Page 46 of Secrets That Bind Us

Verity

Age Twenty-Four

The door wasn't closed for even a second before he had me pressed up against it.

Lips on my jaw, the shell of my ear, I was on fire.

Burning from my core to every single one of my extremities.

I could pretend, right? After that last screaming match with Micah, where we decided to call it off– I could pretend this man was him .

I'm ashamed I've done it so much with Micah, but this feels different.

This stranger with almost the right shade of blue eyes, a little stormy, more sapphire than cobalt, but I could pretend. Just once I could forget. Just once I could be adventurous like the heroines in my novels.

His feverish, drunk, messy kisses trail down my chest, between my breasts, his large, calloused hands shoving them together and licking each swell, sucking my nipples through the material, making it cling to them.

Fuck. I think I could come from this. In an act of brute strength, he pulled the bodice of my dress apart, the beads popping off and scattering across the floor.

"You fucking smell like her, fuck." He growled.

I don't care if he was using me to forget someone or remember them. I was doing the same goddamn thing. This was just some stranger from the bar downstairs, at the same party for two people that tended to break-up every seven months or so.

It’s the first time I'm so close to home with another broken heart.

My stranger stares down at me, dazed and as tipsy as me. His thumbs find the edge of my mask, but I shake my head. If the masks come off, this was too real. I'd have to face reality, and I wasn't ready for that yet. I need this. To feel alive for once in such a long time.

It felt like he understood, like he wanted to pretend I was someone else, too. He shoves one flimsy strap down my arm, then the other, and the dress pools at my feet like a puddle of creamy silk. I stood proudly in nothing but my nude heels, and a black thong.

"Gorgeous. Absolutely fucking... just... perfect ." From the lips of a stranger, for once, I felt perfect. And then my masked, raven-haired stranger with stormy eyes dimmed the lights, but only enough that when he took off his shirt, every ridge and groove of his body was highlighted.

And then he was on me.

Deep kisses with tongue, strong roaming hands, gripping and tugging.

My thighs are parted, and soon I had a tongue so far up my cunt I yelp at the sensation.

Every fast flick of his tongue against my clit has me bucking my pussy against his face, clutching it to me by those inky strands and he groans into me.

In the blink of an eye I'm being fucked into oblivion with a hard, thick length that stretches and fills every part of me that hasn't been touched since. ..

"Oh my God!" My orgasm barrels out of nowhere, causing me to curl forward, piercing his back with my nails, my feet digging into the small of his back but I can't get enough. My hips roll, needing, wanting more, fucking him like a crazed woman that’s never experienced an orgasm, and just did for the first time in her life.

"Ah fuck! That’s it. Grip me tight. Fuck, you’re squeezing my cock so good." He groans.

"Don't fucking stop! Keep fucking me, please!" I beg . I haven’t begged in what feels like millennia.

"Fuck, I love that. On all fours, gorgeous."

I'm flipped over and pulled by my hips, my hair twisted around his wrist, and then impaled so roughly, so wonderfully, I scream out in agonizing bliss and topple over again... and again in every position I'm fucked in, until he collapses beside me, drenched in sweat, panting.

Minutes later, mask still slightly skewed on his face, he snores softly beside me. I take in the profile of his face, of this stranger, wishing with all my heart... it was Dean. But Dean didn't have all these tattoos, these scars, these... muscles . So defined and...

And I need to go .

I slip out of bed and find a robe, but I take my dress and my purse with me, slip on my heels, and slip out, awkwardly striding to the hotel elevator to the suite on the fourteenth floor to watch the sunrise over the Dallas skyline like I've done so many times alone.

I send Zoey a text message that I'm safe, and back in my room.

With a sigh, I drop my robe, go to the large bathroom to look at the small, beautiful bruises now decorating my skin, made with what feels like care. I touch each one, pressing down until the skin turns white, and let it go.

I shake the feeling of how much they remind me of a loft in a barn, sheltering two lovers in a storm, and how much they take me home.

How much they take me back to Dean. The back of my eyeballs burn, and tears well.

I let them spill over. Just this once. Just this once I allow myself to grieve the love I have for him.

Just this once I allow myself to remember what it felt like to be loved by Dean Carson.

Just this once I cry in the shower, letting every tear fall to crash around me with the water on my head.

Just this once I sink to the ground and let every unforgiving wail out until the water goes cold.

Instead of watching that sunrise, I book a flight back to New York, back to my high-rise. I shoot a text to Zoey, get dressed, and get the hell out of dodge.