Black Lies

“No underwear?” I murmured, our faces inches away, his lit by the glow of night.

“Seemed like a waste of time.” He didn’t kiss me, even though I lifted my chin, invited the touch. His hand stole under the line of my panties and cupped my ass.

“So what does that make mine?”

“A pretty distraction.” He slid his hand higher and wrapped tighter around my waist, and I think I saw a peek of a smile before he pitched us both onto the bed.

A roll of naked skin, legs tangled. The crawl of me along him, our mouths met, first kiss formed. His mouth was hesitant, his hands confident, and I had the moment of wonder if he kissed the escorts before he f**ked them. Then, the kiss deepened, our connection solidified, and I put the thought of prostitutes out of my head.

When he pulled back, sat away from me, his hand dragging over the curves of my skin, there was a pause. A pause filled with the soft sound of breath, a pause filled with a moment of decision when he looked into my eyes and his gaze held a question.

I didn’t answer with my mouth. I rolled over ‘til my legs left the bed and feet hit carpet. I stepped over to my dresser, opened a drawer and fished through panties and thongs until my hand hit foil. I pulled out a condom and walked back, my eyes taking an appreciative tour of his body as he lay on his back, exposed. His eyes smiled at me, his mouth only curving enough to highlight what might be a dimple, no move made to cover the impressive organ that lay against his thigh.

I didn’t expect the confidence he carried—thought a computer nerd would be more bashful of his body, more arrogant of his mind. But he hadn’t quoted a single fact, hadn’t brought up his company or money in any way. He treated this the same way I did, as two adults looking for a good time. He held out a hand, took the condom, then set it behind him on the bedside table, his hand returning to grab mine. “Not yet. Come here.” He pulled me alongside him, pressed forward until parts of us touched, and he was close enough to press a kiss against my lips, his fingers starting at my shoulders, softly working the muscles of my neck, gently probing as his touch ran down the lines of my frame. I closed my eyes, letting out a sigh as I relaxed against the pillow and he slid his hands lower, palms flat on the swell of my br**sts, his touch gentle as he spread his hands and took me into them. “You are beautiful,” he said, a whispered scratch in the tones. His body moved closer. “I’m sorry if I’m… I’m not used to romance, Layana.”

My eyes opened, my wandering hands stopping in their delicate exploration that was about to reach his cock. “I don’t think I’m looking for it.”

“I thought every woman was looking for it.” He pulled me on my side, ran his hands around, until they cupped my ass and pulled me against him—hot air between us.

I looked up into his eyes, and finally found the moment when he lowered his mouth to mine. No. This. This was what every woman was looking for. A mouth that responded hungrily yet tenderly when kissed.

This. A firm drag of my body toward the end of the bed, eyes dominant, hands strong, the push of my inquisition down to the mattress.

This. My hands in his hair, clawing at his shoulders, my body bucking underneath his talented tongue between my legs.

This. Our bodies entwined in my sheets, his weight on my wrists, the moment of primal connection when he spread my legs and thrust himself inside, his c**k moving with sure strokes, my cries of pleasure silenced by his kiss.

This. His body arced into mine, his hands pulling me hard against him, the bury of his c**k when he finished, gasping my name, the shudder of his breath against my mouth as he rolled me over and gave one final thrust.

This. This was what I wanted, what my new self desired. The romance, it could wait.

Chapter 4

Brant

“You did what?” the shrill voice echoed in the large office, bouncing off antique desks and framed honors.

“I’m an adult, Jillian. I have every right to entertain whomever I wish.”

“She’s not a trailer park hussy, Brant. She’s a respected member of society. Extremely intelligent, though you wouldn’t know it from the life of leisure she lives.”

“I would consider those marks in her favor. You’re speaking as if you’d rather me date an uneducated redneck. I left her house last night and went home electrified. I worked all through the night and solved our issues with data recovery. The woman lit a fire in me.”

Jillian stood, pearls rustling, the fury in her eyes finding their mark and burning the skin they touched. “She’s looking for a husband. A new last name, a finish line to the race of life that all of these debutantes live.”

“I find it interesting for you to know so much about her intentions.”

“You know me, Brant. I have nothing but your best interests in mind. Trust me when I say to let whatever happened last night be the end of it. You don’t need a relationship, and would do best to stay away from this woman. Next time you want to get your rocks off, let me call the service.”

With a foot on the desk leg, I leaned back. “You realize how ridiculous it is for you to order me whores. Most maternal figures would be beaming to see me taking out a respectable woman.”

“Your mother would want this. Trust me.”

I frowned, flicking a piece of trash toward the basket before looking up into her eyes. “I don’t understand you half of the time.”

She smiled at me, a hint of sadness in her face. “Trust me, Brant. I could say the same about you.”

Chapter 5

I ran along the sand, my tennis shoes squeaking with salt water, the give of sand beneath my soles encouraging as I felt the muscles respond, my legs lifting and pulling, jumping to action as I pounded down the beach, increasing my speed as my house came into view, the finish line in sight. I was wheezing when I came to a stop, my hands wobbly on my thighs, the burn of my chest matching the scream of my muscles, the endorphin high making it all worthwhile. I forced myself to stand, to move forward, my muscles sighing in relief at the leisurely pace of my steps. My arms shaking out, the muscles loosened as I rolled my shoulders and my neck.

Two miles. Shorter than yesterday but faster. I glanced at my watch, at the frozen stopwatch there. 15:04. I cleared it, the time returning to the display, and started the uphill climb to my deck, where a bench and shower station waited. The woman standing at the gate stopped me short, her rigid posture bringing back the memory of every prep school headmistress I ever had. I paused, eyed her warily, and then continued my forward movement.