Page 112 of Loving the Liar

I yelp, struggling to find my footing on the step again. He keeps hold of me until I’m steady and looks above my head.

“Hold on to the bar.”

“Are you insane?”

“When Daddy talks, you listen, Ella.”

“Oh, fuck. You.”

He pulls my body, and the fear of falling makes my hands reflexively grip the bar above my head.

“So you do know how to listen.”

Now that I’m stable, he releases my waist to slide his hands under my skirt again.

“Do you know how many of my messages you ignored this week?”

“That’s what this is about?” I try to keep some strength in my voice, naively thinking I still have a way out of this.

He messaged me a few times since our kiss, but I didn’t reply. The moment we shared hurt as much as it healed us, and I needed this week to process everything.

“Chris, I know we kissed, but it doesn’t change anything about the situation we’re in. You’re with Megan. I’m an Aphrodite. Reality didn’t bend for us, and we shouldn’t be messaging behind your fiancée’s back. That’s why I didn’t answer.”

For a second, I see him think hard about what I just said, and I think I’ve gotten through to him. But my hopes die when he lowers my panties.

“Stop.” I glance down the aisle, my stomach twisting with a mix of excitement and mortification.

He holds me in place as he pulls one foot out and then the other.

“Yet another day you’re going to go home without your pretty panties. Did you wear lace for me?”

“Your delusion is driving you mad,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

I’m not sure if I’m more frustrated at him for what he’s doing, or myself for getting wet from it.

“It was five, by the way. The number of messages you ignored.” He pulls my phone out of my uniform jacket, and I watch with wide eyes as he sets a timer. “So I’ll be spending exactly five minutes tasting your gorgeous pussy. I don’t care if someone comes, and I don’t care if you come. As you so rightly mentioned, you’re an Aphrodite. So, I’ll take my fill and leave.”

Pleasure pools uncomfortably, and the second he notices me squeezing my thighs together, he grabs the underside of both, lifts me, and drops them on his shoulders.

I gasp. The only thing now holding me up is the fact that I’m still gripping the bar above my head and his hands on my ass.

“I hate you,” I whisper-hiss, panic and anticipation making me ache for him.

“Say that again in five minutes.”

Then he’s burying his face between my legs, his tongue probing between my lower lips and rolling around my clit.

My arms tense, hands gripping harder as I strain under his assault.

“Chris,” I moan. “S-stop.”

I would have been surprised if he listened. I said it more to rid myself of guilt than anything else.

He keeps a consistent rhythm, pushing harder, and I have no choice but to stay exactly where I am or crash to the floor with him. My chest trembles as the pleasure spreads thickly through my veins and spikes of sharp need make me push back against him.

I’m not suffering through the ordeal; I’m complicit to the delight he’s forcing upon me.

Time disappears, and I throw my head back, forgetting to hate myself in the process of his teeth nibbling at my clit before he licks it better with a flat tongue. I forget where we are, that I’m letting my ex eat me in the aisle of our college library, that anyone could see me in this state.

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