Page 72 of Twisted Lies

Justin turns his back and hunches his shoulders, his feet apart, as he slides the condom down on his cock. When he turns around, I lie flat, waiting for him to climb on top of me.

“This is what I want,” he says, stretching his body over mine. “You and me in New York or LA, in a studio, making love and art.”

I lift my lips to his so I don’t have to answer. I don’t have to pretend we have a future.

His finger slides into me, and he frowns. “Astrid? What’s wrong?”

I turn my face away and start to shut down. Justin stops talking immediately as he quickly grips my hips. He presses his tip hard against my slit. The delicious friction makes me sigh until he parts me, and then I moan. My thighs open wider, and Justin moves into me a little at a time, creating a slow rhythm, pulling out before pushing back in.

I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him in deep. So much deeper. I lift my hands to his shoulders and match his rhythm as I stare into his soft gaze.

“You feel so good.” His eyelashes flutter. “So perfect.”

Soon, my body starts to buck against his hips, grinding and twisting as his hot breath hits my neck and his hand slips between us. Tingles race through me as his finger toys with my clit. I forget that awful date with Bryce as my mind spins wildly into a feeling of falling in love with someone who wants me desperately. My pussy tightens around him as my entire body clenches. Tears that were bottled up cover my cheeks as my breath shortens. I bite my lip to keep from shouting as my body shudders with release.

But Justin doesn’t conceal what we’re doing as he shouts when he cums in the condom. “God…yes…baby!” he groans, “That’s how I want to feel. I—”

He buries his head next to my shoulder, swallowing down gulps of air as if he were drowning. I watch the still curtain, hoping no one will discover us, though I’m sure they all heard him. Justin wanted them to hear. He wants everyone to know he’s fucking me. I push his drained body off me and grab for my shorts on the floor.

“Not yet,” he pants, “I have to draw you first.”

I want to leave, but I also don’t want to walk past curious eyes. I grab a drop cloth and drape it over my gleaming pussy, refusing to look at Justin. Why do these boys keep playing games?

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