Beautiful Deception

by Addison Moore

  Zoey bubbles with a soft laugh that strums through my arms like voltage. “Who said anything about a beer?” Her finger finds its way over my lips as all of her attention streamlines right over my mouth. “I said I was thirsty.” The words pull from her in slow motion as her lids hang heavy with anticipation.

  “What are you thirsty for?” I whisper right over her lips, teasing her, backing up a notch to find her with a look of wanting that I cannot remember ever invoking in a woman before.

  “This.” Her eyes close and I watch as long as I can before her lips touch mine, and like an explosion, we detonate in one another’s mouths. This, right here, is the moment that verifies, it testifies against me. I’ve taken a step across that invisible line in the sand. I’m in too deep with the beautiful girl probing around my mouth with an aggression I’ve never felt before.

  My hands find their way up the back of her short dress as my fingers press into her thighs. Zoey tastes like strawberries and soda, a sweet and delicious combination that would never have been possible with Elizabeth. She was piss and vinegar till the end in every caustic way. As quick as my ex enters my mind, I sweep her back out. I’ve never wanted anyone as desperately as I want Zoey. That relationship depended on variables, on what mapped out best and logically. This one is tilting dangerously on the tip of a blade. In the beginning, I would have done anything to keep the two of us from lacerating ourselves, but now here we are free-falling over the steepest cliff with nothing but razors waiting for us below. The only way to stop this fornicating runaway train is to leave Loveless and never look back, but the thought wrenches me on the inside like a fist tightening around my heart. I can’t do to Zoey what I did to Elizabeth. This is different. Zoey is the anti-Elizabeth, and that might be exactly why I crave her so damn much.

  “Here you are!” a female voice rides high as a hand slams down over my shoulder, prying the two of us apart. We glance up to find Kennedy gloating with a cheesy grin. “The beer’s on me, kid.” She winks at Zoey while pulling her toward the concession stand. “Pour it over your head. It’ll cool you off faster that way.” She winks over at me as they disappear into the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Caleb standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, doing his best impression of a pissed father.

  I get it. He doesn’t want to see me hurt. He doesn’t want to see Zoey hurt either.

  I take off for the bathroom as I try to figure out why the hell anyone needs to get hurt to begin with.

  The rest of the concert goes off with just as much nostalgic enthusiasm as it started with. Zoey and I hold hands as if it were seventh grade, and it feels nice. It feels perfect.

  We head to the parking lot, and the girls hug it out. Caleb nods me over.

  “You sure you know what you’re getting into?” His voice is low and serious as if delivering bad news.

  “Yes. I’m getting into nothing.” My stomach boils in its own acids as if contesting the idea.

  “If you say so. And would you lose the watch,” he teases. “You’re the last one wearing it.” He gives me a shove to the arm, and I take up Zoey’s hand as we make our way to the car.

  The night winds down with a quiet drive back to Loveless, the purple mountains in the distance glowing unnaturally, holding its secrets like a poker hand.

  We finally hit the dirt lot I’ve been parking my car in just shy of the lake, and I help Zoey out. The stars above drip like honey down over the water, their reflections shining like a thousand fallen suns.

  Zoey hikes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to the side of my face. “You ready for the real show to begin?”

  My boxers tick at the prospect. “What show is that?”

  “The one in which you lie down for me.” She takes a step back with her finger pressing into the ruby cushion of her lips. “So that I can sketch you—you pervert.” Her hand slaps over my chest playfully as she runs off. I jog ahead, snatching her up, landing her in my arms, laughing as the night jasmine perfumes the air around us.

  Zoey pegged me. I am a damn pervert around this girl.

  We walk the shoreline hand in hand with the electric hum of nightlife around us.

  Everything is electric and alive with Zoey around.

  For the first time in years, so am I.

  Maybe the past can be encapsulated after all.

  Deep down, I know it can’t.

  Ready and Abel

  Zoey

  There have been nights where I have fantasized about being with Abel to the point where my mind has been completely convinced of the event—my body, however, has been slow to believe. Tonight, I’m up for making both my mind and body aware of the fact as Abel and I make this forerunning fantasy of mine the gospel truth.

  My fingers shake as I spin the knob to the tiny boathouse. I have never been nervous about a thing in my life, and here my hand is shaking. It’s not nerves, though. It can’t be. I’m simply shaking to have this man, this beautiful sculpted piece of flesh, this angel, this devil in disguise that crawled up this mountain just to be with me. My body heats as I switch on the lights—a sophomoric blunder, and for a moment, I consider switching them right back off. As much as I hate to admit it, a pitiful part of me has waited to be rescued ever since my parents up and vanished. Cinderella Complex, my college roommate called it after a bourbon-sponsored confessional. She was right, of course, which was easy for her to peg, considering she was a psych major. She graduated last spring, and I hear she has a job in hotel management. I’m glad the degree came in handy for her.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I head straight for the wine. The truth is, I’m partaking whether or not he decides to join me. Hell, I’ll just have enough for the both of us.

  Abel catches me by the waist and spins me into him, trapping me there with those heavy bottom-of-the-ocean eyes. “If we’re doing this, it has to be sober.”

  I give a halfhearted attempt at swallowing down the lump in my throat.

  “The sketches?” His brows flex as if calling out my perverted mind.

  “Oh, right.” I break free from his grasp and make a beeline for my supplies. Damn hormones have me scattered all over the place. Have I actually abandoned the vino for a man? My knees wobble as if shouting the answer from my weak sinews. “Just go ahead and”—I look up and startle as Abel takes his shirt off one button at a time—and with me all the way across the damn room. Normally, I complain about the boathouse being the size of a shoebox but, at the moment, it feels like an oversized palace. Every inch feels like a mile. “That’s perfect.”

  His fingers work down the front of his dress shirt, slow and easy, but those day-glow eyes never take themselves off mine. It’s as if he’s testing me—calling me out on my little girl playground games to see if I’ll bite. And as much as I want to prove him wrong, step up to the sexual plate, something about this entire scenario feels off. Abel is the hunter tonight, and those are shoes I usually demand to fill.

  My heart races as his chest is exposed, bronzed from an early summer. And just like that, he drops his shirt behind him like a seasoned stripper. Abel is beautiful, inside and out. Those masses of sheer granite he calls arms look thick and strong enough to hold up the mountain—to hold me all night if he had to. That broad chest with just the right peppering of hair to remind you this isn’t some prepubescent boy you’re playing with has my panties melting like cotton candy. My entire body electrifies at the sight of him. I’ve seen Abel in less than this, but something about having him here on my home turf, looking like a fantasy come to life, with that ready and willing look in his eye— I’ve all but turned into a stumbling virgin on prom night.

  “How’s this?” He holds his arms out like a dare. His entire body glows a warm shade of bronze against the background of the stark white walls. Abel is a work of art, a statue bathing in the moonlight of the gods, a sculpture that my hands demand to worship.

  “Per”—a breath hitches in my throat—“perfect.” I snap up a few charcoa
l pencils, my kneaded eraser, and flip open the largest of my sketchbooks to the first blank page. My hand smooths over the soft parchment as if it were his skin. “Go ahead and take a seat.” I glance to the bed uncomfortably. The thing about the boathouse is that it was never intended to hold company. There is a bed—a meager full-sized mattress at that—a table with two chairs, one of which is currently defunct with a bad wobble. The bathroom walls are so thin—the door is more of a formality—no tub, an unforgivable sin in my book, and a toilet that might as well be in the sink. But for whatever reason, it still feels as if Abel McCarthy were in a different universe.

  “How do you want me?” he rumbles it low, erotic, and that tension deep down in my gut tightens like a coil.

  I swallow down the knot building in my throat. I want him every which way. However, the missionary position might be a good place to start. At the end of the sexual day, I’m an old-fashioned girl at heart.

  “On the bed.” It comes out parched, and I clear my throat. “I mean, you can sit across it if you like.”

  Abel hops on, landing on his side. Those signature McCarthy dimples of his digging in as if he’s enjoying the fact I’m suddenly flustered.

  “That’s great.” My cheeks heat a severe shade of crimson as I cower my way to the edge of the bed and begin sketching his form onto the blinding white page. I’ve sketched my fair share of people—wearing far less than he is at the moment, and yet my hand trembles as I feather the pencil across the page as if someone held a gun to my temple. I’m assuming we’ll get to the nude portion of the evening before long, and I’m hoping it’ll be me evicting his clothes with my teeth.

  “It’s nice like this.” His voice resonates, deep and rich, vibrating across the bed and strumming its way to the inside of my thighs. “Seeing you in your element, I mean. You’re glowing.”

  My face blooms with heat ten times hotter than before. “It’s just stifling in here.” I wipe my brow with my arm before pressing through this ridiculous newfound embarrassment and sketching his form twice as quick as before.

  “Maybe you’re overdressed.”

  I blink up at him, the pencil slipping from my grasp. “Are you propositioning me?” Holy hell, it’s happened. Abel McCarthy has reached the sexual brink, and he’s ready and ripe for the picking. And here I’ve reverted into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who’s suddenly face-to-face with the hottest boy on campus. What’s a naughty schoolgirl to do?

  A smile twitches on my lips, but I’m too selfish to give it. My entire body breaks out in chills as our eyes lock.

  “I’m sorry.” He winces as he falls back onto his elbows. “I shouldn’t have gone there.” He glares at the ceiling. “Maybe I’d better go.”

  “No!” I slink next to him, knocking my sketchpad and supplies to the floor. “I mean, I need you. You’re my model, remember?” My knee grazes against his bare skin, setting off a wave of shivers in me. As much as I’d like to think I’m in the driver’s seat, I’m not anywhere near the steering wheel. Abel is driving this train, and I don’t think I’ve been this shaken in years—if ever.

  He leans up and buries those monster blue eyes in mine. His hand strokes my hair, and every follicle tingles as it comes to life.

  “I’m not being too much of a gentleman.” His dimples dig in as he frowns, a neat trick I’m not too interested in seeing him repeat.

  A fist the size of the boathouse settles in my throat, and I manage to push through it. “A true gentleman gives a girl what she wants.” I pull his arm over my waist, swiping my finger over his lips. “And right now, this girl wants you.”

  His lids lower just a notch, any trace of a smile, of anything affable melts off his features as he sees me through a lust-driven lens. “What are we doing?”

  “You do like to analyze things from every angle, don’t you? You really are such a lawyer.” A laugh lives and dies in my throat. My chest lands inches from his, rising and falling as if I ran a lap around the lake. “You always need the rules laid out for you. We’re doing something reckless, something wild, some good old-fashioned fooling around.” Is that all I want from this beautiful man? My eyes fill with moisture, and I blink it away. “We draw the line in the sand at a relationship. We’re both adults.” My fingers glide through his hair as I give a little tug. “It will be paradise.”

  The last person to promise me paradise was Holder, and he gave me hell. But with Abel, this would be an easy promise to make. Every moment with this man has been magic, pure bliss, and now it’s time to spend a moment or two with him on me, in me—in drawn-out hours of aching passion that we repeat on a loop.

  “Then that’s what it will be.” Abel rolls on top of me, and I take in his weight before he rises onto his elbows. “I’m going to teach you what it’s like to be with a real man. Those boys that ripped your heart out for sport, who fed you lies, and made you believe them—you’ll never look back. This is my promise to you.”

  Abel studies me a moment, his gaze serious with something darker layered just beneath. His lips find mine, slow and heated. And no matter how many kisses we’ve shared over the last month, each one has a way of bringing that spark of excitement that comes with a first kiss. The surreal nature of the moment never grows old. Abel moves around in my mouth as if this kiss were the most important task he’s ever undertaken. My hands clasp onto his bare sides, migrating slowly as I spread my fingers over his steely chest, outlining the ridges of his muscles, hard as cut marble. The scent of his spiced cologne intoxicates me, right along with the growing intensity of his deep-throated kisses. His hands find my thighs as he inches up my dress, and my fingers are quick to fumble with his belt. In the past, this is where the moment grows frenetic—the kicking off of shoes, the spastic dance to evict our clothing, but with Abel you’d think eternity was at our command. It’s a passive endeavor that sets a spotlight on the careful removal of each article of clothing—his boxers, my panties being the grand finale. Then it’s done, nothing but skin on heated skin and I can feel him there, pressing his happiest to see me member against my thigh. But Abel and I never take our eyes off one another. There’s something hypnotic about this moment, something very raw and real as if we’re both being far too cerebral about this. My cheeks heat dangerously hot as he continues to press into me with his gaze. This slow burn is racing through me like a fireball, scorching my heart, my soul, the inside of my thighs scalding as lava.

  Abel cups my cheeks with his hands, feeding me kisses, deliberate and aching, eliciting a groan to rip from my throat. He pulls back, doting my mouth with a chaste peck as he examines me this way, his lids hanging heavy, drunk off his affection for me.

  “Tell me now if you want me to stop.” His voice reverberates through his chest to mine like a snare drum. “This is it, do or die.”

  “Do and die.” I take a bite from his lower lip and give it a little tug. “I like it both ways. First, you do your best to please me”—I purr into his ear as my arms leash around his neck—“then you slay me with everything you’ve got.”

  A dark laugh rumbles from him as his mouth falls back to mine. Abel blesses me with his kisses, that fierce lashing tongue that races over my body leaving no stone unturned. I can’t help but watch as his dark head of hair travels the length of my body, stopping to pay homage at all the right places. His fingers trace down my torso, his hands kneading me as he works his way lower still. Abel is a master of seduction, of promises, of ecstasy. Abel buries a series of wet kisses in that most tender part of me, and my entire body seizes with pleasure. Yes, Abel is master of ecstasy, and that’s exactly where he takes me in record time.

  He pulls a condom from his wallet and dons it with the finesse of a seasoned pro, stroking himself just once as if admiring the work of art he truly is. And he should. My God, Abel is a work of sublime brilliance that I will forever treasure having witnessed.

  I bite down a giggle as he hovers over me, that determined look on his face, the viper staring down its prey, and I am mo
re than happy to be had. His mouth opens as if he were about to say something, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say those ever-elusive words to me—I love you. A part of me demands to say it first. I just want to hear those heart-shaped words explode in this room. I haven’t heard it in so long, not like this, not with those eyes filled with fiery lust beaming down on me, backlit with the light of a powder blue moon. Abel is strong, capable, intelligent, kind—everything anyone would want in a man. Everything I have ever wanted. An image of a future with Abel spools out before me without my permission. Abel proposing, waiting for me at the end of a petal strewn aisle, my arms filled with a swaddling babe, a cabin on the lake, white picket fence, tricycles and hula hoops on the front lawn, a beautiful chaos blossoming around us as he looks at me just like this. I want it all with Abel. So much more than he’s willing to give me. I always want far more than people are capable of gifting me. It’s the curse of losing my parents at such a young age. The wanting never ends. My outstretched arms might be filled for a time, but they are always left empty and aching at the end of the day.

  Say I love you, my mind demands. It screams at me over and over in a demonic choir.

  “It’s time to kill me,” I whisper instead. It was fate after all that brought us together. That would be enough for now. It might have to be enough forever.

  Abel lunges over me with a hard kiss, primal tension mixed with an indiscernible ache, and I fight the urge to cry. I want this man. I want all of him. I want so much more than he’s willing to give me.

  His wet mouth runs a line of fire over to my ear. “You are so damn beautiful.” He takes a playful bite out of my earlobe, and my body bucks with pleasure. I needed words, and Abel gave me what he could. I’m grateful, grateful to have that incessant need fulfilled. Abel enters me slowly, my body stretching with a careful burn to accommodate this gorgeous man, and the tears flow steady without my permission. Abel rocks over me, steady and determined, before giving my hair a quick tug, forcing me to look up at him, his pace driving and pounding, making good on every promise his wayward looks have ever given me. Those bedroom eyes are sealed shut, his jaw popping, muscles clenched as he gives the last few powerful thrusts. Abel digs his fingers into my shoulders and lets out a thunderous roar. Our bodies clench tight as if gifting an arduous goodbye. This was it, the end to our sweet, sweet music. My chest bucks as I try to control the tears, wiping my face down before he can get a look at the mess I’ve made.