to know.

  I made a promise to keep her safe. And I’ve taken it more seriously than I ever intended to.

  I mean, she’s living with me for fuck’s sake. All of her stuff is scattered around like it’s her place. No wonder her family’s cleaning service was over every single day.

  Sayer Brooks is kind of a slob.

  And her hair.

  Her goddamn hair.

  It’s everywhere.

  It’s like living with a mangy cat, shedding and shedding. How is she not bald yet? How much hair can one person have?

  It grates against my skin, my OCD. She has no sense of order. Perfectly content to leave her shit laying around. She might not have wanted to live with me, but she has had no problem getting comfortable.

  Maybe it’s because for the first few days she was here, I wasn’t around…

  Speaking of leads that went nowhere. The lead Thea sent me about Harlow also went nowhere.

  I used to be good at finding people, finding things, but now I’m starting to question myself.

  I blame Sayer for it.

  She’s soaked into my skin, embedded in my veins.

  I find her sitting on one of the stools at my kitchen bar. A leg pulled tight to her chest, her chin rests on her knee as she fiddles away on her laptop, headphones in her ears. I see the white buds sticking out between pieces of her haphazardly thrown up hair.

  She doesn’t hear my approach, but I can hear the angsty screams of her music as I close in behind her.

  When I first heard her listening to this music at the library, I’m not shy to admit I was shocked. Sayer has always shocked me. Not in big, obvious gestures but in the little finite details that make Sayer, Sayer.

  Like how she drinks iced coffee even when it’s freezing outside. Or how her lips almost always rest in a small smile.

  Peeking over her shoulder, I see what has her rapt attention. Paintings.

  A notebook sits next to her, scribbled with various colors of ink.

  Homework.

  That’s another thing that’s spewed all over my penthouse.

  Her textbooks, notebooks. With her hair stuck between the pages of both.

  And she still doesn’t realize I’m here.

  With a smirk, I lean forward. My breath hitting the back of her neck as I take out one of the buds. The minute my fingers brush against her skin, Sayer screams.

  Twisting around, she smacks my arm.

  Her eyes widen when she sees that it’s me. But only for less than a second before they turn into a glare.

  “Asshole!” She hits me again. “You don’t sneak up on people!”

  “I didn’t sneak up.” I hold up her headphone. “You would’ve heard me if you weren’t causing damage to your eardrums.”

  Her glare narrows. “Do I tell you how to listen to your music? No. So don’t questi
on mine.” She tries to grab the bud from me, but I close my palm around it. Keeping it from her. “Noah. Give it back.”

  “What if I want to listen too? I could love this song.”

  “Do you love this song?”

  I do, actually. But I don’t admit that. Our shared music tastes are just one of the surprises.

  Instead, I give her the smirk that I know gets her riled up.

  Only this time…it doesn’t.

  She turns away from me, returning back to her computer screen. “I made dinner earlier. There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”

  An uncomfortable pang fills the hollow of my chest. Something in her voice reaches past my cold exterior, grabbing me around the lungs. She cooked me dinner?

  When was the last time someone cooked for me? Took care of me? Did something for me without expecting anything in return?

  Never.

  Dumbfounded, I stare at her backside.

  Not since Sayer.

  She’s a breath of fresh air in my toxic world. The nice to my not, the warm to my cold. She makes me feel things I wish she wouldn’t which is why I shove my foot into my mouth. “Going domestic on me now?”

  She bristles, slowly turning around to face me again. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, we had sex one time last night and now you’re making me dinner. What do you think this is?” They shouldn’t, but each word tastes like ash on my tongue.

  I see the words branded into her eyes. Asshole.

  The look is a punch I can’t block and almost knocks me over. I hate that I put that sad, hurt look in her eyes but I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to be a sweet man.

  But for her, I’m willing to try.

  “It’s called being nice, Noah. It wasn’t meant to be taken as anything but that. You know what…” She gives me a look of hatred as she slides off the stool, shouldering past me on her way through the kitchen.

  Her steps are angry, purposeful, as she stomps to the refrigerator, yanking open the door and snatching a plate with plastic wrap around it.

  I lean against the bar with my arms crossed, watching her huff and puff and drop the plate, literally dropping it, onto my black marble countertop, not caring if the ceramic dish shattered on impact.