Page 64 of The Lies We Steal

“Just tell me what I want to hear. Tell me you’re afraid of me, bum.” He mutters against my lips.

Heat surges inside my stomach at his crude insult, my cheeks burned red, or maybe they burn because I shamefully rotate my hips over his muscular thigh. It flexes and tenses beneath my weight, pushing me further and further towards the edge.

“Rot in Hell, trust-fund bitch.” My curse is barely a threat with how breathy it comes out. Instead of the soft, supple sounds of a lover’s name crossing my lips. Its degrading term filled with so much loathing.

Hating him for making me love this.

My nails claw into his skin. Making sure when he leaves, he bares marks from me. So that when he looks in that golden mirror in the morning, he remembers that I have nails and sharp teeth.

How is it possible to be this turned on right now and my feelings so opposite? The tension inside of me only worsens when the desire escalates. My legs quivering, making the water splash around us.

My hips move on their own accord, chasing relief, chasing approval. I’d never felt like this.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to feel like this again. This hot. This high. This reckless.

There was too much adrenaline. My heart couldn’t take it.

A valiant cry builds in my chest. I tumble, no, I’m being thrown into the deep end of a sticky, ambrosial pool of need. The coil inside my stomach compresses tighter, all because of the boy full of wicked games.

I didn’t think he could get closer, but he does. His lips pressed into mine, but not in a kiss.

“You don’t get to use me. Not to make your tight, pink cunt come. Not for silly games with your friend. Not for anything. I will get what is mine, Briar. Even if I have to kill you for it.” He spews, my mouth moving with his every word.

Wait, what?

The water around me had become waves of pleasure, about to suck me under a tide of ecstasy, until it runs cold once more.

He lets me drop into the pool, the abrupt change has me falling into cool liquid, regaining my thoughts before shooting back up, coughing for air. For my sanity.

When I gather myself, I look around, the lights of the pool are on once again and there is no sign of Alistair Caldwell.

My chest heaves, my mind reels,

Was he really here? Did I fall asleep in the pool? Did I have another dream?

The ache between my thighs gives me my answer. The throb at the back of my skull from his grip tells me all of that was very real.

I was scared.

I was pissed.

I was empty.

How is he so angry over a ring? It’s a piece of jewelry for fuck’s sake. I despise feeling like there is more to his story than what I can see. I don’t want to know his story. I don’t care.

He is a sadistic brat who throws more tantrums than a two-year-old. There is no excuse for how he acts.

None.

Another song begins to play, as if the last thirty minutes never happened. Life begins again and I’m pulled from the time warp he throws me in.

Frustration fills me so much, that I sink to the bottom of the pool. I drop like a rock, swimming until I’m sitting at the bottom.

Then, I widen my eyes, letting the chlorine burn him from my memory, open my mouth and scream.

Alistair

“Harder.”