Things Liars Say

by Sara Ney

  There are four text notifications.

  Mason: Thunder cunt. I sure-as-shit hope this chick is worth the shit storm coming your way. We got our asses handed to us tonight, no thanks to you.

  Aaron: Hey condom breath, you’re fucking your stalker right now, aren’t you, asshole? I want all the nasty dirty details.

  Aaron: Sorry. That was really out of line. Don’t listen to me. I’m totally shit-faced and probably a little jealous.

  Tabitha: Hey little brother. How’s it going so far? Did Greyson like the tie? GOOD LUCK TONIGHT! She is one lucky girl!

  The text from my sister is the only one that makes me smile—the others make me scowl—so I shoot Tabitha a reply.

  Me: Night went great. You were right about the tie. She loved it. Says to thank you.

  Then, knowing there’s only one way to get her to leave me alone, I add more.

  Me: Stop texting. Speaking of lucky, I’m about to get laid—her words, not mine.

  My sister immediately replies.

  Tabitha: You’re disgusting.

  Me: Whatever.

  I smirk, hitting SEND before powering my phone down and tossing it on the dresser next to my wallet and car keys.

  I’m standing in the middle of the hotel room when the bathroom door opens, and Grey emerges wrapped in a fluffy white hotel robe, fresh-faced and glowing, her face free of makeup. Her lips are still stained from her deeply pigmented lipstick. She’s removed the pins from her hair; it cascades down her back in loose waves created by the braid.

  She’s so un-fucking-believably gorgeous.

  I try to say something, but no words come out. I’m crazy for this girl.

  Grey’s hazel eyes widen as she purposefully strides towards me on a mission, eyes on the exposed skin under my unbuttoned shirt. My body goes ramrod straight, and I inhale sharply with breathless anticipation as her smooth palms connect with the planes of my bare chest, fanning out over my pec muscles under my open dress shirt. Unable to prevent myself from flexing, my pecs contract beneath her roaming fingers, and I watch her face, transfixed as her pupil’s dilate.

  “Your turn. Go clean up and… come to bed,” she whispers huskily as her fingertips skim, feather light, over my shoulders and push the black shirt down my arms, over my biceps, until it joins her dress.

  Greyson parts her lips.

  Her tongue darts out to moisten them.

  The shirt drifts silently to the floor. My nipples harden under her soothing touch, and I fight the urge to moan.

  Come to bed. Come to bed. Come to bed. Jesus. Do three sexier words even exist in the English language? If so, I sure as shit haven’t heard them.

  I nod incoherently, my head dipping up and down like a bobble head, putty in her hands. Right now I would literally do anything this girl asked me to.

  Anything.

  Once inside the bathroom, I make quick work of taking a piss, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. Several sexy, dark burgundy lip prints line my jaw.

  I leave them.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door with a shaking hand.

  Greyson

  I’m not nervous.

  Nope, not one bit.

  I hear the sink running in the bathroom, and I glance at myself in the mirror above the dresser before unzipping the purple suitcase Cal has thoughtfully removed from the floor for me.

  Loosening the belt of the hotel robe, I slide it low on my shoulders and take a few deep cleansing breaths to compose myself and calm my racing heart as I continue to study my reflection; color high, my eyes are bright and slightly wild. Aroused.

  I finger a pink sleep shirt in my suitcase, rubbing it while I debate:

  on one hand, if I don’t put a shirt on, I might look cheap and easy. On the other, I did already tell him he was getting lucky, so why bother putting on clothes?

  Ugh, crap. I’m crap at this.

  It’s been two years since I’ve had sex. Two. Years. And quite honestly, I don’t ever recall those experiences being particularly memorable.

  The robe peels open farther, and the lacy white g-string undies and pristine white bra peek through.

  Maybe I’ll just…

  …let it fall open. Like this?

  No, like this.

  Just then, Cal emerges from the bathroom, and I watch, spellbound, as his hard body advances to the center of the room, clad only in a pair of loose-hung gray sweatpants. You know the ones; they dip low on a guy’s hipbones and hug him in all the right places.

  I can’t see it, but I know they’re emphasizing his fine, round, athletic ass….

  Every firm muscle on his body, every jaded scar, every line of his colorful tattoos are there for my perusal, and boy do I look my fill. He moves closer, watching me through hooded, lust-filled eyes before turning and depositing his folded suit pants on the dresser.

  His eyes grow wide at the sight of me standing next to the dresser, first with total shock, then with desire. Hunger.

  Want.

  Need.

  But that’s not all I see there.

  This guy wants to let himself love me; I can see it in the way he’s looking down at me. Like I’m a precious, cherished thing.

  I’m not nervous.

  Nope, not one bit.

  Calvin

  I don’t know what I did to deserve this girl, but…

  Fuck.

  Rugby.

  Rooted in spot next to the dresser, Greyson faces me, the white robe a contrast to her tan skin, its gaping sliver baring her white bra and panties. She reaches to loosen the knot on her belt farther, the terrycloth falling completely open.

  I stare.

  I stare at her beautiful body, her waterfall of blonde hair, her high, round breasts and curvy hips. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect to me.

  “Cal,” she entreats quietly, her voice filled with desire. Hunger.

  Want.

  Need.

  For me. For fucking me.

  I don’t know who moved first, but our mouths meet, and my hands span her waist, kneading her bare, warm skin. Provocative. Achingly slow, our hot tongues mingle, wet and wanting.

  Wet kisses. Open-mouthed kisses. Lips, tongue and teeth.

  Grey’s robe falls to the floor, and she breaks the kiss to skim my abs with the tips of her fingers and the waistband of my pants, untying the white knot holding them around my hips.

  My dick throbs so hard I can feel it beating in my pants.

  Fuck.

  I walk her backwards to the bed, the back of her knees hitting the mattress. She lies down, the gold comforter providing a backdrop for her magnificent blonde hair that pools around her fresh, flushed face.

  The look she gives me invites me to look. To taste.

  To touch.

  I crawl on top of her then, dragging an open palm and my tongue up her stomach, over her breasts.

  She pants when I lick her cleavage, my wet tongue flicking the groove between her blessedly plump tits. My fingers briefly toy with the small white clasp in front of her bra, and without preamble, I pop it open.

  My mouth covers her then, and she moans loudly, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath me. I grind my erection into the apex of her spread thighs. Grind into her hard.

  It’s torture.

  She grabs a handful of my disheveled hair and tugs.

  “Lights on or off,” I ask between sucking on her flawless skin.

  “On. I want to watch you.”

  “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, Grey.”

  “You already have, baby.” She gasps into my mouth. “So fucking good.”

  Baby. Jesus Christ, it sounds good spilling from her lips. The dirty talk. I bite my cheek to stop the litany of endearments threatening to spill off the tip of my tongue, wanting to call her every goddamn mushy name I can think of: baby, sweetheart, sweetie, honey, babe, cutie pie, darling.

  Shit. My friends were right; I am pussy whipped.

  But only a spineles
s dickhead would give a shit what his friends thought.

  “God, you’re fucking sexy as shit,” I whisper, caressing her hip. “I love your skin. I love your tits.” To illustrate my point, I lick them both, sucking on the dusky nipples.

  “Keep talking. What else,” she asks, panting in a long, drawn out breath. “You feel so good.” It sounds like she’s sulking.

  “I love how funny you are.” Grey tips her head back as I suck on her neck gently, palming her breasts with my now trembling hand, kissing my way down her collarbone. “I love how smart and clever you are.”

  “You feel so good, Cal. Did I say that already? I’m losing my mind.”

  “You make me crazy.” I moan, totally losing control of the situation. “Do I make you crazy?”

  Our incoherent, sex-induced babble fills the room.

  “Oh yeah, so crazy.” Her hands push frantically at the waistband of my pants, and together, we slide them down my hips, then set to tearing off her underwear in a heated frenzy.

  “God, just give it to me, Cal. I don’t want to wait anymore; I want you so bad,” she implores, reaching for my hard erection, stroking it up and down with her talented fingers. “Don’t you want this inside me? I do. I want it bad.”

  Holy hell. Holy shit, the dirty mouth on her.

  “Stop. Don’t, baby,” I beg through clenched teeth. “Or I’m gonna come.”

  “Come inside me,” she moans, grabbing my ass and pulling me down. My dick brushes the slit of her pussy, pre-cum making it slick. “Please. I’m on the pill. Honey, please. I want this with you so bad.”

  Pill. Honey. Please.

  I try to make sense of the words in my brain, but I’ve lost the function of reasoning.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve never had sex without a condom—then again, I’ve never been serious about anyone before. Ever. Not even close.

  But I am now—and whatever she wants I’m going to give her: Commitment. A relationship. Date nights. My cock inside her without a condom.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and my balls tighten, eager and twitching with greedy anticipation.

  “If we fuck without a condom, Greyson, you’re mine. Do you understand?” My plea is hoarse, raw and full of emotions I didn’t know I was feeling. “The only person I’d ever consider screwing without protection would be a steady girlfriend.”

  Or future wife, but I keep that shit to myself.

  “Silly boy.” Greyson cups my cheek in her palm tenderly, even as her rotating hips work the tip of my dick. “I decided I was keeping you the day you showed up at my door. You’re mine.”

  Greyson

  He feels so good.

  So unbelievably good.

  Words spill out of his lips. My lips. Incoherent rambling. Babbling. Endearments.

  Begging.

  Cal slides in and out of me and, “Oh God.” I moan, spreading my legs wider as his hips pump, giving it to me good. So, so good. “Deeper, Cal, push. Yeah, yes, right there.”

  My head rolls to the side and I lie like a rag doll as he drives into me, the sensation of his bare flesh against mine almost unbearable. Ooohhh yeahhh. Uuhhh. Cal.

  “Shit, oh shit. God, this feels amazing. Fucking incredible, baby. I… I… You’re my best friend, baby,” he confesses in an emotional, choked whisper. “I think I love you.” He blurts out this sentiment as a choke gets stuck in his throat.

  “I know, I know,” I chant. My mouth finds his earlobe and I suck. “I love you too.”

  Love. What a word. We can’t stop saying it.

  Can’t stop.

  “I am. I’m fucking in love with you, Greyson.” He swivels his pelvis and grinds me down into the mattress.

  “I love you, Cal. So much.” The words spill out of my mouth in a sob before I can analyze the consequences of our slurred confessions.

  Cal’s giant hands reach under me, and he grasps my ass, pushing deep.

  Our mouths meet then, and we burn for each other. Burn. With each kiss and every touch, we worship as only two people who’ve just declared their love for each other can—with passion and restraint and tenderness.

  And once you’ve said those three little words, a floodgate opens, and you never want to stop saying them. So we don’t. We say them again and again, in whispers and whimpers and groans and throaty sighs.

  It’s raw and deep and real.

  It would be nauseating if it weren’t us.

  “I love you,” Cal groans again as his hips pump and he slides slowly in and out of me. “Fuck, you feel good, Greyson. So fuuuu… sexy. Shit. Uh, Grey, I love you, baby.”

  He’s way too gentle. He’s way too slow.

  My fingers move down his sweaty spine and squeeze his firm ass. “Harder, Cal. I said harder. Yes, right there, baby. Don’t stop. I love you, I love you. Oh God, deeper. Harder. Cal.”

  Our lips and bodies tell a story, one we’ve been writing for the past seven weeks… a story of our friendship, bond, and love.

  Calvin

  Holy shit.

  My girl loves me.

  My girl loves it deep and hard and dirty and loud.

  And that’s how I give it to her.

  Greyson

  We don’t stop until we’re both panting and sweaty and exhausted.

  And then we do it again.

  @Grey_VKeller Tweeted: I’m officially someone’s #girlfriend and off the market #facebookofficial

  @tightheadthompson Tweeted: @grey_vkeller damn straight

  @Grey_VKeller Tweeted: @tightheadthompson I love you

  @tightheadthompson Tweeted: @grey_vkeller I love you too, baby

  @JemmaGemini Tweeted: @tightheadthompson @grey_vkeller

  Gross. Stop. NO ONE wants to see this crap. NO ONE #tmi #gag #wordvom

  @MasonGille32 Tweeted: @tightheadthompson Hey #jerkoff did we NOT just talk about keeping this #shit to yourself? TMI dude #hornybastard

  @Grey_VKeller Tweeted: @JemmaGemini WHAT THE HECK JEMMA - we’re literally sitting across from each other at the same table #LOL

  @JemmaGemini Tweeted: @grey_vkeller Exactly! GET BACK TO WORK stop #daydreaming

  Cal: You miss me already, don’t you?

  Grey: Yes. Remind me again why you had to leave so early this morning?

  Cal: Post-game team meeting from last night’s match. Of course I got my ass chewed out by at least four people. It wasn’t pretty. Coach called me a ‘cocksucking little prick’ at least twice.

  Grey: That’s so horrible! What did you do???

  Cal: He flew off the handle when I told him I didn’t play because I was getting my priorities straight.

  Grey: Aww, Cal!

  Cal: It also didn’t help that they got their asses handed to them, which of course is my fault because I wasn’t there.

  Grey::( My poor baby. Is now the time I say I’m sorry?

  Cal: You’re worth the ball busting. Trust me.

  Grey: You say the sweetest things!!! What are you doing now?

  Cal: Waiting for the guys. Short practice, the gym, then they want to grab pizza and beer or some shit. You?

  Grey: Boxing up all the table decorations. Taking everything back to the sorority house for storage. Probably grab dinner and a movie with a few of my sisters. Saturday night, so they’ll want to go out.

  Cal: Stay away from the ass grabbers.

  Grey: There’s only one guy I want touching my backside, but he’s got plans tonight. I’ll do my best to stay away from the rest of them

  Cal: You should probably wear a plastic garbage bag over your outfit. And a big hat. Ugly yourself up a bit.

  Grey: LOL. Now who sounds jealous?

  Cal: Me, dammit. I am.

  Grey: Baby, haven’t you figured it out yet? I love you. You have nothing to be jealous of…

  Grey: You downtown yet?

  Cal: Not yet. Sitting here on the couch playing Xbox. Aaron and Tom are both in the bathroom bathing in the same cheap cologne.

  Grey: Speaking of cologne, have I
mentioned lately how good you smell?

  Cal: No. Tell me again.

  Grey: Amazing. You smell amazing. Like a clean, woodsy, sexy boyfriend. Mmm. Seriously yummy boyfriend.

  Cal: I can’t fucking believe I have a girlfriend.

  Grey: It has its benefits.

  Grey: This bar is packed. Not even fun.

  Cal: What are you wearing?

  Grey: A plastic garbage bag and a large floppy hat. I look really ugly. You?

  Cal: Sunglasses, a baseball hat, and an old winter coat.

  Grey: Perfect.

  Cal: Remind me again why I’m out with these dipshits and not with you? Why are you there and not here? With me?

  Grey: Because you’re a dumb boy.

  Cal: Sounds about right.

  Grey: Let’s play a game?

  Cal: Fine. Beats watching these putzes make asses of themselves. I’m pulling up a barstool. Pick your poison.

  Grey: 20 Questions. You start.

  Cal: Hmmm. Um. Okay. Favorite Color

  Grey: That’s your question? My favorite color is yellow. Yours? Also, next question: boxers or briefs?

  Cal: My favorite color is—duh—grey. I prefer boxer briefs. Next question: Favorite spot to be kissed.

  Grey: Thong. Favorite spot to be kissed: on the neck. Next question: Last thing you licked.

  Cal: What the fuck, Grey!

  Grey: LOL. Answer the question.

  Cal: Oh my God, woman, you’re killing me. Fine. My favorite spot to be kissed besides my *pointing down there* would be my chest. Last thing I licked? Beer foam.