Page 45 of Twisted Truths

To my surprise, he doesn’t stiffen in my hold. He pulls back and looks at me, one hand resting where my neck meets my shoulder, his thumb lightly grazing up the column of my throat.

“I wish I knew. I can’t seem to stop thinking about you. Stop wanting to be near you.” He appears almost pained by his admittance.

“I feel the same. But I’m not sure it’s wise.” I’m a liar. I know it’s not wise.

His gaze drops to my lips. “It’s definitely not wise.”

“But we’re going to do it anyway, aren’t we?” I whisper the truth that lies between us because this pull toward each other is too great to ignore.

He swallows and presses his lips together. “It can only be sex. I can’t offer you anything more than that, even if I wish I could.”

I’d be an even bigger liar if I tried to pretend his words don’t lash me like a whip. But it’s for the best, given that he doesn’t know my true intentions.

“I’m fucked up, Ariana. In ways you can’t even imagine.” He’s apologetic.

I nod. “I understand.”

If we keep things strictly sexual, then it will be easier for me to leave, easier for me to continue lying to him than if feelings were involved.

“Do you, though?” He looks at me imploringly.

“I do.” I raise up on my tiptoes to bring my lips to his, but he rears back.

“No kissing. It’s too…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he wants to say. It’s too intimate, too much like a relationship, too easy to forget that this is just about sex.

Though the disappointment stings, I nod. He waits a beat, seems to resolve something inside himself, and his eyes go from apprehensive and unsure to predatory and intense. I squeeze my thighs together because to be the object of that gaze is a heady thing indeed.

Without warning, he bends at his waist and lifts me over his shoulder. I yelp in surprise but love the caveman behavior and the display of his strength. He walks us across the room, opens one of the French doors to take us out to the balcony, and deposits me on…

“Holy shit.” Once I get my bearings, I realize that he’s sat me on the edge of the ledge. We’re at least three stories up.

I clutch at his shirt in fear, but he’s holding me by my ribcage so I won’t fall. Still, one slip or wrong move, and I’m propelling to the ground.

“Obsidian—”

“Do you trust me?”

I meet his gaze, and it’s obvious that my answer means something to him. My brain quickly cycles through what I know about him, how he reacted after the Brandon incident, the look on his face when he told me his mother had been murdered.

“I do.” I relax under his hands.

Pure male satisfaction shines in his eyes. Like an animal pouncing on its prey, his mouth comes to the shell of my ear, his tongue darting out, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he did that same thing to my clit.

He may not want to kiss my mouth, but he’s definitely comfortable kissing down my neck until he reaches my breasts. “Pull your swimsuit aside.”

I do as he says so that his hands remain on me, making sure I don’t fall backward.

Obsidian’s lips wrap around my puckered pink nipple, and I moan, lust firing to life in my veins. One hand goes into his hair, and the other delves down between us to feel his hard length pressing against his pants.

When I squeeze him, he groans and gently bites my nipple until I arch my head back. My sunglasses slide off my head. I turn to watch them spiral down, down, down to the ground. It’s a reminder of how dangerous what we’re doing is. Somehow, it’s not a deterrent, only a turn-on.

My desire grows to a near frantic level where I’m desperate to have Obsidian.

He must feel it too, because he says, “Take me out, Ariana. I need to be inside you.”

I do as he says, fumbling with the button and zipper on his pants until finally the length of him is in my palm. I stroke him. He pushes his hips forward, groaning around the weight of my breast.

---