Page 163 of When Lies Unfold

Once it’s freed, she sifts her fingers through it, her voice a low murmur. “I’m not making you out to be someone you’re not.”

Those soft brown eyes focus on where her fingers comb through my hair. Intermittently, she drags her blunt nails along my scalp, sendin’ a slight shiver down my spine.

“What I know is”—the edges of her mouth tip up a fraction—“you’re the man who tried to help a young boy. You’re also the man who rescued a young girl when she had no one else.”

I close my eyes under the guise of enjoyin’ the scalp massage ’cause I don’t deserve her praise.

“But you’re right. To that little girl, you’re not a good guy. You’re the greatest guy she’s ever known.”

My mouth flattens, but she continues without missin’ a beat. “And to me, you’re definitely not a good guy.”

My eyes fly open in surprise, but her focus isn’t on me. She tracks the path her fingers take as they trace along my brow bone and down my cheeks, descendin’ over my tattooed throat.

“You’re the man who held a gun on me time and again. A man who threatened me at every turn.” Her fingertips sweep over the ink coverin’ my chest. “A man who protected me from his own nephew. Who shot his nephew in retaliation.”

She smooths her hands upward to my ink-covered shoulders, her voice growin’ thick with emotion. “You’re the man who cared enough to help me dig a grave. Who carried me when my legs gave out. Who cared enough to have the doctor tend to me.”

She places a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’re the man who didn’t look at me with pity or disgust after you discovered all my scars. You held me when I cried, and you understand all too well what it’s like to have blood on your hands.”

She dusts a kiss to one side of my face. “That doesn’t mean you’re a good man by average standards.” After droppin’ another kiss to the other side of my face, her mouth drifts to mine. When she whispers against my lips, “But it does mean you’re the greatest man in my eyes,” it’s like every organ in my body is squeezed by the tightest, most punishin’ vise grip.

The moment she drops to her knees between my legs and unfastens my pants, I’ve never been more grateful for bein’ in a hurry and forgoin’ boxer briefs and a belt. The look on her face when she grips my bare cock in her hand has precum gatherin’ at the tip.

When she lowers her head and drags her tongue along the slit, I clutch the armrests so tightly the leather creaks. “Fuck,” comes out on an expelled breath. Her eyes remain locked with mine, and hell if that doesn’t make my cock harden even more.

With a tight grip of the base, she slides her mouth down my length, stealin’ every ounce of oxygen from my lungs. Up and down, with those lips wrapped snug around me, she adopts a rhythm that drives me outta my fuckin’ mind. But when her thumb grazes down the seam of my balls and sweeps along the area behind it, my hips jerk.

Her mouth and tongue work me over so damn good, her tight grip at the base of my shaft, and I’m transfixed by the sight.

When she picks up the pace, I groan, ’cause I want this to last. I wanna memorize how much of a goddess she is. My woman might be on her knees right now, but she’s brought me to mine time and again. And even now, she’s in control.

She slides her mouth off me to tongue the slit, those brown eyes locked with mine. When she secures her lips around the head and sucks hard, my hips give a violent jerk. My balls grow painfully tight, my abs contractin’.

My words are gritted out under harsh breaths. “Gonna come.” That’s all I can manage to say.

She works me faster with her mouth and hand in tandem, her thumb teasin’ nerve endin’s that have my back archin’. “Fuckfuckfuck!” My vision goes hazy, and with each jerk of my hips, I fill her mouth. She sucks every ounce of it, not lettin’ it go to waste.

Once I’m finally finished, she ensures that she’s licked me clean before refastenin’ my pants. I just sit, catchin’ my breath, and watch her. When she straightens, her eyes meetin’ mine once again, the affection in the depths undoes me.

I surge up from my chair and fuse my mouth to hers, my hand at her nape to hold her in place. Without breakin’ the kiss, I lift her and plant her on my desk.

Her thighs automatically fall apart for me to step between. She’s an intelligent woman, so I’m sure she knows what I’m gettin’ at. What I need from her.

My daughter’s been taken from me. And regardless of whether or not Lola wants to admit it, I’m on the verge of losin’ the woman who means the goddamn world to me.

I’ve murdered countless bastards, and I don’t pretend there’s anybody at the pearly gates waitin’ to let me inside. But right now, just havin’ her mouth on mine and holdin’ her like this, shit somehow doesn’t seem as bad.

Lola Arias is an anchor to the shitstorm that’s become my life. And I don’t care whatever her name used to be. I don’t give a fuck who she was married to. All I know is one thing for certain.

She’s mine.

I ease away a fraction to smooth her hair back from her face. My thumb grazes along her cheekbone and over the slight indentation in her skin.

My warrior of a woman might be decorated with scars, but she’s still a work of art. Fierce and beautiful and so fuckin’ brave.

My voice sounds like it’s been dragged over the coarsest gauge of sandpaper. “You gonna go back there and forget about”—I swallow the word I wanna say and substitute it with—“all this?”

“No.” Her answer is quick but thick with emotion. A little laugh escapes her, but it’s encased in sadness, her tone tender. “As if I could ever forget any of it.”

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