The Lie, Natalie Wrye [ebook reader play store txt] 📗

eyes with another hard glare. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Andrew. Not until I say so. Not until I let you…” I whisper, crouching lower on my knees as I sink farther onto the bed. “And I’m not letting you, Andrew. Not yet. Because first…? I’m going to enjoy the hell out of our weekend together. I'm going to enjoy you and I'm going to enjoy you fucking me. I'm going to enjoy you as much as I want to.” I slide my lips down his shaft, and he bucks up into my mouth. “I'm going to enjoy every second of this weekend.”

I work him with my mouth, squeezing his cock with my hand, and he moans again, a low, rumbling sound that practically vibrates my lips against his shaft.

“Fuck, Nancy,” he hisses, his voice low and thick.

I suck his cock harder. I work my mouth faster. He’s moaning louder, his hands on my head, his fingers moving through my hair.

And it is everything I imagine.

Everything I want…and more.

I enjoy the version of me I see in his eyes. The version comfortable with my desires—of getting what I want.

And no longer is it the liquor speaking for me. Or the small part of Sophia inside.

It’s all me.

And I like her. I like her a lot.

Almost as much as I like making Andrew groan—no longer just in my fantasies but in my mouth.

“Oh, God, Nancy,” he groans out loud. His breath grows harder, and I know I’m doing it right.

I know he’s about to lose it.

To lose control.

To give in…the way he makes me give in every time—his smile, his wit, his spontaneity poking at the cracks in my armor.

And I like shattering his.

“You’re so good at that,” Andrew moans into the air—a man possessed. “You’re just so good at everything, Nancy. Fuck, you’re an amazing woman. And I can’t tell you how much the old me would have hated admitting that.”

The words come out on a small laugh in the back of his throat, a chuckle among his lust—even when he’s hard-set in the thick of it.

It’s the way it always is between us.

Fire and ice.

Ice and fire.

When I think I’m in control, he makes me lose it. And when he’s wild, I bring him back from the brink.

I lean back, and he reaches down and touches my cheek. Our eyes lock—unspoken words passing between us and before I can break the silence, he groans. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry for all the times I made you feel bad about yourself.”

“I made you feel bad about yourself,” I tell him. “I was mean to you too.”

“No, Nancy.” He shakes his head. “You’re the one who made me feel good about myself. You make me feel good about myself, and I want to show you how much I appreciate that.”

He grabs my hand, and I know he’s about to push it away, to tell me that I don’t have to do this, to thank me for it.

I know he’s about to say something.

But I don’t give him the chance.

I don’t give him the chance to ruin this.

I don’t give him the chance to ruin me. To ruin us.

“I know you want to,” I murmur, my own voice so low, I’m not sure but I think I’m the only one who can hear it. “Just let yourself go. Let yourself go for me. Let me be there for you.”

I wait for him to say something.

Anything.

But instead, he kisses me.

Hard. And passionate.

I love the way he looks at me, the way his hands feel on my face, the way his lips move on mine.

He pulls back and gazes over my skin, his eyes searching mine.

“I want you,” he tells me, his voice hoarse, his eyes hungry.

“I want you too,” I breathe.

And then I watch as he strips off his shirt, watching as the fabric rips and tears under his strength.

“I'm sorry I wasn’t around when you needed me earlier,” he says. “I know my family has to be worried about me, and I'm sorry I let you leave our bedroom because I pushed you too much. I'm sorry I let you walk away. I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you, for your bar—for your business. For everything.”

I smile.

I smile like I've never smiled before.

A smile like a flower, like the sun, like the clouds.

A smile like the sky.

A smile like my own.

“I'll be there for you,” he continues, his voice full of so many promises. “I want to be there for you.”

I feel the tears running down my cheeks. My eyes are blurring, but I can still see him. He's all I see. And then he's all I feel. He's all I want.

I reach for him, wanting to touch him. Wanting to feel him. Wanting to be with him. Wanting him to be with me.

He kisses my lips, and I can taste the salt of my tears. He kisses my cheeks, and I can feel his heart beating against his chest. He kisses my neck and I feel his breath on my skin. He kisses my chest and I feel his body pressed against mine.

Pushing my pink slip upwards, he lowers his head, nuzzling against my neck, and just when I think he’s going to stop, he goes even lower, his tongue laying a path from my throat down my stomach all the way to my navel, which he laves with his tongue, his mouth humming against my skin all the way.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, his mouth licking lines of fire across my skin, "you even taste like lemons. Sweeter than anything else, Nancy. God, you taste just like…like…”

I can barely breathe I'm so turned on. I whimper the words. “I taste like what?”

He gazes up at me, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark, his stare hot. “You taste like mine.”

And then I gasp, lost for air, for breath, for sanity, as he begins to lick me.

He moves my underwear aside—scraps of lace I forget