Vicious Lies (Lies 1)

I grab a water bottle from the fridge and take a sip while I wait for Waylon to get undressed and ready for me.

It gives me a moment alone with Langston.

I take my time removing the bobby pins, holding my curls to one side until my hair is down. I run my hands through them to loosen the curls before taking one last sip of water.

“He’s mine. And I’m no one’s. You hear me, Langston? I belong to myself.” I glare at the camera with the full force of warrior about to go into battle. I know that Langston won’t back down easily.

But I just won the first battle. And I’m about to put an arrow through his heart with what I have planned the rest of the night. When I fuck—I fuck all night. I fuck until I can’t move, can’t think—until all I feel is the thousands of tiny nerve endings exploding from waves of pleasure beating through my body.

I fuck to forget.

I fuck to feel alive.

I fuck like it’s what I was made to do.

“You will never have me,” I whisper into the dark before I strut down the hallway to the bedroom where Waylon waits for me.

He’s done what I asked. He’s undressed. Condom is already on his hard dick. And he’s lying face-up on the bed, the handcuffs ready for me to use on him.

He’s ready to be dominated.

He’s ready to give me what I need, and take what he needs.

I’m not sure if this is love or something like it—but I never feel happier than I do in moments like this where I can take complete control. I love that I don’t have to fight him, that he just follows my orders.

I walk over to the bed silently. His eyes follow me. I’m sure Langston’s eyes follow too.

I never thought I was one to enjoy having another watch me fuck, but the heat spreading through my body is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. So maybe I like being watched. It’s something I’ll have to explore after I deal with my Langston problem.

I grab Waylon’s wrist and pull it up until I can lock the first handcuff around it, tying him to the poster bed. And then I kiss the palm of his hand as he lets me tie him up.

“Good boy,” I say.

His eyes roll back at my soothing words. I may dominate, but it’s not about pain. It’s not about hurting Waylon. I just want the control—no, I need it. I can’t fuck without it. I can’t be in a relationship without complete control.

I have trust issues.

But it’s also my greatest strength. I don’t need a man to make me feel wanted or powerful. All I need is me.

I repeat the same binding to his other wrist and both of his ankles. He’s tied up and ready for me to fuck him. He can’t hurt me. He can’t touch me. And unlike me, Waylon trusts me completely.

I climb up onto the bed as I kiss up his body. His thick, muscled thighs from all the weight lifting he does. His hard condom covered cock. He’s hard and ready for me, but I lick up and down his shaft to feel as turned on as possible, as wet as I can get before I fuck him.

I vowed to myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t let sex ever be painful—not ever again. He knows I won’t fuck him until I’m completely drenched and have already come at least twice.

I continue my teasing up his rippled abs, his strong chest, and chiseled jaw.

“Make me come,” I say as I straddle his face, my pussy hovering over him.

“My pleasure, my love.”

He lifts his head to feast between my legs while I grab the headboard for support with one hand while my other plays with my breasts, freeing them from the lace bra and then rolling my thumb over one of my nipples. I shift my hips back and forth over his face to increase the friction as I get riled up again.

My mind flickers to Langston, watching me come apart. I shouldn’t even let him see this part of me. He shouldn’t get to see me orgasm.

But it’s not about him. This is about me. About taking control of my own body. I want to show him this incredible experience he’ll never get.

Finally, my body is coaxed into another orgasm.