Page 21 of Pitiful Lies

The admission kind of breaks my heart. But I don’t give in to that.

So, what if he looks like a Greek demigod come to life especially with that giant tattoo, the one that is supposed to protect you against the evil eye, inked across his throat?

It’s no reason for a girl to lose her mind or her free will. I’m human. I have needs. And if he wants to take care of them while we are on this nut job of a road trip, who am I to deny either of us?

Angel never made declarations or promises. And yeah, he hurt me, but that’s on me. I allowed it.

I can’t blame him for taking what I so freely offered. It’s my fault for not asking what it meant at the time.

The sex between us was good.

It can still be good, my inner slut says, but I squeeze my eyes shut, and whimper at the feel of him teasing along my slit, stopping when he reaches my hard little clit.

Fuck. Yeah. He’s good at this.

So good, I can’t even bring myself to look at another man, much less play with one of my adult toys. It just isn’t the same.

Yeah, I’m in a funk. I’ll get over it. I swear.

But right now, with his big dick pressing against me, one hand on my tit, and the other gliding between my slick folds, well, I’m only human, too.

I feel the hard bar of his cock pressed against my ass and I bite my lip to stop from moaning even if I can’t help but wiggle against it.

“Fuck, Koukla, you’re so goddamn wet. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he rumbles against my ear, and I gasp as he pushes two thick digits into my sopping wet heat.

He doesn’t stop working those fingers in and out of my channel, and I can’t help it. I press back against his cock, wishing it was filling me instead of his hand.

But no. I can’t do that with him. Not without risking my heart.

“Tell me, Koukla, or I’ll stop,” he growls, and nips my neck with his teeth.

He’s pinching my nipple with his other hand, and he starts to pull away.

But I stop him.

Fuck, I’m so weak.

I grab onto the wrist of the hand between my legs and I hold him there.

“Tell me,” Angel demands mercilessly.

His voice is so deep and gravelly he sounds like a demon. And I fucking love it.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, I am aware I should be shoving him away. I should yell or scream at him.

But the truth is, I’ve missed this. His body. His energy. The way he makes me feel.

He already knows I am turned on. My arousal is soaking my shorts and dripping down his hand.

What have I got to lose?

“I w-want you to make me come. Please, Angel,” I beg.

“That’s my Good Girl,” he growls.

Then he starts to move his hand.

And I see stars.

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