Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

28

I stareat Grayson like he’s suddenly sprouted seven heads.

The wounds on his chest, shoulder, and neck have stopped bleeding, though I don’t think it would take very much to restart them. On the walk back, he said they were flesh wounds and that I needed to work on my aim.

Until a few seconds ago, I was floating on sunshine, still reeling from the sunflower field. The thrill of being chased, caught, and fucked by a strong, terrifying man like Grayson buzzed beneath my skin like little fireflies.

Now, my stomach sinks to my ass, and a knot lodges in my throat. Confusion thrashes around in my head, and I try my damnedest to remember the fundraiser. The heat from that night, the phantom sensation of hands caressing and teasing, the blur after we went upstairs.

Everything from that point on was a blur—until I woke up in a strange bed, beside an even stranger man the next morning. My head throbbed, and my muscles ached, but I recall the overall lack of change. Even after he painted a picture of what’d happened, what we’d done, disappointment fizzled in my bones that I was no different from the woman I’d been before it all.

A vast contrast to how I feel right now, after what happened in the sunflower field. My body moans with each step, gloriously exhausted from all the orgasms and the stretching. I’ve rinsed the blood and cum and exertion, but I still feel fundamentally changed. Like my soul has turned some new, dark leaf and can’t be reversed.

But that night—nothing happened? The fog, the thrill, the utter devastation that I’d betrayed Nate and myself. All of that was just… a lie.

My arms retreat from around his neck, and I unhook my ankles, trying to slide down. His grip on my ass tightens, and he presses me into the wall more. The faucet handle grates against my spine.

“What happened?”

He hesitates, his jaw working as he stares at me. Into me maybe. “I knew who you were when you kissed me. So, when I had a chance, I went downstairs and sought you out again. There was kissing and some petting… I might have even gotten a little carried away with my exploration.”

The teeth marks on my breasts. God, I remember those.

“You were lucid through everything we did,” he says.

Lucid?I’d only had three drinks, so the memory loss and hangover didn’t make sense. But…

I blink again. “You drugged me.”

When he doesn’t say anything, only adjusts his hold on my ass, I let out a small sound of disbelief. Though I’m not exactly sure why.

Since I met him, I’ve known exactly who Grayson James is. It’s my fault for choosing to ignore that.

“I think you should let me down,” I say, my voice barely audible over the water’s spray. I can’t even look at him right now, my mind trying to grapple with the new depths I’ve swum into.

No wonder I’ve been on edge since arriving at the estate, constantly feeling like something was off in the air, in the foundation. It’s been him the entire time and the lies he fed me to get me here.

On the one hand, a small sense of excitement courses through me at the fact that my first real sexual experience isn’t a total loss. Instead, it’s marked by blood and sweat and cum, and a general sense of wonder.

On the other, I’m angry with him for drugging me. For manipulating me, just to get me here.

“If I let you down, you’re going to run.” His fingers bite my skin, and I just know I’ll have little constellations painted in the shape of his hands by morning.

“So? You didn’t have a problem with that outside.”

“I’m no longer in the mood to chase.”

My chest heaves with anxious breaths as he continues to keep me pinned in place. He reaches up, tucking several strands of wet hair behind my ear, studying me with those glassy emerald eyes.

“I saw you with them,” he says after a prolonged silence, throat bobbing. “The day Nathaniel and Harrison came here to convince me to go back home. I refused because, at the time, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I still don’t really. The idea of being out in public, of being stared at or spoken to by strangers…”

He inhales a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I was born a spectacle. My mother was a seventeen-year-old Broadway hopeful, and my father wasn’t even divorced from his previous wife. I came into the world while it watched and judged and hoped I was better than my father. Better than my brothers, both musically gifted in their own rights. My parents’ scandal and our last name made me a target, and from the moment I began learning to play instruments and read sheet music, I knew I’d have to be so good that no one remembered my origin.”

One of his thumbs strokes the back of my cheek, and I watch his lips intently as they move, soaking up his secrets like candy.

“It became very clear early on that being good was not enough for the public. They wanted more, and I found that I wanted it too. I wanted perfection.” Pausing, he scoffs under his breath. “No one tells you how potent perfection is. That once you taste it, you crave it. Forever. Good and great become synonymous with failure, and you will kill yourself trying to achieve it.”

His next breath is shaky, his eyes apologetic. “I got used to that feeling. Let it drive me to become a success outside of my family. Went into teaching because I wanted to help those like myself reach their full potential. I thought that was my destiny—to continue chasing something unattainable and hate myself whenever I couldn’t have it. With music, I could work through the need. With you…”

Holding me up with his hips, he brings his arms up, cupping my jaw in both hands. He tilts my head, angling it so his lips brush mine when he speaks again. “I wasn’t prepared for the sort of addiction you’d be.”

My pulse stutters. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me want to forgive you,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. “And I know I shouldn’t.”

The smallest grin forms, and he takes my wrists, looping them around his neck again. His hips surge forward, his arousal stirring against my ass. The water’s cleansed us mostly, but something tells me the dirt inside of us isn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t forgive me yet, dirty girl. I want to earn it.”

* * *

I don’t go backto my room that night—or any after. Grayson keeps me practically bound to the bed, sinking his mouth between my legs at sunup and sundown, making me come over and over. Like he really is an addict trying to stave off withdrawals.

It doesn’t occur to me the first few nights to try and stay up, just to see what he does when I pass out. Somehow, the noises are less prevalent on this side of the hall, so I have no problems falling asleep when he finally drags himself away from me.

Or maybe it’s all the orgasms I’m unaccustomed to. A part of me wonders if one ever gets used to them or if they drain the energy from your body in the most delicious way every time.

Nate leaves before the party’s over the night I lose my virginity. Since that’s apparently the night it happened and not after the fundraiser all those weeks ago. I’m still trying to come to terms with that reality.

He dips without saying good-bye, though he leaves a crude note taped to his brother’s door, promising to come back for me. Don’t get too comfortable, it says, and the threat is obvious to both Grayson and me despite me not telling him what all he said about exacting his revenge.

Frankly, I’m not really sure what to do. If I tell Grayson, it endangers my entire family. If I don’t mention it, we’re the ones in danger.

It’s a lose-lose situation, so I’m just trying to soak up what little time I might have left while I can.

One night, I wake up to that familiar sensation of having someone’s eyes on me; I peel mine open, sitting up with a gasp and fully expecting someone to be standing at the foot of the bed.

Grayson’s is an upholstered platform with gray-and-black bedding that fits him to a T. The room itself is large, with a wall of tall, narrow windows that have pointed arches at the tops. There’s a wardrobe against the opposite wall, a floor-length mirror plated in brown wood, and two green velvet armchairs facing the en suite bathroom.

A pair of ornate double doors with black handles opens up into a sitting room that has a big stone fireplace, a sofa, and unsurprisingly, a grand piano. Grayson sits on the bench in front of it, writing something on the top of a stack of papers.

I stand in the doorway, wrapped in a knitted throw, just watching him for a few moments. That quiet, unhurried manner I noticed the first time I really laid eyes on him, the morning after we met. The strong, sturdy set of his broad shoulders, defined by lean muscle and that massive goat tattoo spanning his upper back.

Tilting his head from one side to the other, he cracks his neck, then shakes out his fingers. Pushing the papers back on the piano lid, he settles his hands at the keys, flexing each for several seconds. They don’t touch the ivory, as if he’s not sure he should.

When he lowers them though, playing just one key at first before a whole chorus joins, it’s pure magic.

The melody starts soft and slow, sensual in its repetition of a darker note in between the more lilted ones. He plucks with a practiced precision, and I imagine the song coming to life with each keystroke.

For a heartbeat, the song decrescendos until no sound comes at all. And then it crashes into the room, washing over me like a warm ocean wave. It builds seamlessly, haunting in its gravitational pull, and it’s the first song I’ve ever felt inside of my chest.

A part of me wants to move to him to see if I can feel the vibrations of each chord in him the way I suspect, but I’m glued in place. Rooted like a tree, immobilized by complete awe.

Everyone in the James family is talented. Even Nate plays guitar and the drums, and Aiden is a god on bass, according to the rest of the world. But this? It might be as close to religion as I’ll ever get.

I might be an addiction, but it’s very clear this is his preferred drug.

I think I’d gladly sit at this altar, watching him worship, for the rest of my life. If only to get to experience a glimpse of his perfection.

He doesn’t hum or add any words at all. It’s just the music and him existing in this room together, moving as one being. Concentration laces his profile, and he nods with each press of his fingers, as if forcing himself into the song.

I startle when it abruptly stops.

His head moves, turning toward his shoulder. “It’s impolite to watch something you weren’t invited to.”

Clearing my throat, I manage to unstick one of my feet from the floor. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were asleep, and I don’t normally allow anyone to sit in while I play.”

My brows shoot up. “How come?”

“Because it fucks with my process.”

“Oh.” I walk over, standing just out of reach if he were to turn and try to grab me. “Well, just pretend I’m not here.”

He chuckles, swiveling on the bench seat. His legs stretch the fabric of his dark cigarette pants, and he leans forward, tugging the blanket from me. “You are a beacon of light, Little Echo. You shine in any room. I would never be able to not notice.”

His words do something funny to my insides; heat spreads through my stomach, up to my chest, before settling at my throat. I move closer, a tide being pulled by the moon.

“That blush of yours doesn’t get old.” Stars dance in his green gaze, making them look molten. “I’ve wondered where else it travels to. If your pussy gets as pink as your cheeks.”

I’m certain I’m blushing even harder now. But I spread my legs anyway, moving to mount his thigh. The hard, muscular feel of him through the fabric of his pants draws a short gasp from my lips, and he grips my hips in both hands.

“More so,” I say, forcing seduction into my voice even though I have no idea what I’m doing. “Warmer too.”

We haven’t had sex since the sunflower field, and I can’t help the bitter sting of disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t as good as he had expected, so now, he’s settling for eating me out just to curb the addiction.

“That so?” One slashed brow cocks, and he slowly slides a hand inward. It shoves between his leg and my pussy, gently gliding through my damp flesh before plunging inside me.

His other hand moves to my ass, pushing me so my clit grinds against the heel of his hand and his thigh underneath. I suck in a gulp of air, my muscles spasming already with the movements.

“You’re right. Very warm. Tight as fuck too, Violet. You’re practically begging to be filled right up, walking around here with nothing on. Parading this sweet ass in front of me like I won’t bend you over this piano and take another of your virginities.”

My blood boils at the image.

“Oh, do you like the idea of me fucking your ass?” His voice grows hoarse, deepening as he slips his finger out.

I whimper at the loss, but it turns into a strangled noise when I feel distinct pressure against my back hole. He toys with the puckered aperture between my ass cheeks, spreading my arousal around and around until I’m squirming, trying to ride the massage.

“Maybe I will.” The finger leaves, and two more plunge into my pussy, stroking against that spot that makes me see stars. “I’ll fuck you here first. Get my dick wet enough so I can fit elsewhere.” A pause, and that deviant smile returns. “Or not. You like blood, Violet. Maybe I’ll just use yours for entry and then blow my load as deep as I’m able to get.”

A breath shudders out of me, and I claw at his shirt as electricity zooms through my veins.

“Doesn’t that sound good, dirty girl? You want to leak blood and cum again?” He captures a hardened nipple between his teeth, then sucks it all the way into his mouth, releasing it with a lewd pop. “You’ll go meet with Nathaniel, and it’ll just drip out of you the whole time. That way, you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

“Oh my God.”

I close my eyes, and suddenly, we’re back at the fundraiser, having a similar conversation. Not about my ass, but he’s talking about coming in me, filling me up, and I can’t stop staring at the mask. Wondering who’s beneath it because Nate has never talked like this. He’s as uptight with sex as I am, but maybe the mask is emboldening.

“Wait, wait.” With his free hand, he starts working at his fly, and I open my eyes just long enough to assist. His cock is heavy in my hand as we push his pants out of the way, and then he’s lifting me, positioning me over his lap. “Guide it in.”

I gape at him. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s instinctual, dirty girl. Listen to your body and slide your pussy over my cock.”

My breathing hollows out as I reach between us, shifting until I feel the smooth head at my entrance. I hold it there and relax my thighs slightly, letting him push in until it burns.

We hiss at the same time, the contact scorching. I pause my descent, huffing, every muscle in my body coiled tight, like a rusty spring.

Grayson’s thumbs knead my ass—a silent encouragement. Sinking my nails into his shoulders, I press down more; the head pops its way in, and I’m full again, stretching to accommodate his sheer size.

Swallowing, I look up and keep my eyes on his, just so I know I’ll stay in the moment. There’s nothing between us now—no brothers, no secret agenda, no mask. Just a man and a woman, coming together because they can’t keep away.

When my ass meets his thighs, a groan rumbles through his chest. I exhale, tilting my hips to get used to the sensation. It’s so unlike anything I’ve ever felt—a great pressure, accompanied by ripples of euphoria, vibrating through my insides.

“I’m glad I didn’t forget this,” I say in a soft voice. It’s as close to forgiveness as I’ll give him for now.

As if sensing that, the only answer he gives me is a small grin. Then, he turns, bending me backward over the piano. The keys cut into my skin as he lifts up, holding me tight as he begins thrusting hard up into me. The instrument scoots across the floor with the brutality of his hips, and I cry out to God when we come, just like he said I would.