Black Lies

by Alessandra Torre

  “You lost?” I called out.

  “Figured I had to leave the slums every once in a while.” He waved a piece of paper, one I had scribbled down my address on a good two months ago. He glanced toward the house.

  “You look dirty.” I raised my eyebrows. He did. Bits of sand in his hair, like he’d driven the jeep, top down, through the desert. “Sure you aren’t just using me for a hot shower?”

  He stepped closer, his hands leaving his pockets, resting lightly on my roof. “Sounds like an attempt to get me naked.”

  I met his cocky smile. “I don’t need hot water for that.” I shut the car door, walked around, his steps following me up the steps. “Where’s the girlfriend?” The words came out right. Casual. Innocent.

  “She’s gone.” He shrugged, but my sideways glance saw the hurt. The way his eyes lowered, the scratch in his throat, the attempt to hide the catch with a short cough.

  I unlocked the door. Swung it open and waited for him to pass by. Took my time shutting the door behind me, knowing that—as soon as it shut—the dynamic in this situation would change.

  Click. I turned, Lee standing close. So close that when he took a step forward it put me flat against the door, my keys dropping to the floor, my breath catching somewhere in the space between us. He moved forward, the warmth of his body fully against me, one leg sliding in between mine, the hard press of him pleasing, in small part, the ache in my core. He let out a shuddering breath against my neck, his hands dragging down the side of my body and cupping the curve of my ass. Pulling me even tighter to his as he ground even tighter against me.

  “I don’t want to be your rebound,” I whispered.

  “I don’t want to be your side piece.” He bit the words against my neck. “But tonight, I need a fucking rebound. I need to bury myself inside of you and feel whole. And tonight, I am your side piece. So both of us can fuck like adults and both of us can get our brains fucked out and feel like shit about it.” He squeezed my ass so hard it hurt, the hitch in my breath bringing his head up, until his mouth was even with mine, the hard breath of him hot in the brief moment before he pressed his lips against mine. Took a deep taste as he ground against my thigh. “You feel that, Lucky?” He grabbed my hand. Put it on his zipper. Held it there until my fingers moved. Outlined him. “That’s the level of my need right now. Now, be a good slut.”

  I fumbled with the button. Got it free and then yanked at his zipper. Pulled it down and dove in. Let out a shudder when my fingers wrapped and pulled free his cock. So hard in my hand. So ready. I wrapped my hand around it. Fucked its length as he ravaged my mouth, the hiss against my lips telling me the tempo he liked. He thrust his hips, the hard beat against my aching cunt not nearly enough. Not compared with the organ in my hand. The one that was pulsing beneath my hand. The one whose tip was wet with arousal, heated with need. I dropped his cock, put both hands on his chest and pushed, his mouth fighting it, one of his hands catching my wrist and putting my hand back on his cock, my name a beg on his lips.

  God, I lusted for this man. I needed him. I needed him to be completely mine. I didn’t want second best. I didn’t want rebound sex. The look in his eyes, domination and lust – I had become addicted to that look. My need for him trumped anything with Brant. I couldn’t help that. I couldn’t help the different things I wanted from each man. I only knew that right now, I needed more than my hand on his cock. I needed to feel, for at least a short period of time, a full connection with him.

  “The bedroom,” I gasped. Moved my hand, tried to leave his grip, to move toward the stairs that would take us to my bed.

  “No.” the resolution in his voice stopped me in my tracks. I looked over. Saw him standing, legs spread, jeans low on bare hips, his cock heavy in his fist. “I need you right now. Lay down.”

  “Here?” I looked at the floor, at the Persian rug that had set me back a good six figures.

  “Christ, Layana. Now. Strip.”

  I yanked at my clothes, my eyes on his hands. One pressing at the base of his cock, the other moving in slow strokes, the pinch of his face, his eyes closing for a moment before they blazed to life and stared at me, my body almost naked, my hands fumbling with the strap of my bra. He dropped to his knees, pulling me down before him, on my back, the rough kiss of the carpet my welcome party. He spread my legs, held onto my waist and pulled me forward and onto his waiting cock.

  God. I knew. So many things wrong with this picture. But God, it felt so good. I stared into his eyes, listened to him whisper my name, and enjoyed every second of the ride. For those minutes, I forgot about Brant, about Tennis Barbie, about anything but him and me and that moment of time.

  I was his rebound.

  He was my sidepiece.

  And both of us wanted more.

  At least I did. Maybe anything else was a lie I was telling myself.

  Chapter 36

  Jillian

  It’s safe to say I never liked Layana. There is something about a woman, when you look into her eyes and see calculation that I don’t like. I prefer the open books, the countless women who pass through this office full of smiles and sunshine and optimism. I don’t look in their eyes and wonder what they are thinking. I don’t listen to them speak and search for hidden meanings. I don’t wonder, when they leave, where they are going. But that, from day one, is how it has been with Layana. I had hoped she would pass on. Hoped that another woman would catch Brant’s fancy, that he wouldn’t go for her long legs and mess of curls. But, alas, he did. She stayed. And now, here we are. Two women battling over this man. I only want to protect him. She loves him. We have differing views on what loving him entails. I don’t want to think about what she does to keep him. Whatever it is, it’s working. The man won’t take his eyes off her.

  I’m sure there are things I could do. To poison their relationship. Expose her lies, put a quiver of death into the perfect existence that he thinks they live. The problem is that she knows the secret. The one that I hug, with the tight grip of a mother bear, to my chest. The one that I have spent years protecting, blood, sweat and tears seeping through the iron bars I have built to keep it in. Destroying their relationship? His trust in her? The secret would burn to the ground along with their love. Be exposed in the open air for whoever wanted to grab its papery truth and run wild. In that secret lies nothing but destruction. And so I sit here. Continue paying the men who keep tabs on Brant at all times. Smile when she enters. Help to hide her lies. Pretend to love her with the same vigor that I love him. And hope that one day she fades out of his life.

  I can take care of him. She can only—will only—break him in two.

  Excerpt, The Journal of Jillian Sharp.

  Chapter 37

  “Stay.” I watched his hands slow, the rub of the towel through his hair coming to a stop. He lowered his hands, wiping his face before dropping the towel on the floor and stepping over it, a second towel wrapped around his lower half as he strolled over to his jeans.

  “I can’t. Stay too long in this place, I’ll start thinking I belong here.”

  “It’s one night.” One night I desperately needed. How different would a night with Lee be? Would he stay the whole night or leave me in the dead of night as Brant so often did? Would he wrap me in his arms or would he sprawl out on the other side of the bed?

  He dropped the towel, my eyes plummeting. Watching the careless movement as he pulled on his pants, uncaring of my eyes, his mouth curving into a confident grin as he tugged them over his hips.

  “I have clothes here. If you want fresh ones.”

  He scowled. “Brant’s?”

  I had so many answers for that but went with the simplest. “Yes.”

  He moved over to the bed, pulled at the sheet until it was clean of the bed and my nakedness was fully exposed. “I fuck his woman, I don’t want his life.” He reached a rough hand out, rubbing a palm over my right breast, the nipple hardening under his touch, the dark look in his eyes turning into a gleam of sa
tisfaction. I sighed, reaching my own hand out and laying it on his cock, the cut of his open jeans leaving it out, stuck out, at perfect eye level from my spot on the bed. It was hot, his skin heated by the spray of the shower and his hand moved from its place on my breast to my hair, gathering the long strands of my hair and pulling me upright, pushing me in the direction of his cock.

  “Tell me,” he breathed, my mouth reaching his skin, my tongue soft as I licked up its shaft, the organ responding beneath my tongue. “Tell me which you prefer.”

  I looked up at him. Opened my mouth and took him in. Watched his eyes close, his head drop back as he groaned, his grip on my hair pulling himself deeper into my mouth. Then he yanked painfully, pulling away as he pulled me off his cock and tilted my head up. Dropped his chin and stared into my eyes. The needy look of a man who didn’t really want me. “Tell me,” he ground out.

  “You are better,” I whispered, our eyes locked as one, truth in my statement. Raw need in us both. He needed reassurance. I wanted him. I wanted him to stop thinking about Brant and about Molly and focus on me. Want me. The rest would fall into place. It had to.

  Push. He shoved back into my mouth. Too hard, I opened wider, tried to take him, my eyes watering at the rough intrusion. He thrust, his hand and hips working together, the scrape of his zipper against my chin, his words falling down on me like forgotten tears.

  “Look in my eyes, Lucky. Look in my eyes while you suck my cock.” He slowed his motion. Watched with eyes that burned as he drug his wet shaft out, rubbing the tip of it against my mouth before he begged with his stare for more. “You like this don’t you? Being my whore while he pays your bills? Letting me use every inch of your body and sending you back to him ruined?” He growled, increased his motion, my airway cut off, my hands pushing at his thighs as my eyes held his clench. His chest heaved, his legs buckled beneath my hands, trembling as he leaned forward, fully in my mouth, gripping my headboard with his right hand, the other on the back of my head, and came down my throat.

  My throat was sore. The taste of him still on my tongue, and I watched him move. Tug on his shirt. Button his pants. Run a hand through his hair as he patted his pockets for keys. I wondered, randomly, where he kept his keys. If they stayed in his truck. How they didn’t get lost to the wind. He didn’t find them in his pockets and that didn’t seem to worry him. He paused, halfway through the doorway, and turned back to me. As if he suddenly realized that a goodbye might be needed.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  Not what I was expecting. Not what I wanted. They were over. My months of planning complete. Now was the time for our relationship. Not for him to bang me and take off, with some flippant reference to seeing me again. I wanted dates. Consideration. Adoration. At the very least a ‘Thank you very much’ for the two orgasms. I hadn’t given Brant two orgasms in one night in the last… probably ever.

  But… nothing. I didn’t respond and he turned, slapped his hand on the custom doorframe, and walked out. Less than a minute later, I heard the tone of my alarm. The alert that let me know that he had left the building.

  I lay back on the bed and tried to figure out what I did wrong.

  Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he needed time to heal. Maybe he would come back.

  I slept alone on sheets that smelled of grass and sex and deceit.

  Chapter 38

  “What’s your opinion on kids?” Brant’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the wind, his convertible’s top down. I glanced over at his profile, his eyes ahead, both hands on the wheel.

  “What do you mean?” I picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. Rested my head on the headrest and looked out the open window. A minivan passed, a kid’s face pressed against peeling tint, his eyes wide as he stared at Brant’s car. I smiled at him, a wave of sadness sweeping over me.

  “Kids. When we started dating, you used to talk about having a family. You haven’t mentioned it in a long time.”

  I said nothing. Watching the skyline pass, the setting sun casted a romantic glow over a city with way too many people crammed into its streets. I tried to find the words to say the things that I couldn’t say. An impossible task. I finally swallowed, aware that Brant had infinite patience. “I don’t really think about a family anymore.”

  “Why not? You’re born to be a mother.”

  I turned away from the view, surprised at the statement. “Why do you say that?”

  “You come to life with the kids at HYA. They love you.” He glanced away from the road for a moment, found my eyes long enough to communicate his sincerity.

  I looked back at the view. “They’re desperate. My own children might feel differently.”

  “Shut the hell up.” The irritation in his voice was so out of character, the explicative causing me to turn back, watch his mouth. “I’ve never seen someone like you. A woman who is perfectly made for every situation. For standing at my side at the company. For rolling around naked in my bed and letting me please you. For raising children who are loved and adored. For challenging me. For growing old with.” He jerked the wheel, the tires growling against asphalt as we whipped off the highway and onto a side lane, the car losing control for a brief moment before it skidded to a halt. He shoved the car into park and leaned forward, grabbing my neck and pulling me onto his mouth, his kiss hard and demanding, my hands pushing against and then pulling at his shirt. We kissed on the side of the highway as if we hadn’t touched in days, our hands groping and pulling, the honk and cheers of passing cars combining with wind and lights and sunset, a backdrop to a moment I didn’t deserve. I crawled across the center console, my skirt bunching up as I settled into the tight space of his lap, our kiss deepening at the new position, his hands pushing my skirt around my waist, palms and fingers kneading my ass, his mouth greedy as it dominated mine. “I love you so much,” he said, leaning his head back to look into my eyes, my hands fisting in his hair, repeating the sentiment back as I lowered my mouth. He stopped the kiss, his eyes arresting as he whispered the question I wanted to avoid. “Is it us, Lana? Is that why you no longer want kids?”

  I tried to kiss him, his hands holding me back as his eyes searched mine. I looked into his face and said the only words my heart would permit, the lie slipping harmlessly from my mouth. “No, Brant. No. I promise.”

  He let out a rough breath, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging me down, his relief felt in the desperate return to my mouth. And, in that moment, with the wind and the cars and the hum of the city around us, I let myself believe the lie.

  It wasn’t him. It wasn’t us. We were perfect.

  Chapter 39

  “Molly came back.” His face was dark when he said the words. I looked up from my spot on the couch, a flash of alarm shooting through me.

  “When?”

  “She showed up at the In Between the other night. A few minutes after I got there. Wanted me back.” Lee rubbed a fresh callus on his palm and glanced at me, eyes studying.

  Wanted him back. Not a surprise. I tried to keep my voice level. “What did you do?”

  “You mean, did I fuck her?” He stood from his spot by the window. Moved closer, towered above me. His eyes contrasted the dark look on his face. More cocky than angry, turning more sexual by the second. He knew I was affected. He stared into my eyes and saw the fear that I so poorly masked. Saw it. Fed on it. Loved the look of jealousy when he saw it. He reached a rough hand out and cupped my head. Pulled it to his pelvis.

  “Suck my cock.”

  “What? Right now? No.” I pushed on his stomach with my hand and he caught my wrist. Shoved it down, until my fingers were at his jeans.

  “Suck it and see if you earned the right for me to tell her no.” We battled with our eyes. I wanted to suck his dick. God, my mouth watered for the taste of his hard cock scraping over my tongue. But I’d be damned if I was forced to do anything.

  I pushed against his jeans and he pulled my head harder. Kept me in place. “Suck it and remind me o
f why I said no.”

  “You said no?” I looked away from worn denim and back into his eyes. Eyes as tortured as my own.

  “Yes.” He gritted out, letting out a hiss of breath when my fingers undid the button of his jeans, swiped a needy finger along the edge of his skin. Pulled the zipper down with an insecure motion. “God, I don’t know why I did, her beautiful face just begging for me to bend her over and fuck—” the rest of the sentence was lost in the groan that came when I buried his cock in my throat. He fisted my hair, stared at my face, and rocked against my mouth, his words of Molly replaced by my name.

  “You fuck him,” he said, as his cock fully hardened, as I gripped his thigh and his shaft and prayed the tears in my eyes were from sucking and nothing else. “You fuck him all the time and then expect me to be a saint.” I ignored the comment, focused my attention on redirecting his, the soft moan from his lips letting me know I was on the right track. “Why?” he asked. “Why should I?”

  I never answered his question, only his need. And… when his orgasm was over and he pulled me above him on the couch, his arms enveloping me into his chest, my wet mouth against him, the answer didn’t seem to matter any more.

  Chapter 40

  1 YEAR, 3 MONTHS AGO

  My house was unaccustomed to a man’s presence. The weight of one on its couch pillows. The sprawl of dirty shoes kicked off in its foyer. Lee’s scent invaded its hallways, competed with the scent of polish and flowers, masculinity meeting delicacy and crushing it into dirt. The male impact was new to my home; Brant had visited twice, early in our relationship, then never returned. I still had a few of his things hanging in a guest room closet, all items I had worn home in my early days, before I had a closet at his mansion.