Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

27

“Break up with him.”

Violet pauses her disrobement, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

I take a step toward her, tugging the black cotton material the rest of the way off so she’s completely naked before me. I couldn’t very well bring her back to a house full of drunk partiers after ruining her dress, so I wrapped her in the cloak and carried her back.

If we could have gotten away with staying in that field all night, I would have pitched my tent between her thighs and not worried about the demons lurking among the flowers. But the orgasms and the heavenly musk of her on my tongue didn’t completely erase the memory of hiding out in those stalks as a child.

When I think of my father and what he beat into me back then, it makes me think of Sydney, then Nathaniel, and I’m vehemently angry all over again.

Now, I take a second to admire what the moonlight didn’t reveal—soft, smooth skin, now marred by red fingerprints and even redder stains; smeared makeup from the tears that accompanied her third orgasm; pink-hued cum on her thighs from where it mixed with my blood.

And hers, presumably.

Christ, I hadn’t expected her to be a virgin. At the very least, I thought Nate was just unadventurous and maybe she’d not had much opportunity to explore. Turns out, I’m just the first to have her.

The only, that dark, primal voice within my chest rumbles. As if I need the reminder.

My hand roves over the firm curve of her ass and the gentle swell of her tits, both dotted with teeth marks because I just couldn’t help myself. If she wound up going back to my brother tonight, I wanted him to know who she really belonged to.

Instead, she’s in my bathroom, and I’m not letting her leave. Arsen and Priya can handle any casualties tonight, and if Nathaniel happens to be one, I wouldn’t be too mad about it. Sure, I’ve been waiting for the chance to watch the life drain from his beady little eyes, but I would give all of that up just to spend my night soaking in Violet.

Pulling the glass door open, I wrench the shower on and cross to the vanity on the other side of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, she climbs in and steps beneath the spray.

She washes her body first with short, unhurried strokes and some goat milk soap Micah gave me months ago that smells like lavender and sage.

“Something to keep the ghosts at bay,” which definitely doesn’t work.

I watch her in the gold-plated mirror on the wall and begin unbuttoning my shirt. It’s torn in two spots, though the wounds are more superficial than I led her to believe. Half the blood wouldn’t have pooled so much if I hadn’t shoved her fingers against the cuts.

The one just below my jaw is the deepest, and as I shed the shirt and tilt my head back to doctor it, I’m impressed with the little vixen’s aim. An inch or so lower, and she might’ve nicked my carotid artery.

“Whatever you had going on with Nathaniel ends now,” I say as I patch myself up. “Break it off. Immediately.”

She turns, lathering shampoo in her hair. Studying me silently as her nimble fingers work the soap in. My body heats with the thought of her smelling like my products.

“I’m not with him,” she says finally, lifting her chin to rinse her hair. “I wasn’t lying about that.”

“He certainly has a different impression.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

Her gaze drops, and her voice grows distant.

My eyes narrow on her reflection. “What is it?”

Those brown eyes don’t meet mine. “I can’t end things with him.”

Exhaling, I grit my teeth and try to remain calm. Turning around, I fold my arms over my chest and lean a hip against the counter. “You just said—”

“I know, and I meant it. I’m not with Nate. But he’s…”

When she trails off, biting her bottom lip, I frown. Discomfort wages war on my nervous system; I don’t like how coy she’s being and how it feels like she’s hiding something. Many things maybe.

I walk over to the shower and yank the door open, shucking out of my pants before stepping in. She backs up, her hand moving toward the faucet, and I trap her against the white marble tiles. Water sprays down on us, ricocheting off the stall and our shoulders, but I ignore it.

“What’s going on?”

“He knows. About… me being here. About us.” She lets out a shaky breath. “He was pretending to be surprised that I was there that day in the dining room.”

Slowly, I blink. Processing her words. “And you’ve been with him every second since because, what? You enjoy playing house?”

“No,” she rushes out with a short shake of her head.

The word is too quick, setting me on edge. “What did he do?”

She turns her head, glancing past me, and when she does, I note the faintest bruising at the base of her skull. The unmistakable shape of fingers, purpling her pale skin. Days-old marks that I couldn’t see outside.

Another short sweep over her body reveals a similar print on the inside of her thigh, and a wave of nausea almost knocks me over.

I grip her wet chin and force her gaze back to mine. The stars that normally shimmer in her smoky-quartz eyes have been blinked out, and my jaw clenches, the need for immediate slaughter darkening my vision.

“Why didn’t you tell me he put his hands on you?”

Her lips part. “You haven’t exactly been around since he showed up, and I thought you… I thought you’d be angry. Since I didn’t tell him the truth.”

“I was,” I say in a rough voice, plastering my body to hers. We mold together like two halves of a whole. “God, Little Echo, I was so fucking angry with you. But only because I want you, have wanted you from the moment I saw you, and I hated knowing he was still winning out.”

“He wasn’t,” she says. “I don’t know why I said that the other day. It just… things seemed so tense, and I didn’t want to make them worse. It was stupid.”

My gaze falls to those pretty lips, stained red—with blood or makeup, I don’t know or care. I just lean down and slant my mouth over hers, needing that connection. Her warmth and the sweet succulence of her existence bleeding into mine.

She slides her arms around my neck, and I grasp her thighs, hoisting her up and locking them around my waist. My dick throbs, bobbing against her ass as I press her into the shower wall. When her mouth parts on a contented little sigh, I slide my tongue in, tasting and teasing until she’s a whimpering, grinding mess.

“Fuck,” she groans, breaking away from the kiss. “There’s more I have to tell you.”

I recapture her lips, so forcefully that our teeth knock together. “Later. We’ll deal with it all later.” My hands glide up her legs, pausing at the top. “How sore are you?”

A look of contemplation as she purses her lips. “Medium.”

“I was too rough.”

“No!” she says, tightening her legs’ grip. “I wanted—no, I needed it. Especially after…” She trails off, and that familiar sense of red-hot retribution rages in my chest. An inferno set on as many victims as possible.

“I still don’t remember our first time,” she says softly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. “So, I needed this to replace that and the memory of Nate. It was my decision.”

So young and naive. I have half a mind to bring up the improbability of choices, but there’s a semblance of truth behind her statement.

If she’d even hinted at a sliver of rejection, I would’ve stopped.

Her fear might be what had stoked the initial fire, but what happened out there is entirely different from what Nate had done. What I’m certain he plans to keep doing, so long as she’s still under my roof.

Perhaps I need to remove her from the premises.

Stick her somewhere safe until this is all over.

“That was our first time,” I blurt, unable to keep it in any longer.

Violet’s head jerks back. She blinks. “What?”

“In the sunflower field. I—we didn’t do anything at the fundraiser.” I pause, the memory of our bodies sliding together, of me leading her to my hotel room and exploring her body until the X kicked in, assaulting me. It’s the first time I’ve let myself think about that night in detail, and I recall every waking moment.

How soft she was and how envious I felt of my brother for getting so many good things in life when he didn’t deserve them.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says, those beautiful doe eyes hooding as she runs a hand down the front of my suit. “I feel hot all over. Like I need to crawl out of my skin. Can you help me?”

She doesn’t wait for my reply. Her hands come up to the limp straps of her dress, shoving them off her arms, and then the bodice falls too. It pools at her feet, leaving just a pair of lacy black panties and a matching garter on her right thigh.

God, she’s even more perfect than I could have imagined, and now, I can’t stop thinking about our first kiss. Her throwing herself at me because she thought I was my brother, and yet the physical connection was undeniable.

If he’d ever kissed her like that, she wouldn’t have been so starved for more.

She approaches me slowly, hips swaying with each eager step. The primal, unhinged part of me wants to throw her on the bed and make her forget my brother completely. But that isn’t what I brought her here for.

Granted, I could’ve restrained myself a bit more downstairs. The teeth marks on her tits are evidence of my barely there control, and even then, when she ground against my thigh, her pulse nearly sent me over the edge.

I’ve never been coiled so tightly, on the verge of a visceral explosion. Not since I lost my virginity as a teenager anyway.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” I mutter, cupping her cheek in one of my palms as she stops before me.

“What would you like me to do?” she slurs, shimmying out of her panties.

I don’t have it in me to feel bad. Given my brother’s abhorrent personality, it’s likely she’s as terrible as him, so involving her in my scheme is necessary.

Still, a pinch of some unidentified thing swirls in my gut. She grips my biceps, pressing her tits into my chest, and I pretend it hasn’t been over a year since I had sex.

I pretend every fiber of my being isn’t suddenly craving her as I inhale that sweet, spicy apple cider scent.

Guiding her to the bed, I push her shoulders down so she’s forced to perch on the edge. A deviant smile curves over those ruby-red lips, smeared from my own, and she reaches for my belt.

Doesn’t even seem concerned at all with the fact that I’m still in my mask while she ditched hers the second we came up. If only she knew not everyone’s intentions were as pure as hers.

That the man behind the mask will be her ruin.

But not yet.

She’s becoming incoherent, and I’m not into somnophilia or forcing myself on someone.

So, I gently dip her back on the bed, lowering her head to the pillow, and slide her legs under the white comforter. In less than a minute, she’s out cold.