Page 65 of Pitiful Lies

I need her to be mine. To accept the fact she ain’t going anywhere.

She moans softly. The sound is one of contentment as she straightens her legs and lies face down on my bed.

Just that is enough for my dick to be ready to go another round. But I saw her wince earlier and before I fuck her again, I’m thinking we both need to clean up and rest a bit.

“Come here, Koukla,” I whisper and stand beside the bed, lifting her up before she can protest.

Ten minutes later, we are both soaking in the enormous bathtub, and I have her seated on my lap.

And it’s exactly where I want her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-GISELLE

The morning after the big date, after Angel fucks my ass for the first time ever, I wake up feeling a million different things.

The least of which is not completely satisfied.

I never thought I would like to have sex there. And honestly, if any other man attempted it, I would have likely knocked him over the head.

But Angel is just so, well, perfect.

Other men never know what to do with me. Not that there have been many, but still.

Not Angel, though. He is so confident and certain. So sensual and earthy. He knows exactly how to handle my body. How to conjure pleasure so pure, it’s sheer ecstasy.

A cramp starts low in my stomach, and I muffle my groan.

Damn.

I know I am getting my period. Like any second now.

My stomach does another twist, and I rush to the bathroom. I always get nauseous on the first day of my menstrual cycle.

So now here I am, in a gorgeous penthouse condo owned by one of the sexiest men alive. A man who had his big, thick cock inside my ass not six hours ago, making me feel like a sex goddess, and causing me to come so hard I definitely passed out for a few seconds afterwards.

And I’m bent over his toilet, dry heaving like I’m hung over. If ever a black hole could just open up and swallow someone alive, I wish it would happen right now.

But it doesn’t.

I heave again and feel the start of what are going to be some really shitty cramps coming on.

It takes a few more minutes of me just spitting out nothing in the toilet to settle my upset stomach. Just when I get it under control, I feel something cool pressing on the back of my neck.

I turn my head, and I see Angel. He’s holding a wet hand towel against the back of my neck, my hair is lifted in his other hand. He looks concerned.

“I’m not pregnant. It’s my period,” I blurt, and he frowns harder.

“I wasn’t gonna go there first, Koukla. I was worried maybe the sushi didn’t sit right,” he replies.

His voice is deep, but it’s soft. Almost tender, tentative even, like his touch, and it’s so contrary to how he handled me last night. But right here, it seems appropriate, and I think maybe I fall for him a little bit more.

Fuck, I am so embarrassed.

And why didn’t I think of bad sushi? It’s not like men naturally assume a woman is pregnant just because she gets sick. But I think I must be panicking a little.

That’s probably because the idea of having his baby doesn’t scare me half as much as it should.

Don’t even think about it, I tell myself.

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