Black Lies

“Tell me,” he breathed, my mouth reaching his skin, my tongue soft as I licked up its shaft, the organ responding beneath my tongue. “Tell me which you prefer.”

I looked up at him. Opened my mouth and took him in. Watched his eyes close, his head drop back as he groaned, his grip on my hair pulling himself deeper into my mouth. Then he yanked painfully, pulling away as he pulled me off his c**k and tilted my head up. Dropped his chin and stared into my eyes. The needy look of a man who didn’t really want me. “Tell me,” he ground out.

“You are better,” I whispered, our eyes locked as one, truth in my statement. Raw need in us both. He needed reassurance. I wanted him. I wanted him to stop thinking about Brant and about Molly and focus on me. Want me. The rest would fall into place. It had to.

Push. He shoved back into my mouth. Too hard, I opened wider, tried to take him, my eyes watering at the rough intrusion. He thrust, his hand and hips working together, the scrape of his zipper against my chin, his words falling down on me like forgotten tears.

“Look in my eyes, Lucky. Look in my eyes while you suck my cock.” He slowed his motion. Watched with eyes that burned as he drug his wet shaft out, rubbing the tip of it against my mouth before he begged with his stare for more. “You like this don’t you? Being my whore while he pays your bills? Letting me use every inch of your body and sending you back to him ruined?” He growled, increased his motion, my airway cut off, my hands pushing at his thighs as my eyes held his clench. His chest heaved, his legs buckled beneath my hands, trembling as he leaned forward, fully in my mouth, gripping my headboard with his right hand, the other on the back of my head, and came down my throat.

My throat was sore. The taste of him still on my tongue, and I watched him move. Tug on his shirt. Button his pants. Run a hand through his hair as he patted his pockets for keys. I wondered, randomly, where he kept his keys. If they stayed in his truck. How they didn’t get lost to the wind. He didn’t find them in his pockets and that didn’t seem to worry him. He paused, halfway through the doorway, and turned back to me. As if he suddenly realized that a goodbye might be needed.

“I’ll see you later.”

Not what I was expecting. Not what I wanted. They were over. My months of planning complete. Now was the time for our relationship. Not for him to bang me and take off, with some flippant reference to seeing me again. I wanted dates. Consideration. Adoration. At the very least a ‘Thank you very much’ for the two orgasms. I hadn’t given Brant two orgasms in one night in the last… probably ever.

But… nothing. I didn’t respond and he turned, slapped his hand on the custom doorframe, and walked out. Less than a minute later, I heard the tone of my alarm. The alert that let me know that he had left the building.

I lay back on the bed and tried to figure out what I did wrong.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he needed time to heal. Maybe he would come back.

I slept alone on sheets that smelled of grass and sex and deceit.

Chapter 38

“What’s your opinion on kids?” Brant’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the wind, his convertible’s top down. I glanced over at his profile, his eyes ahead, both hands on the wheel.

“What do you mean?” I picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. Rested my head on the headrest and looked out the open window. A minivan passed, a kid’s face pressed against peeling tint, his eyes wide as he stared at Brant’s car. I smiled at him, a wave of sadness sweeping over me.

“Kids. When we started dating, you used to talk about having a family. You haven’t mentioned it in a long time.”

I said nothing. Watching the skyline pass, the setting sun casted a romantic glow over a city with way too many people crammed into its streets. I tried to find the words to say the things that I couldn’t say. An impossible task. I finally swallowed, aware that Brant had infinite patience. “I don’t really think about a family anymore.”

“Why not? You’re born to be a mother.”

I turned away from the view, surprised at the statement. “Why do you say that?”

“You come to life with the kids at HYA. They love you.” He glanced away from the road for a moment, found my eyes long enough to communicate his sincerity.

I looked back at the view. “They’re desperate. My own children might feel differently.”

“Shut the hell up.” The irritation in his voice was so out of character, the explicative causing me to turn back, watch his mouth. “I’ve never seen someone like you. A woman who is perfectly made for every situation. For standing at my side at the company. For rolling around naked in my bed and letting me please you. For raising children who are loved and adored. For challenging me. For growing old with.” He jerked the wheel, the tires growling against asphalt as we whipped off the highway and onto a side lane, the car losing control for a brief moment before it skidded to a halt. He shoved the car into park and leaned forward, grabbing my neck and pulling me onto his mouth, his kiss hard and demanding, my hands pushing against and then pulling at his shirt. We kissed on the side of the highway as if we hadn’t touched in days, our hands groping and pulling, the honk and cheers of passing cars combining with wind and lights and sunset, a backdrop to a moment I didn’t deserve. I crawled across the center console, my skirt bunching up as I settled into the tight space of his lap, our kiss deepening at the new position, his hands pushing my skirt around my waist, palms and fingers kneading my ass, his mouth greedy as it dominated mine. “I love you so much,” he said, leaning his head back to look into my eyes, my hands fisting in his hair, repeating the sentiment back as I lowered my mouth. He stopped the kiss, his eyes arresting as he whispered the question I wanted to avoid. “Is it us, Lana? Is that why you no longer want kids?”

I tried to kiss him, his hands holding me back as his eyes searched mine. I looked into his face and said the only words my heart would permit, the lie slipping harmlessly from my mouth. “No, Brant. No. I promise.”

He let out a rough breath, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging me down, his relief felt in the desperate return to my mouth. And, in that moment, with the wind and the cars and the hum of the city around us, I let myself believe the lie.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t us. We were perfect.

Chapter 39

“Molly came back.” His face was dark when he said the words. I looked up from my spot on the couch, a flash of alarm shooting through me.