Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller
29
What goes up must come down—orwhatever that law of physics says.
I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to science in school. It seemed useless at the time, but in the days after I stake my official claim on Violet, I can’t stop thinking about that age-old principle. My time is spent fucking her into oblivion, watching her drift off to sleep in my bed, and sneaking off to work on a portfolio to send to the dean back at NEAA.
Ian’s contacted me a handful of times since his visit, letting me know that if I don’t return to the university soon, it’s possible they’ll put my position up for grabs. Or worse, since composition is an expendable course of study there, remove it entirely.
It would devastate me for that to happen. Not just for the blow to my career, but also to the gap it would leave on students’ academic programs. The class might be expendable to the board of directors and dean, but it’s not one easily substituted because of the advanced theory and writing consideration I bring to the classroom.
Losing the course would be shitting on Sydney’s memory. Everything that’s happened since her death would be for naught, and that’d be the worst punishment of all.
I’m not ready to return to the public. Not ready to subject myself to the speculation again or the anxiety that being the center of attention has come to give me. But I will at least go down fighting, so I pour my heart into new compositions each night, certain that everything sucks but attempting to find joy in its existence regardless.
Nate left the estate last week, though not before making it clear that he’d be back. For Violet, if nothing else. The last party I threw seems to have really done a number on him; my mother called a couple of days ago, asking if he’d taken anything there because, evidently, he’s been raging in the city, destroying public property over minor inconveniences.
My only suspicion is that he’s losing it over Violet, though even Priya said he seemed different last week. Like a caged beast searching for a way out of its prison.
Either way, I don’t give a shit. After what he did to her, he can rot, and I’ll happily watch while balls deep in his ex-girlfriend.
Like now, as I press myself against her hot little slit, notching the head of my cock inside an inch. She’s on her knees, turned horizontally on my bed, with her round ass in the air. I run my palm over one pale cheek, squeezing until she rocks back, taking me an inch deeper, then two, and then I’m halfway buried inside her.
“Hottest little pussy around,” I groan, pleasure thrumming through me like the aftershocks of an earthquake.
It’s so hard to keep myself from prematurely coming every time I get inside her, and I’m not sure if that’s normal or if I need to see a doctor, but I’m choosing not to question it. The sooner I come, the sooner I can fuck her a second time, then a third, until she’s sore and raw and I’m leaking out of her.
She reaches behind her, gripping her ass with both hands. The gesture spreads her wide, giving me an even better view of her silken, sopping flesh. I lean forward, letting saliva pool from my lips to her asshole, then use my thumb to massage the little hole, pushing in just barely as I begin to fuck her.
I promised I’d take her there one day. She didn’t seem opposed to the idea, which excites me. For someone with no prior experience, she is willing to learn, especially when it comes to her own pleasure. Which makes her the best kind of student.
My free hand glides slowly up her sweat-slicked back, grabbing her two braids in my fist and tugging, like the reins on a horse. She can’t really come up with her face buried in the mattress, but she lets out a ragged moan as I pull harder, matching my thrusts with gyrations of her own.
“Grayson,” she whimpers, pulsing around me.
“What is it, dirty girl? Does it feel good when I fuck you?”
“Yes,” she cries, her hands falling from her ass to grapple in the bedsheets. “You feel so good, fucking my pussy with your big, hard cock.”
“Such filthy words from such a sweet girl. You should be careful how you speak; someone might get the wrong idea and think all you want is to be used.”
“Just by you,” she pants, and I can tell she’s barely hanging on to sanity right now as she spasms, white-knuckling the sheets. “No one else can make me feel this good. Please, please make me come. You do such a good job, baby, and I need it so bad.”
Baby?Christ. I don’t know why her praise is so important to me, but her enthusiasm renews my efforts as fire rushes through my veins. There’s nothing I want more in this world than to please this woman.
I curse under my breath, releasing her hair to land a series of harsh smacks against one ass cheek. My cock jerks as I increase my pace, my balls slapping her ass with each stroke. She’s so hot, so wet and tight, that I can barely breathe.
If I thought sex might cure my obsession, I was horribly wrong. It’s only made my addiction that much worse. Like the first hit after years of being sober—the one that inevitably kills you.
“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth, impending release sizzling the length of my spine. “I need to come, dirty girl.”
A gasp, and she tries to lift her head, but ends up failing and turning it to the side. “Oh, yes. Please.”
God, I love her begging. So sweet and perfect.
“Tell me where you want it.”
There’s a brief pause, a moment of hesitation. I wonder if she’s about to switch it up on me, go from good girl to brat, but then she squeezes around my cock and gives me a deviant grin over one shoulder.
“In my pussy. I want you to fill me up.”
I shudder, a delicious chill making its way across my skin. “Who taught you to speak like that?”
She glances up at me through hooded eyes. “You said it was instinctual. I’m a very fast learner.”
Settling my hands on top of her hips, I lean into them, pinning her firmly in place. I’m almost perpendicular with her now, and my thrusts become longer, deeper, until I’m fucking her so hard that I think she might actually break in half.
Her ass jiggles with each brutal plunge, one cheek pinkened with my handprint, and the strangled noises she makes are a fucking symphony to me.
She jolts, her pussy clamping down around my cock so quickly that she lets out a scream the pillows don’t catch. It echoes off the vaulted ceiling, reverberating deep in my chest as I chase her over the cliff of ecstasy, giving one last pump before unloading as deep in her as I can get.
Sweat drips off my forehead onto her spine, and I slump forward, still buried to the hilt as the last drops of my cum empty inside her. A flash of white-hot electricity temporarily steals my vision as the base of my spine erupts with rapture, and I lose the ability to hold myself up.
She grunts as I flatten out on top of her, the sound of our labored breathing loud in my bedroom.
As I withdraw slowly, a haggard sound claws its way from my chest. I sit back for a second, watching my cum trickle out from between her puffy pink lips, and then I lean down and flatten my tongue against her glistening pussy.
Flinching, she tries to wiggle away, but I palm her ass in my hands and keep her in place.
“Want to eat you for the rest of my life,” I mutter against her, savoring the sweet tang of her juices mixed with the evidence of mine. “Don’t care what shape you’re in. Prefer you like this actually. A mess, all because of me.”
She whimpers, lifting her hips to grant me better access. “Right there,” she huffs, reaching up to rub her clit with three fingers. “Fuck. Yes. More.”
“Give me another,” I say, spearing my tongue into her filthy little slit. My fingers have a bruising grip on her, but neither of us cares. “Come right on my fucking face. I want to be dripping with you the same way you are with me.”
As if on command, she explodes, her hips undulating with a fervor that makes my dick stir again, seeking another round even though I know I’ll regret it soon.
You’re not eighteen anymore, I remind myself, which is why, in the past, I’d never have sought out a woman eleven years my junior.
But the rules of my past self no longer apply. Not where she’s concerned and definitely not with my family.
When I finally let her up, she skips off to the bathroom to pee, and I follow a few minutes later to clean us up. She watches me from where I have her perched on the vanity, and I know she’s staring at the scabbed cuts on my chest, my neck.
Her guilt is almost palpable.
“My father once beat me so bad that my mother thought I was dead.”
Violet frowns, eyes seeking mine.
I don’t meet them as I drag the washcloth between her legs. “I was ten. One of the baby goats got out of the barn mid-winter, so I went to corral it before it could freeze to death. But I was supposed to be rehearsing. I was auditioning for a classical piano program in France that weekend, and my father believed in practicing until we bled. Instead, when he found me ‘fucking around,’ he took that matter into his own hands.”
She sucks in a tiny gasp of disbelief.
“My mother found me outside in the snow. He’d taken his cane, with this solid gold top, to my back so many times that he fractured a couple of ribs and nearly a disc. She said she’d never seen so much red—didn’t realize snow could soak up so much. The warmth from my blood even melted some of it around me.”
“Grayson,” she whispers, hands finding my chest. “You don’t have to—”
Sighing, I clench my jaw at the memory and toss the washcloth into a hamper behind me. “The goat I had gone looking for stayed through it all. When I was in so much pain that I couldn’t see, after my father left me, the only thing that kept me conscious was the little goat’s warm tongue on my face. That’s how I held on.”
Tears well up in her eyes, and I cup her cheeks, tilting her head back.
“I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. My father will get his. I just don’t want you to feel bad about what you did to me. Nothing you ever do physically will touch what I’ve already endured.”
“I hurt you—”
“And I don’t care.” I press a searing kiss to her mouth. “You did what you needed to, to stay safe. Don’t ever feel bad about having a survivor’s instincts.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, glaring at my chin. Finally, her shoulders slump, and she leans into me.
I drag her back to bed and tuck her beneath the sheets, fully prepared to dip when she’s asleep. But she reaches out, grabbing my arm and yanking me down beside her.
“Stay,” she mutters, sleep already clouding her voice.
And because I can’t deny her anything, I crawl beneath the sheets and wrap myself around her.
