Lies We Tell (Thistle Cove 3)

She’s so goddamned beautiful.

I touch her hair and neck and feel

every muscle in my body tense as she takes me in. She’s wet, warm, and when she clamps around me with those perfect, puffy lips, I see stars. The aching need is instant, coming from deep in my spine. My cock, my balls, my lower belly tingles in anticipation. Her tongue works, her cheeks pucker. I wrap my and around her neck, feeling my heart race, pounding hard and furious in my chest, beating faster as she picks up speed.

Her hair brushes against my legs and her tits cling to her shirt. I want to feel her everywhere, anywhere, but I’ve run out of time, the sensation building to the point that I know I can’t hold on.

“Babe,” I say, tugging at her. She releases me, sitting up and shifting to use her hand to stroke me through the final wave. While I tremble, overcome with euphoria, she watches in fascination. Her jaw relaxes, her lips glisten, her nipples poke through the fabric, and I come, thick ropes of cum spilling down the sides of her hand.

“Jesus,” I mutter, trying to regain focus. I pull her to me and kiss her hard, wanting her close.

“Feel better?” she asks when we come up for air, reaching for a shirt off the floor to clean her hand.

Words don’t describe how I feel, how she feels, how much I love this girl, so I kiss her again and hope that she knows it.

23

Ezra

The sick, nauseating feeling I went to bed with is still there when I get up. Not that I slept much. I stared at the ceiling, ignoring the internal warnings that I’ve made a terrible mistake by throwing away the best thing in my life. That it’s not too late to fix it.

But I know that’s the selfishness speaking. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about doing the right thing, and that’s probably why I feel so out of sorts. When the hell do I ever do what’s right?

Not often.

Hunger drives me to the kitchen, but when I see my father standing over the counter,

I almost turn around. Then I notice the bruise by his jaw and a sense of satisfaction runs through me. It feels good, after all these years, to know I’ve finally inflicted at least a little bit of pain on him.

There’s a pile of fruit on the counter and a bottle of protein powder. He drops them all into the blender and turns it on, the shrill whirring overtaking the room as I walk past him to the refrigerator.

He shuts it off and says, “Want some?”

I turn away and see him pouring two glasses. I shake my head. “I’m good.”

He frowns. “You look like hell, son.”

I eye the bruise. “Yeah you do, too.”

He takes a gulp of his smoothie and then places it on the counter. “Look, Ez, it’s time for this to stop. We’re family. We live together. It shouldn’t be a war zone.”

“Then stop acting like a fucking general. I’m not a solider here to jump at your every command.”

“Obviously. You’ve never done one thing I asked you to do.”

“I played football. I cleaned up. I’ve focused on improving my grades.” I shake my head. “None of those things were in my plan for my senior year. I was pretty happy with my life before that.”

“Getting high and sleeping around.”

“It works for you,” I snap back.

He runs his hand through his hair, once dark like mine but now scattered with gray. It doesn’t detract from his looks, which is probably why girls like Rose are attracted to him.

“I’m trying here,” he says. From the pained look on his face I think he means it—even if it’s not remotely true. “I want things to get better. I’m just not sure how.”

“Maybe starting with the truth would help.”

He throws his hands up. “Shoot. What do you want to know?”