Page 116 of Loving the Liar

“Good. Hold on to that feeling tonight while I take care of you. You tend to forget how far I would go to have you, and it makes you act naively. Just because I can’t be on your case all the time doesn’t mean the plan changes.”

He digs his amber eyes into mine, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Like a man at complete peace with his choice. “The plan never changes.”

“I don’t want to know whether taking care of me is part of your grand plan to ruin me and make me yours.” I close my eyes on a long blink and open them again. “Not tonight. Just give me you. The you I know. My Chris.” I hesitate before adding, “Please.”

His eyes bounce between mine, his face falling into a visage of adoration.

“I want to give you all of me and more, Ella. Anything you want from me, you can have.”

I nod, closing my eyes as a smile settles on my lips. Those words feel too perfect to add anything to them.

I sense him standing up, and he gives me a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to make you chicken noodle soup.” My eyes open again and land on his pocket as he keeps talking. He’s fidgeting with something in there. “Do you have everything I need for that?”

I nod. “I do, but I’d rather eat loaded fries than soup.”

I smile brightly at him as I look up just in time to watch his eyebrows raise.

“You? You’d rather eat loaded fries? You used to have a go at me when I tried to make you eat anything other than a salad.”

Through a wave of sadness, I shrug. “I don’t dance or cheer anymore. Counting calories was mainly for ballet.”

He pulls out his phone, and I watch him open the delivery app.

“We’ll order whatever you want, Sweets. Twice your bodyweight in fries, for all I care. But don’t think you won’t dance again. The second I have full ownership of you, you’re dropping law and going back to dance.”

I feel my face twist at his words. “Don’t talk about me like I’m some toy you’re going to have full ownership over.”

“You’re not a toy,” he says, and I know there’s more, so I cock an eyebrow. “You’re my toy.”

Sitting down next to me, he slides a hand under the blanket to caress my thigh. “My sex toy I get to play with whenever I want.” His hand goes up, making me squirm. “My little doll I get to dress however I like.” Higher. “My puppet on a string who does whatever I please.”

He cups my pussy under the dress I’m wearing, making me tremble with need. I can’t remember at what point I’m meant to push him away. Am I too late already?

“Isn’t that right?” he purrs in my ear. His thumb grazes my clit over my panties, and I bite my lip to stop any sound from escaping my mouth. But my eyes flutter shut, and I nod to answer his question.

“My good girl.”

His hand disappears, and I whimper as my eyes fly open.

“You’re ill, Sweets. You need rest.”

And it’s true. My body is at the end of what it can take. So I let him pull me until my head is resting on his lap. I let him order us food and pick all my favorite toppings on the loaded fries. And when he opens his streaming app and turns on my TV, a stupid stupid smile sticks to my face.

“Which crappy holiday romance is it going to be?” he asks, caressing my hair. “They’ve got Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve, Holidate, Love Actually?”

My heart melts and spreads warmth through all my limbs. There’s nothing like a man who knows you. Someone who knows the little things you like. Like my weird obsession with holiday romance movies. And yet, I want more. So I push him just so I can get that silly satisfaction.

“You know my favorite,” I murmur.

He doesn’t even look down at me, nodding to himself. “Valentine’s Day it is.”

Chris hates these kinds of movies. He’s worse than a boring old man. He reads plays and poems. His favorite place is the library. He enjoys Shakespeare’s sonnets because, apparently, they make sense to him. He reads about history, Greek mythology, religions. He takes care of everything around him, no matter the level of importance. Hell, the only videos he watches online are live trials of current court cases.

I’m a mess who only puts in effort when it comes to her passion or to feed a lie to keep my reputation intact. I scroll on socials for hours on end, worry about my appearance more than my brains. I not only watch stupid romance films, but the same ones over and over again.

But watching them next to him while he rests his arm on my side and hip is different. Watching them while he feeds me loaded fries and makes me another hot tea feels like I’m losing myself again. Letting him take care of me at my lowest makes me feel safe and scared at the same time. No one will ever care like he does, and my heart is in trouble for it.

I fall asleep before the end of the movie and only wake up as he’s putting me to bed. And I think I fall asleep again, but my hand to my chest wakes me up. Because anxiety never sleeps.

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