Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One) (19 page)

“
Your turn. To tell me what you wanted to
say to me in the car. After you said ‘Never mind.’”

“
Nah, let’s skip that.”

“
Spit it out.”

I swallow a big gulp of Pepsi, because my
throat’s feeling suddenly a little swollen.
“Well, when you looked at me in the car
and said I started
this
”—I gesture
back and forth between us like she did earlier—“I flashed back...to
last night. And, your eyes, well, they made me hot, Blaze. And I
wanted to jump you. Right there in the car. All the way. That’s
what I wanted to tell you.”

She says nothing for a second. I see the
sweat glistening from her brow. From the talk? The workout? “Do you
wanna jump me now?”

The Pepsi’s empty when I try take a
cooling sip
. “I wanna
jump you all the time.”

Looking down at the can,
I pretty much miss the fact
that she moves out from behind the counter. I look up to see only a
budget
Frigidaire
where
she was a moment ago. Then I feel an unsteady hand on my sleeved
arm—the tat sleeve.

She grabs it, looks at the
inside.
LIVE IN THE NOW.
She traces it with her finger
and it tickles like a mofo. It also makes me horny as a mofo. I put
the empty can down and crush it a little, unwittingly. My mind’s
not oblivious to the sex-talk we just had, before she so delicately
started lighting fires on my pores with her bright purple nails,
and now—

Oh. Holy. Christ.

Her tongue’s on my upper
arm
—the inside of it, on
the
W
of
NOW
—and I almost hear the shudder as it courses down
my head and back. I wanna grab her and rip her top off and take her
pants off and wrap her in my arms and legs. I feel the Pepsi can
crush even further under my grip and decide to let it go; at least
it’s empty, lest we suddenly needed to get involved in some serious
cleaning of her pine floors because of my agitated physical
state!

Her tongue keeps dancing down my tat, down
every letter, tracing lines on one of the most sensitive parts
of
the body. I hold
myself back, because as much as I’d like to let my testosterone
take her and push her up against this counter, what she’s doing is
so unbelievably sincere and romantic that I realize I’d be a fool
to do it. I realize it like an anchor to the head.

I grab the edge of the counter. When she
gets to my wrist, I decide to get off the stool because I need
to
move
! My legs
thrum, my heart puts on boxing gloves and starts punching. I’m so
fired up that the stool falls with a clang as I get off
it.

It doesn’t faze her. She twirls and swirls
with the most exquisite tongue I’ve ever come across in the entire
universe. And I
know
that’s a hyperbole, but I’m in that ninth cloud you only read
about, baby. Mother
fuck
!—I’m on
number nine-thousand right now!

She eases herself back. Her back touches
the counter. She tugs my arm so that my body presses against
her.

And this is when she slides her hands against
the back of my shirt. And presses her forehead to my chest.

The intimacy of it is like a sharp axe
through my head.

I actually feel my heart skip a beat.
Like,
really
—one beat.
For goddamn real.

I start kissing her head, the shaved
part
, on her right—my
left. Because that’s the part that drives me wild. The prickling of
the stubs of hair on my tongue makes me see hazy images of lust and
desire in my watering eyes. I don’t know where this is going, how
far I can push it. I don’t know how far I can push
her
.

A
lthough I would not say her kisses and her tongue on my
skin (
My
GOD!
) was unconfident, I
also wouldn’t call it Stripper at a Nightclub confident. The kisses
were intimate, the kind of intimacy you get only after months of
being together with someone.

Passionate. The fire-in-the-eyes
kind.

And Fearful. A fear I can tell—by the
gentle quivers of her fingertips, the slightest hesitations as her
tongue sometimes fails to touch mine—that there’s a darkness there.
A black hole that she feels she could fall into at any moment,
pulling everything she knows with her.

In a
snap
.

I put my other hand behind her head,
because I
know
that damned
fear. I
know
it. I’ve
felt it, walked in the sewers with it. I’ve tasted its foulness and
swum in its filth. Although no words are spoken, I want her to know
this. I want her to know that I, too,
know
.

She takes the cue on my kisses moving down to
her neck and eases her hands up my back.

I groan, trying to release something.
But
it’s no good. I’ve
passed the edge, and I need something else. I’m too scared to take
it from her. So I let it ride, feeling each of her
fingertips—her
nails
—like a
blade to my skin. Each one calling to me, telling me to follow my
instincts and do what men and women have been doing since the
beginning of time.

And to do it with her.
Now!

“
I’m too scared to take this further with
you,” I admit. “I...don’t know what you’re used to. And I don’t
want to screw this up. I
really
don’t want to screw this up.”

Her body
clenches up as I ask her. “Just...not sex,” she
says. “I...I’m sorry...I’m just not ready for that. But...don’t
hold back otherwise.” She moves in on my neck. And the way she does
it tells me she wants me as badly as I want her.

Or more.

Our lips collide.
A maelstrom of mutual urgency. Her cries
are pleas.
Pleas to be released from the blackened pits life throws us
into sometimes
.

I’m sure
my groans betray this as well. And it soon muddles
itself up in my mind:
Who
needs whom more?

The blood
in my veins is a rushing river, my heartbeat is
the pace of galloping horses—their asses branded and chilly thrown
on the wounds. Impatiently, thirsty lips fighting and scrambling, I
undo her belt. I fight with her jeans button, a battle which it’s
unfortunately winning. Pulling on it brings her waist forward to me
like she was made of feathers. Her hands go below and help me and
the relief of it—the
confirmation
of her telling me,
Yes, go there, touch me there
—is enough to make this button’s
stubbornness seem like Lucipher himself laughing at me. And then,
after an age, it snaps open.

And so does her
zip.

And my fingers slide up into her
wonderfully sodden and slicked crevice.

The burst of moisture
on my hand weakens every defense I have.
Even
I
groan at its
feel on my fingers. She groans as well, writhes, twists,
impales
her forehead into my chest as
my hand plies her below. Her pelvis starts rocking under my
hand.
Down
, she
pushes.

Oh, god, this is SO
hot
.

Nails drive into my back, bringing my
pelvis closer to her
s so
that my hand—the one inside her—is very literally being crushed
between us.

And my boy down there
starts
screaming.

Her teeth bite into my tee,
just catching some of my nipple
underneath. It hurts like a bastard, but, for one
microscopic
second, it actually takes my
mind off...
that
.

But the moment flies out the window with
a
moan so guttural, so
earthy and primal, from her, that for one blissful instant, there
is nothing.

Nothing but us.

And her exploding body on my
hand.

Think of the first pink petals falling off
a cherry tree
after they
bloom.

Think of that scene in your favorite
movie,
a setting sun
gilding a skyscrapered city to a glorious backdrop of violins and
groaning cellos. Two sets of eyes meeting across an impossible
distance, blocked by a throng of frenzied work-goers. And the
owners of those eyes just
knowing
.

Think of that first snowfall, of that
first snowflake, falling, drifting, twirling in the sky and, then,
landing precisely on the tip of your nose.

Yeah, I think you get
how I’m feeling about Blaze right
now...

My right arm clamps her tiny body to mine
while her own body shatters against me. My left hand supports her
below. In the end, she’s still. An inward breath of hers manifests
itself as a quick wheeze.

And still, I hold her.

My need has fallen to the backseat. Lost
somewhere. Gone. Disappeared into a world that probably transcends
the physical. I even feel my hard-on settle. As if that were
possible!

But, yet, here it is.

My tee is drenched, especially where her
head now rests.

And I am amazed.

We share a moment of united silence. I
ease my hand out from inside her, and put it behind her
back.

I feel the weight of her cheek on my heart
as it beats. I swear to god I can even hear that beat’s thundering
echoes in this empty room.

The world starts to swirl. And we’re in the
center of it.

Don’t ask me to explain that. Because I
sure as fuck don’t know what it means myself.

Just like I don’t know what the hell it is
I’m feeling right now.

Except that I like it.

The middle’s always good...

Blaze Ryleigh

The rush
is intense. It’s crazy. It’s the wildest roll in
the history of Molly rolls. It’s inside me, bubbling in my blood,
making my heart rush, my skin sweat. My breathing faster than a
speedcore Dance Beat.

Standing here, as his hand moves
out from me and to my back,
then holds me—a staggering
thirty-four or so
hours since I met him—I’m starting to admit of the
possibility of
Love
between us.
But let me tell you, I don’t use that word lightly. I mean, this is
the pure-grade stuff. Spike it once and never live to tell the
tale, you understand? This is the hundred percent shit, “the good
shit;” the wickedest, baddest,
deadliest
Aunt Hazel you ever thought of sticking on a spoon
and chasing like the Bengal Tiger that it is.

H
is touches send chills over my skin the likes of which no
Speed Pill ever came close to.

I’m mesmerized
by his smile, his eyes, his strength. By
him
—the real man
underneath all that veneer.
A broken man
, I believe.

Like me.

I’m
hooked on him. Hooked on our Mutual Meth

And
I’m loving it.

You always love the drug when you’re on
it...

I
stand, held by his arms, until I can’t stand any more. He
zips up my pants, does up the top button. Does up my belt. I put my
hand to his clothed crotch, to rub him, and he says in my ear,
“It’s OK.” Then he kisses me.

It sen
ds chilled firebolts down my side.

I
feel acutely aware of myself, as if nude, but not like it
had been with...
that other guy
.
With him, after he’d done the same thing—nominally, because what
Declan and Tolek did are worlds apart!—I had felt...dirty. I’d
felt...
invaded
even.

With Deck, I simply feel open.
Bare.

And willingly so.

I’m here. And I’m open to you.
And I’ve let down all my defenses. So do what you will with
me
.
And if you hurt me, there’s
nothing I can do about it. Because I’ve let you
in
.
And I’m gonna keep letting you
in for as long as you wanna stay...

We move to my sofa-bed and lie on
it
, lights now off,
bright moonlight washing over my wooden floors, and over our linked
bodies. He lies beside me, hand clasped around mine, stretched down
below.

It’s a position I
already feel I need more than that first
breath of air in the morning.