Beautiful Deception

by Addison Moore

  “They’d have to cut yours off, or the lid wouldn’t shut.”

  I wince. “I think we went spectacularly off track.”

  She slaps my cheek gently before pinching my chin with her fingers and shaking my head.

  “I’d still bang you if you were dead.” She smacks her lips together. “You’d be hot either way.”

  “No death potion. Trust me, I won’t be needing it.” I dip my fingers into that wet spot between her thighs, and she shivers. “You’re all the fuel I need to get me going.” I tear a kiss off her lips. That kiss she gave on the beach threw me—the way her tongue corkscrewed into my mouth before settling in felt strangely familiar. I’ve kissed hundreds of girls at least, but only once did I experience anything like that before. I was twenty-three and had just plucked a girl from the bottom of the ocean. Evelyn was with me, trying to calm the girl’s hysterical sister. I sealed my mouth over hers, pumped in air, and she doled out a kiss as if it were the plan all along.

  She scratches my back to get my attention. “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

  “What you’d like to do to my corpse?” I dot kisses from her ear to her neck. She smells like wild flowers, not the expensive perfume I usually choke on—just sweet nature, a breath of fresh air all the way around.

  “Hardly.” She slaps her hands against my shoulders and pushes me back a good foot until I’m towering over her. Her fingers run down my chest, dripping lower, stopping just shy of my hips.

  “I’m thinking about food.” Her lips form the perfect pout. “You think your brother will mind if we raid the fridge?”

  “Mind? He doesn’t have a say in it.” I give her beautiful round bottom a soft pinch. “Let the raiding begin.”

  Stevie throws on my dress shirt without opting to button it, and I hop into my boxers. Her arm stays slung around my waist as we bump down the dark hall, tripping and laughing as if we were wasted.

  The porch light goes on outside and illuminates the kitchen enough until I open the fridge. Nothing but two beers and a tub of margarine stares back at us.

  “I’m betting he’s thin.” She lays her bare chest over my back, and I take in the feel of her soft tits molding over my body. Hot damn. This girl knows what she’s doing.

  “His brain cells are thin,” I say, turning and wrapping my arms around her waist like they belong there. “He eats out a lot.” I pop open the freezer. “Well looky what we have here.” I pluck out a half-eaten gallon of ice cream with a frosty beard running down the side as if it’s been in there for a year—probably has. “Do you like chocolate peanut butter ribbon?”

  “Do fish love the sea? I need chocolate just to survive on most days.” She plucks it from me and pops the lid off.

  I pull two spoons from the drawer and pick her up in my arms. She lets out a squeal as the ice cream jumps from her hand a moment.

  I tuck my head into her neck and nuzzle out a kiss. “You smell good.”

  “You smell like sex.” She kicks her feet in the air as if proving her point.

  “That’s your fault, sweetie. And thank you by the way.” I settle us over the rug in front of the fireplace and start a roaring blaze.

  “No one in L.A. has a fire in July.” She scoots in, using the couch as a backrest, and I slip next to her.

  “Good thing we’re not in L.A.” I run a finger over the curve of her knee. “The AC’s on, besides I want to see you.” Her skin comes to life in hues of orange and gold just like it did a few hours ago under that bloody sky. Tonight has been like a whole different world, as if a portal opened up, and we stepped into a new dimension. I think I like this one better anyway.

  “You want to see me do this?” She shovels a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and moans. “Wow, this tastes like crap.” She drops the spoon, and I pull her onto me until we’re rolling over my brother’s white shag rug, blinking into one another as if seeing each other for the very first time.

  “Tell me something about yourself.” I press a kiss over her lips as if I had the right. “Start from the beginning, and don’t let up until you hit this moment right here. I want to know everything.” My ego is hoping this moment is the best—the highlight in an otherwise sexually oppressed existence, but I’m guessing someone as beautiful as Stevie could put me to shame in that arena. Just the thought of an entire army of assholes laying their hands on her makes me want to punch a hole in every wall in the house.

  “I like to read food labels when I eat.” A depleted smile comes and goes. “Cereal mostly.”

  “Fascinating.” I give her thigh a soft pinch. “Give me something I can sink my teeth into. What should I know about you?”

  “I’m a pretty miserable person—horrible actually.” She says it plain like a fact. Her fingers knot up in my hair and stay there. Her lips invert and press white as paper while she considers her next words. “I already told you about my sister. She passed away seven years ago.” Her cool hand glides up and cups my face. “I wear her like a scar—like a battle wound for the world to see.” She takes in a breath and curls into me. “My parents are both living, but I admire orphans the way the poor admire the wealthy. They never married. My mother was the other woman in a long line of other women, and my father was never that impressed with my sister or me. He has a heart of stone. He’s ruthless, and dangerous, and I still haven’t forgiven him for Claire’s death, which makes no sense whatsoever considering she died from cancer.” She takes a quick breath. “My mother is insane. Not in the traditional wearing your bra over your shirt kind of way, she possesses a much darker madness. She’s convinced the world that she’s brilliant. She’s a master illusionist. She could teach your brother a thing or two.”

  “A two-year-old could teach my brother a thing or two—or twenty.”

  A moment of silence slices by rooted like lead to her words. For a second I think about opening up about my own parents then relent.

  “Anyway”—she shrugs—“I’m a senior at Rigby.”

  Senior. And there it is.

  “I went to Rigby.” Evelyn and all that bullshit she put me through bounces through my mind, and I let her bounce right back out. Not going there. As much as she’d love to infiltrate this night, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let her.

  She pinches my cheek. “I bet you were a frat boy.”

  A heartfelt laugh belts from me. “Right. I was the furthest thing from it.”

  “But the girls still came around, didn’t they?” She plucks at the waistband on my boxers, and the fire snaps as if the flames were proving her point.

  “Maybe. And I bet those frat boys are all over you.” My chest fills with a heated rage, and it catches me off guard. I’m not the jealous type. Never was.

  “Maybe.” She lies on her back with her shirt falling open, affording me all the view any frat boy could hope to have. “Tell me something about you.”

  My stomach clenches. I wondered for the first solid hour if she were simply putting on an act. There aren’t too many people, too many beautiful girls who don’t know who I am these days. She thinks I park cars for a living, and every time I want to clear the air, nothing but silence comes from my throat. The truth is, I like it this way. A touch of mystery never hurt, at least for a little while.

  I tousle her hair, and it sprays gently over her shoulders like dark feathers.

  “I have one full brother, Carter. He’s been as close as my shadow. My dad died when I was eleven. My mother remarried and threw a few half brothers into the mix, Carson and Cash. Then she took off one day, out of the blue, and my stepfather eventually remarried. He already had a couple older daughters. We rarely see those.” I stroke her arm up and down as I scoot in close. “So, you see, I’m essentially the orphan you envy. The end.” There, keep it simple. No need to start throwing my financials onto the table as if I’m trying to sell myself. Not like I haven’t already had a fire sale. She got what most women want without so much as a blink. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I
liked the fact she bought the package without a single dollar sign cluttering up the distance between us.

  “Orphan,” she whispers it slow, sexy-as-hell, as if she were dreaming. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “Don’t be. I miss my dad, though. Miss my mom, too. The strange thing is we were all so close, so perfect. Dad died of a heart attack. And, after my mom remarried, one day she walked out of the house to run an errand and never came back.” A sad laugh gets trapped in my chest. “My dad always gave the greatest advice.” I leave it at that. If I talk about how great my mother was, I’ll lose it. I cried myself to sleep for a year after she ran out on us. It hurt a thousand more times than when I lost my father because she didn’t have to go, she chose to.

  “Big family.” She pulls her finger along my jaw as if drawing my attention back. “That must be nice. You bed any of your stepsisters?”

  “God, no.” I mess her hair up a little more and she gives me a perturbed look before combing it back with her fingers. “I have my limits.”

  “Oh, really?” She shakes her head with disbelief, a wicked grin tucked into her cheek. “What kind of limits did you set for me?” Her head tilts just enough to rest over my chest. Something in me melts for this sinfully delicious girl as we curl up next to a fire on a perfect Southern California night.

  Her eyes hook into mine, and there’s a layer of sadness superimposed over steel. Life has hardened her in the cruelest way, and my heart breaks for her.

  “For you there are no limits.” I mean every word. “Isn’t that what tonight is about?” My hand sinks over her hip before settling on her thigh. “No limits?”

  “No limits.” She repeats, closing her eyes for a moment. “You should give me limits, Ford.” Her head writhes over me as if she were trying to fall asleep. “You should give everyone on this damn planet limits, or they’ll run you over, take whatever they can, then rip you out of their lives like a page from a book they no longer care to read.”

  I pull my fingers up over her warm, firm stomach, and she quivers beneath me.

  “No limits for you, Stevie.” I press my lips to the top of her head. “There will never be any limits for you.” I bow down and steal a wet kiss off her lips.

  She scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”

  Disillusioned, lost her twin to cancer way too early, feels abandoned by both her parents—that last point hits home with me.

  “I know everything I need to know.”

  “Well, then, that’s your superpower.” She arches a brow, and my dick perks to life. “You’re a know-it-all.”

  “I am a know-it-all,” I tease, pulling both her wrists behind her back while tickling her under the arms with my free hand. Stevie explodes in a fit of hysterics. “See? I knew you were ticklish.”

  “Stop!” She shrills through her laughter.

  “You stop. You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

  I continue my tickling tirade, and she screams twice as loud, piercing my eardrums, roaring out her protests deafening as a jet engine.

  “Ford!” Her body convulses, trying to free itself from my grasp.

  “All right.” I blink a shit-eating grin. “If you’re not going to be quiet, I’m going to have to make you.”

  I pull her in by the neck, and her mouth explodes in mine as if we’re ringing in the New Year. The fire snaps, biting the air with its celebratory pops.

  Truthfully, I had never had a one-night stand with a complete stranger before. I’m usually somewhat familiar with the women I’ve bedded. But something about Stevie said take the chance, roll the dice and see if the jackpot is as big as you think it is, and, of course, it’s that much bigger. I could never have anticipated anything about tonight.

  She’s right, I don’t know her, but I’m a thousand percent sure I’m not leaving a single stone unturned. This isn’t some random hookup, some meaningless one-night stand. Tonight is shaking us out, spilling all the pieces onto the floor and forcing us to reconstruct them.

  I scoop a handful of melted ice cream from the carton and smear it from her chest to her thighs.

  “Oh?” She lets out a belly laugh, and I drink it in, thirsty for more. “Is that how this is going down?” She retaliates by slathering me with twice as much, and, before I know it, we’re wrestling, slipping over the white shag rug and leaving muddy chocolate tracks in our wake.

  “Your brother is going to kill us.” She whispers hot in my ear as I pin her with her arms knifed out, holding her thighs open with my knees. Her hair is slicked to her face with a mixture of sweat and ice cream. Her teeth electrify the night with their bluish-white glow. My heart stops in my chest a moment as if giving homage to her beauty. I’ve slept with beautiful girls before, hell, I’ve slept with an army of them, but something about this one feels different, special, and I can’t pinpoint why.

  “My brother will have a new rug and a freezer full of ice cream by the time he comes back from New York.”

  A sweet smile presses from her lips. It’s the first all night. There’s not one trace of the sarcasm queen she uses as a shield.

  “You are thoughtful.” She grazes her teeth over her lip and lets it out painfully slow. My hard-on blooms back to life, full force, just witnessing the event.

  “And you’re anything but horrible.” I sink a kiss over her mouth, thick and sweet as honey. We roll around that sticky rug like bear cubs, like tigers fighting to the death. We crash around that tiny beach house. The sound of our wild fucking rises through the night like a primal cry for help—like a love song.

  I’ve slept with my fair share of women, thought I knew what it felt like to run a victory lap long into the night, but Stevie and I are rewriting the rules. I knew the second she gave me that crooked grin the playbook was tossed out the window. There was a distant glint in her eye that said she could take or leave me, and, at the end of the day, it was her indifference that made me want her that much more. I had a dozen women I could have brought here tonight, hell, I could have brought Evelyn, almost did. But I’m damn glad I didn’t—catastrophe avoided. I’m glad the birthday girl decided to glance my way. Odd, though. It’s not something too many girls would consider on their special day. But she did, and I couldn’t be happier.

  One night turns into two, then three. I convince her to stay an entire week, then half of the next. Nothing but nonstop love making, swimming at midnight in the icy Pacific, building sandcastles under the three quarter moon—her perfect ass planted over my body 24/7. I’ve had her in the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, on the sand, the porch, the hood of the car for kicks. And I love having her every damn minute. This girl never complains, she never says no. I’ve never met anyone like her.

  “School starts next week.” She gives my ear a quick tug as the evening sky turns a velvet shade of burgundy. We plant ourselves on the porch just watching time slip by quick as the wind. “Our honeymoon is coming to a close, sweetheart.” She drips with irony, and I eat it all up. I’m used to girls being on their best behavior around me. Either too sickly sweet or just plain faking nice. Not Stevie. She’s a pistol that’s not afraid to dole out a whipping twice daily. And, for the love of God, am I ever whipped.

  “I like to think of it as—to be continued.” I brush a quick kiss off her lips as I pour us each a glass of champagne we picked up at the local supermarket. We made a midnight run after that first night and stocked up like we were preparing for the apocalypse. Nothing like grocery store sushi and chocolate bars to meet our nutritional needs—of course, we can’t forget the endless supply of ramen noodles. We swept the store clean of all of the above. The California rolls were nothing but fake crab and gelatinous rice, just a notch above the shit they serve at the gas station. I’ll have to take Stevie out for something more authentic once we reenter the land of the living—maybe fly her to Japan for lunch. “I guess next comes the real world for you and me.” I’ve been wanting to discuss it. Hell, I’ve been wanting to discuss a lot of things, but my ba
lls don’t seem up for the challenge. They’re too afraid to ruin a good thing, and I can’t say I blame them. This has definitely been a good thing.

  “You think we can handle that?” She nods out at the ocean as if it represented society as a whole. The angry, mocking sea—hostile as most of L.A. with its constant churning waves like a steady stream of gossip that never ends.

  “Yes, I think we can handle it. We’re going to handle it like a boss.” I give her sides a quick pinch, and she jumps over my lap. “We got this. Besides, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  She hops up from the bench we’ve been curled up on since dinner. “There’s something I want to show you.” She disappears inside for a moment before falling back into my lap with an oversized book I bought my brother as a Christmas gift years ago. Gravity Asunder by Theresa Eaton. A compilation of dark poetry.

  “I love this book.” It’s true. I’ve devoured every last verse. I went through a dark period myself, and I felt every word this author penned. We look inside and admire the oversized photos of the galaxy—the blue pearl that is Earth, the shooting stars that accompany each poem. “I gave it to Cash as a Christmas gift.”

  “You and every third American.” She pets the glossy page as if it were a cat. “It put my mother on every bestseller list you could think of.” She expires a breath like blowing out a candle. Stevie flips through the pages as if each one were fragile as a snowflake. “Thank you for that by the way. It was her one true happy moment.”

  Holy shit.

  “Your mother wrote this?” A spear of excitement rockets through me. “I’ve practically memorized every page.”

  “She’d be glad to hear it.”

  “So I guess that makes you Stevie Eaton.”

  “Boy, you’re really taken. It’s like I’ve just ripped off a tarp revealing a shiny new Porsche where only a rusted out VW sat moments ago.” She looks up at me, slightly unimpressed. “Were my windows broken, too?” She butts her shoulder into my chest. “Yes, Eaton is my bastard name. And there’s no need to worship a false idol like my mother. She pretty much hates men.” She leafs through the book. “Her mantra is every man—a liar. Every woman who loves him—a fool. Poetic, right?”