Bitter Lies

by Nina Lincoln

  “Come on my fingers, sweet,” he growls, and I do, flying over the edge with a full-body shudder as I keen my release into the universe.

  With fumbling fingers, he pulls my shorts to my knees, pushes me to my stomach, and mounts me.

  “Fuck,” he hisses as he slides inside.

  Even though I just had an amazing orgasm, I moan and arch back against him as he grunts, pumping into me with steady strokes. I’m helpless to the onslaught as need surges through me, and I mewl into my arms.

  Grabbing my hips, he thrusts into me rapidly, canting them down slightly until he’s brushing my sweet spot, and it brings me right back to the edge.

  “You’re so tight and sweet,” he groans, and I explode.

  “Fuck,” he exclaims, hammering into me until he spews before collapsing across my back as he pulses inside me.

  Panting into my pillow, I close my eyes, exhausted, barely registering his movements as he pulls from me, settles me back in his arms, and sighs.

  ∞∞∞

  The following morning, I wake alone and jump into the shower, caught up in thoughts of Griffin’s proclamation and insistence on sleeping with me.

  Of course, it could just be about sex, but he did sleep with me after until he disappeared this morning, but he’s an early riser, always has been, so I’m left with no answers on that front.

  When we were kids, he’d often rouse me long before I was ready, bright-eyed and raring to face the day while I stomped around grumpily until I woke up. He always teased me for it and somehow knew just how to make me smile.

  Back then, I might have believed his feral declarations, but now I’m caught between wanting to believe he wants me and being suspicious about the entire thing. Besides, insisting this is just about sex leaves me turned on and angry.

  I’m not a toy, and this may be just fun for him, but it’s my heart on the line again. Does he see what he does to me? Is this another punishment?

  Either way, he’s in for a rude awakening because I’m not going to roll over and be his plaything for however long he doesn’t want to share.

  Would it kill him to be the slightest bit romantic? Fucker.

  Emerging from the shower, I dress hurriedly and forgo makeup because I refuse to make myself pretty, even though the urge around him is something I’ve been fighting for years.

  Stepping into my room, I pause with my towel wrapped around my hair when I hear voices, one of which is distinctly feminine, from the other room.

  My eyes go wide before narrowing with rage, and I drop the towel to the floor, my wet hair sticking to my neck as I swing toward the door.

  What? I’m supposed to wait around for him while he fucks whoever he wants? I don’t fucking think so!

  “I was surprised to see your car in the drive,” Miranda says, and I clench my jaw because I like Miranda, I do, but the bitch was fucking my brother, and still she’s panting after Griffin? Pick a lane!

  “Unexpected change of plans,” he rumbles.

  “So, maybe we can spend some time together,” she says softly, and my stomach clenches hard.

  Before either of them can respond, I appear in the doorway, my eyes turning cool when I see them standing together in the kitchen, Griffin holding her hand against his chest.

  “Am I interrupting?” I ask, pulling up my best Griffin I-don’t-give-a-fuck expression.

  Griffin turns his head, his eyes lighting up with amusement and, dare I say it, desire as I lean against the jamb with a shark-like smile.

  Miranda turns to me with a friendly smile. “Hey, Halsey.”

  “Hey,” I grunt, drilling Griffin with my stare.

  Raising a brow, he drops Miranda’s hand but doesn’t move, not so much a foot away from her as he dares me to say something.

  Why is this always a game to him? How can he fuck me and entertain the thought of her? And why do I allow it? Fuck.

  Glancing between them, I ignore my impulse to walk away and say casually, a thrill sliding down my spine when Griffin’s eyes darken in warning, “Hey, Miranda, didn’t you say you dated Jason?”

  Her face drops before she smiles, but my stomach clenches at the look because fuck me if it doesn’t seem familiar.

  “Yeah, freshman year of high school,” she says, avoiding my gaze as her eyes darken.

  Suspiciously, I stare at her pale face, and when she raises her gaze to me, I falter and look her over with new eyes as shame pulses through me, because—fuck!

  To my relief, Griffin steps away from Miranda, but I feel no victory because he should be stepping away for me, because he wants me and not because he’s hated Jason for years.

  Which begs the question, why is Jason invited everywhere?

  Wait. As I search his expression, my mood darkens, and I lose track of the conversation until Miranda says, “It, um, didn’t work out, obviously.”

  Meeting her eyes, I share a look I would never wish upon another person. “Yeah, well, he can be a little intense.”

  Spiraling, I turn away, intent on escape despite my resolve earlier, but Griffin stalls me, saying firmly, “I bought breakfast. Come. Eat.”

  I’m seriously tempted to ignore him because being in Miranda’s presence, knowing she feels my pain, has panic pushing at my sternum as the wretched emotion I can’t outrun churns within me.

  “I should go,” Miranda says uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at either of us.

  Griffin’s eyes narrow as he glances between us. “No need. There’s plenty.”

  I guess both Miranda and I feel caught because we sit down without another word of protest and dish out the eggs and bacon onto plates he provides.

  The silence is deafening as we eat, and I have to force the food past the lump in my throat, fear making me jittery. I’m perfectly safe, but my fight or flight is surging anyway, and I don’t even care about leaving them alone together. I want out that bad.

  “So, you dated Jason?” Griffin says into the quiet.

  I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth, wishing I had never brought the subject up, guilt coursing through me as she slumps the slightest bit. “Yes.”

  “I take it you’re not friends anymore? I haven’t seen you around each other.”

  “Not really.”

  “Why? Did he break your heart, too?” Griffin says with a quiet desperation that makes my heart clench brutally.

  Startled, I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at her, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. Is he jealous? What’s he doing? And why?

  “No,” she says, raising her chin and glancing at me with misery in her eyes.

  Silently, I plead for forgiveness as she stares at me with her pain, but Griffin draws our attention away when he drops his fork with a clatter. “Then what?”

  “I think I should go,” Miranda says shakily, standing.

  “You don’t want to talk about Jason? Fine, how about you tell me why you fucked my best friend?”

  Flinching, I turn my gaze to the table, ashamed of the relief I feel that he’s turned the subject, even though it’s got to be painful for her.

  “Wh-what?” Her face is even paler if that’s possible.

  “C’mon, you didn’t think I’d know?” Griffin chides.

  “You sleep with other girls all the time.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t fuck your best friend. That’s a little slutty, don’t you think?”

  “Griffin,” I whisper, shrinking when he turns to me.

  “What? You have something to say? How about someone tells me what’s so fucking special about Jason Macklemore?”

  “There’s nothing special about him,” I say through clenched teeth as Miranda laughs bitterly.

  Before I can say more, she says, “Why? Why do you care? You don’t care about me. Is this about her?” she says, pointing at me. “I slept with Max because he wanted to get back at you, and I was pissed about the other bitches. And I dumped Jason because he wasn’t a nice person.”

 
The last she says with a furtive glance in my direction, and for the first time, I feel rage, not for the act itself, nor even for us, shells of ourselves because of what he stole.

  No, I’m fucking livid because for whatever fucked-up reason, we’re afraid to admit it out loud. I guess I should be relieved it’s not just me, but is she hesitant because of the irrational guilt and shame?

  Or did he record her, too?

  “I’ve never said anything about being exclusive,” Griffin says harshly. “And for the record, I don’t give two shits who you fuck.”

  The words sound so familiar that I stand abruptly and stalk from the room, locking myself inside even though it won’t do any good because I can’t escape the fucking past, and it would seem I’m fucking doomed to repeat it.

  Curling on the bed, I chuff out a laugh because every action or interaction with Griffin is a complete mindfuck, and I’m tired of the goddamn whiplash.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Sometime later, I rouse, my fingers itching, and pull my paints from the closet, sitting before a new wall and brushing my pain onto the clean canvas.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but when I’m done, I stand back and look at me, standing against the side of the house with Griffin before me. He’s got a cruel look on his face, his eyes hard and cold, but I left my face blank, empty with no features because that’s who I was—a husk standing before a bitter boy who looked through me as he cut me down.

  With a sigh, I close everything up and tiptoe from my room. I can’t avoid him forever, but I need a little more time. To my relief, he’s not here, and the house is quiet.

  I head for the backyard, intent on sitting in the sun and soaking up the warmth, for I feel so cold, but stop in the living room and turn my gaze to the wall.

  The picture hanging there mocks me, her innocence and parted lips a lie. Without thought, just venom that stings in my veins, I pull the painting down and let it crash to the floor.

  Stalking into the kitchen, I pull out drawers until I find a knife before sitting before the picture and methodically tearing it apart. I start with her face, tearing into the soft expression and ruining the facade, because she never existed to begin with. Next, I rip methodical strips of her sensual pose until there’s nothing but clumps of canvas around me.

  When I’m done, I’m panting, and sweat drips down my spine, but I feel a sense of catharsis that warms me where nothing else could.

  “What the fuck have you done now?” Griffin explodes behind me.

  Calmly, I drop the knife to the floor and gather the canvas pieces, curling them into a ball.

  “I fixed it.”

  “Fixed it? Halsey,” he growls, grabbing my arms. “What’s going on?”

  Pulling away, I ignore the concern I see blazing in his eyes because it might break me. “Nothing is going on. It was mine, and I didn’t like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s not me anymore.”

  “You can’t erase yourself,” he says quietly.

  Searching his gaze, I say softly, “That’s where you’re wrong because that girl is already gone.”

  “What girl was that?”

  “The girl who was foolishly stupid. She believed the world was safe. She believed if she was good enough, that maybe she could be loved, but you see, Griffin, that girl was wrong.”

  “That’s…Halsey,” he says helplessly, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly.

  Stiffly I stand in his embrace before I slowly relax, allowing myself the comfort even though I know I don’t deserve it because some sins can never be washed clean.

  Griffin pulls me into his lap on the couch and wraps his arms around me once more, and collapsing against him, I finally feel warm.

  “I hate him for having you first,” he rumbles, causing me to stiffen in his arms. “And every fucking dick after him.”

  “You pushed me into his arms,” I say stiffly against his chest.

  His chest spasms as he sucks in a breath, and I release my own when he loosens his hold. “And I’ll fucking regret it for the rest of my life.”

  My throat is thick with tears, and I have to swallow twice to speak past it. “Why?”

  “Why what? Why did I push you away? Because I…liked you, and you chose Bobby Moore.”

  “But I—”

  “I get it,” he interrupts gruffly, “now.”

  With a small smile, born of sadness and loss, I move from his lap and stare at my hands. ”It’s too late now.”

  “Fuck that!” he says, turning to me with blazing hazel eyes.

  “Griffin, we’re not those kids anymore. I’m not…her. I’m…well, I don’t know what I am, but it can’t be what it could have been.”

  With a growl, he runs his hands down his face. “Then it’ll be something new.”

  “No! No! You don’t want me! You don’t even know me! And that leaves sex! I’m not something you can fuck out of your system.”

  “Wanna bet?” He turns to me with a fierce light in his eyes and pushes me back onto the couch.

  “I’ve been obsessing about this pussy since I kissed you on your fourteenth birthday. And I’m not fucking kidding, you’re mine.”

  My clit is pulsing at his proximity but I ignore it as I show my distaste with a wicked sneer. “Until when? You get tired of me?”

  Sensing my need, he runs his length over my core and groans, his mouth quirking into a sexy smile. “Maybe, or maybe I’ll never get fucking tired of it. But you want this just as badly, Halsey. Your body doesn’t lie.”

  He runs his fingers over me deliciously and I arch against him with a moan, need coursing through me so heavily I’ve lost sight of the conversation.

  “Admit it,” he growls, pulling my shorts down and palming me.

  “What,” I groan, humping against him nastily.

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes are wide as he demands, “Beg me for it.”

  “Wh-what?” I gasp, flipping my eyes open.

  With a feral cry, he drops between my legs and licks me up, all the while staring intently into my eyes, and with a cry, I arch into him, creaming on his tongue.

  Lewdly, he runs his tongue back down my folds before twirling it against my clit and sucking it into his mouth. Humping against his face desperately, I grab his hair and pull as he smiles against me and fucks inside. The sweet pull of an orgasm races through me, and I’m standing on the precipice when he pulls back and says, “Beg.”

  “N-no,” I stutter, collapsing to the couch with tears building in my eyes.

  Pulling his pants below his dick, he rubs it against my folds, his precum mixing deliciously with mine, and caught, I pump against him once more.

  “Say it,” he moans, slapping my lips with his dick.

  “Griffin, please,” I beg but for what, I don’t know.

  His demands feel like more than a plea for sex, and if I give in, will I lose that last bit of myself I’ve been clinging to?

  “Beg me to fuck your pretty pussy hard, sweet. Tell me, and I’ll make you come so good.”

  Staring into his eyes, I crumble because I see a strange desperation that makes my heart ache. He needs this—why, I don’t know—but if I can give it to him…

  “Please fuck me, Griff, I need you,” I say, crying out when he surges inside of me with a desperate moan.

  After, he pummels me so fiercely, my knees are practically around my neck, the sounds of my cries intermixed with his growls ringing out as he fucks me brutally. And with a shout, I come, bathing him with my juice, before he pulls out, flips me over, and slides into me from behind.

  “Oh god,” I moan as another flutter passes through me, and it’s so wretchedly sweet, I’m afraid, but he fucks me through it and pushes me to the brink, to which I cry out and spasm again.

  “Fuck, so good,” he groans, fucking me through my orgasm as he pounds me deep and swears under his breath.

  “Take i
t. Take it deep.” He grabs my hips and grinds into me heavily as he groans and pants against my neck. With a grunt, he sucks my sensitive skin between his teeth and bites down, and I clench around him helplessly, crying out as he spews inside of me on a moan.

  “Fuck,” he pants before collapsing against my back.

  Shuddering below him, I shift when he pulls my back to his front and drowse as he sleeps soundly behind me, the quiet rise and fall of his chest gentle where his need can never be.

  ∞∞∞

  “You want to—what?” I ask dubiously.

  “Finish what we started, unless you’re scared?” he says with a playful lilt, but I see a determined glint in his eyes.

  “Why? It’s done. There’s no grade.” Shit. I can’t do this, I think, even as my chest burns at his taunt.

  His playful expression drops to seriousness as he searches my eyes. “Because I always finish what I start.”

  A shiver runs down my spine at that, and I turn away because I don’t know what that means and finishing the questionnaire from Psych 101 sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

  Why do I feel like he’s trying to mine for all my secrets?

  “C’mon,” he says gruffly, sitting down at the table once more.

  The last time we did this, he pretended not to remember things about me and stormed from the table when I shared a piece of myself.

  And now we’re going to do it again?

  Sitting down stiffly across from him, with my arms crossed defensively over my chest, I nod.

  He looks me over curiously before crossing his own arms over his chest, which distracts me long enough for him to ask his first question because, as we’ve established, his fucking arms are my kryptonite.

  “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

  “What do you have these memorized?” I chuff, and he raises an expectant brow. “Fine.”

  Mulling it over for a minute, I rub my mouth. “Confessing my sins.”

  “Which are what?”

  “Nope, my turn. What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

  He looks at me steadily and there’s no hesitation in his response. “Walk away from the thing I wanted most.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what, but I rein myself in when I remember I already nixed those types of follow-up questions.