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

A shirt goes flying somewhere in my vicinity when I realize that this is much more than a scuffle.

This is a…

“Shhhh.” A fluffy feminine voice rings out as the tinier form sinks to its knees. “Drewski, I’m going to make all your fantasies come true.”

I bite down a scoff, wondering who the hell could go by that name when I realize that there is only one man she can be talking to and about.

The man who I’m supposed to be firing tonight.

The man whose employee closet I’m currently hiding in.

Andrew Fletcher.

I glance over the larger form, my eyes scanning his hulking figure in the dark, trying to make out details.

Fully dressed, the prickish bartender I’ve grown to know over the last year or so is bigger than I remember from this vantage point. Shoulders straight, stance steady, he does nothing, standing there, feet planted hip-length apart as his head tilts towards the woman on her knees.

My eyes finally adjusting to the dark, I make out the dark, slightly curled strands of hair falling just below his chin as he swipes a hand roughly through them, his body sturdy and seemingly brick made as he reaches out to the tiny frame pulling furiously at his belt buckle.

His voice is a laugh. “Whoa there, cowgirl. Take your time. You’re going to take off more than just my belt, moving that fast.”

“Sorry, Drew.” She coos, her own head of curls tilting up towards his. “Just got a little excited, that’s all. Can you blame a girl?”

I want to say yes but I’m not supposed to be here. So, I wait. Hoping they’ll finish their business and get out of here.

Because if there’s anything I know about Drew Fletcher it’s that he doesn’t keep his bedmates around for long. Definitely not a night.

I can wait five minutes or two.

I swallow, hoping neither of them can hear it, my gaze stuck to the two figures like glue.

Sheena sighs. “Are you sure we won’t be expecting any, uh, other employees on shift tonight?”

Andrew’s body turns stiff. It’s almost imperceptible in the dark. But it’s there.

His hand extends down towards the woman, stroking the strands of hair there, his touch bordering on rough as he separates the curls.

His touch turns into a grab, fingers grasping at her crown. He pulls. “Would it matter? This is what you wanted, right? To catch me off guard? To get what you wanted? Now, did you come here to talk about who may or may not be on shift tonight? Or did you come here to get fucked?”

The question is dirty, degrading in ways that would normally have me heaving in disgust.

But on a night like tonight where my heart is in my throat, where one construction job could sacrifice every single thing my brother and I’ve worked for, I suppress my scoff, skin prickling, the hair on my arms standing on end as the woman on her knees simply nods, finishing the task of removing Andrew’s belt before sinking her hands into his boxer briefs.

Boxer briefs that look unbelievably full.

I grip my fingers into fists.

Her hands release him from the dark underwear, revealing what might be the hugest cock I’ve ever seen in real life.

Jesus. This is not what I came here for.

Not what I ever wanted to see…

But good God, I can’t keep myself from watching, my thighs clamping down over the wetness building between my legs.

The mere thought that I have to be here watching this is making my blood boil for reasons I can’t explain.

But when my newest employee wraps her mouth around Andrew, when her tiny head and circling curls start bobbing between Andrew’s hips, my blood starts boiling for another reason entirely.

I swallow hard. Then, slowly, I close my eyes—and I imagine it is my throat that is wrapped around his length.

That it is me he is guiding with his hands, pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling my head faster and faster while he nears his release.

There’s a word for it, isn’t there? How a man holds himself and moves? Masculine.

And Andrew is every bit of that.

His fingers slide, long and strong and lean as I think about them threading through my hair, no match for the other bigger parts of him. The parts that tickle the back of my tongue.

Andrew’s cock is so thick. So long. So much larger than I’ve ever seen.

Standing there, watching him, I forget about tonight, about the tablecloths, about the repairs.

About my sanity.

The five-minute mission to retrieve materials for the fundraiser is barely a flicker in the back of my mind as soft pants and huffs and groans and moans fill the locker room with sounds that practically paint the walls with lust.

I have to bite my knuckles to keep from crying out as an orgasm tears through me, my body trembling with the force of it.

It’s a total déjà vu.

I’m getting the full-on, mind-blowing, pussy-pounding, nasty, sweat-soaked kind of fuck Sophia said I needed…

And it isn’t even real.

And in the midst of my fucked-up fantasy, daydreaming about a man I can’t stand, the only comfort I have is that my shame—and all its lustful glory—will stay right here in this closet…where it belongs.

A shame I can’t say the same for Sheena, my new cocktail waitress.

She moans, wiping her hand across her face before standing to her feet, her stance wobbly when she finally makes it there.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, wrapping her arms around Andrew. “You taste better than I imagined you would.”

I hear his grin. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her curvy body nearly climbing his. “If it weren’t for our shifts getting in the way, I would have done that weeks ago, when I first started this job.”

His fingertips reach for her hair, tucking it behind her ear—a paternalistic move that is more patronizing than intimate. His voice rumbles low.

“I’m glad to hear that. If only we didn’t have to get to work… I have to get dressed. But it’s been fun, Sheena. And I