Page 73 of Loving the Liar

Chris’s hand discreetly slips under my top and moves up my back, to my ribs, then over to the side, sending goosebumps down my arms. His fingertips graze my nipple when he leans over again. “Language.”

God, I hate when he does this to me. Just because he’s a pretend saint who rarely curses doesn’t mean I have to stop cursing like a sailor. It’s my way of expressing myself, for fuck’s sake. But Chris’s girflriend doesn’t curse. She does everything she’s told, and she acts like the perfect woman because that’s the image he likes to portray to the world.

Fuck him. I’m not Chris Murray’s girlfriend.

Peach puts a margarita in front of Alex, and then one in front of me. “We’ll just party here, then. We can watch those horribly boring holiday movies you love. Oh! Do you want to kick out the boys and bake something together? Oh, oh! Please make chocolate chip cookies.”

“You’re not kicking us out if Ella is baking cookies,” Achilles grumbles. “And if there are cookies, they’ll be double chocolate.”

“Shut up, caveman. We do what we want.” She smiles devilishly at him. “Maybe we’ll kick you out and make double chocolate.”

“Wren is right. You need to get fucked. Your asshole personality is getting worse.”

We all laugh at that. Well, apart from Peach. And when I hear Chris’s rare but oh-so-delicious, gravelly laugh…my entire being melts.

For a second, this feels like it should be. Me in his arms, laughing with friends. Then I remember Megan. And the need to anger him takes over.

Grabbing the drink Peach gave me, I down it and slam it back on the table. “Fuck. That’s good.”

I stand up fast, making sure Chris can’t hold me back, and stride out of the room, to the other side of the entrance hall where the kitchen is. And as I do that, I shout, “I’ll make both fucking cookies.” And I flip Chris off, just because I know he hates it.

“Uh, is she alright?” I hear Alex ask, but I don’t reply.

I can’t hear the rest of the conversation as I start focusing on baking. I preheat the oven, grab a bowl from the cabinet and ingredients from the fridge.

I’m opening the oven, ready to slide the tray of dough balls I just rolled inside, when I feel a presence behind me. I finish, set up the timer on the oven, and I’m about to turn around when two hands grab my hips, forcefully pushing me against the counter.

I try to turn around, but he grips my hair, bending me over until my cheek is on the marble countertop.

“Let me go, fucking asshole.”

“Ella,” Chris growls in my ear. “I have a secret to let you in on.” He pushes his hips forward, making sure the counter painfully digs into mine and that I feel his hard-on against my ass. “Act like a lady, get treated like one. Act like a brat, get fucked like one.”

He kicks my feet apart and makes sure to stay so I can’t close them. His fingers wrap around my forearm, slide down to my wrist, and then to my hand, leaving a trail of fiery need everywhere they touch. He delicately plays with my middle finger.

“Was it this one?”

“Seriously?” I mock him, yet I’m unable to stop the fear hardening my stomach. “Are you going to play the mob boss and cut my finger off for flipping you the bird?”

“Answer my question, Sweets.”

“Yes. Happy?”

“I will be when I make you regret acting like a little brat in front of all your friends.”

With his other hand, he pulls my loose shorts and panties to the side, then forcefully moves my hand between my legs, holding specifically on to my middle finger.

“You’re dreaming,” I groan, pushing against him with my hips to try to dislodge him.

When my wriggling doesn’t work, the panic settles in. “Chris…don’t. Everyone is across the hall.”

My voice has dropped to a whisper. We don’t have doors between the kitchen, the entrance hall, and the living room. Only large, doorless frames that separate the three different parts of the first floor.

“Stop.”

Still holding my clothes to the side with one hand, he makes me test my entrance with one finger.

“I’ll only stop if I think you’re not enjoying yourself. Your very wet pussy is telling me you’re enjoying yourself.” The rumbling vowels as he speaks low so no one hears stupidly doubles my wetness.

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