Page 21 of Filthy Liar

“You want a drink?” he asks, interrupting my perusal of his space.

Turning my attention toward him, I smile. He thrusts the bottle toward me. Wrapping my fingers around the neck, I bring it to my lips and take a small sip. The liquid burns my throat as it goes down, causing my belly to warm.

“I’m Dillion,” I whisper.

He hums. “Yeah, baby. I know.”

“How? You said you didn’t.”

He takes a step toward me, then another, until he’s directly in front of me. Pressing my lips together, I notice they’re already a little tingly. I know I didn't drink much, but it’s a little wild that I’m already feeling the effects.

Although, now that I’m looking up at this beautiful creature, I think it might be him who’s making me feel this way.

“I couldn’t let you know that I looked into you right away. That would be weird, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. When I want something, I figure out a way to get it.”

His words are laced with innuendo, and I find that I like it. Maybe it’s just his voice. Maybe it’s his looks. But I have a feeling it’s just who he is. It’s his presence and the way he carries himself. He could probably be butt ugly, and I would still be attracted to him right now.

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “So, what did you find out?”

I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that question, but I have a feeling I’m going to hear it anyway. I regret asking. I regret a lot of things, but I don’t want to be disappointed in him, this night, or in myself.

“All I needed was to know if you were married and what your name was. Anything else I wanted you to tell me yourself.”

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I turn slightly and reach for the beer that is on the nightstand. Lifting it to my lips, I take a pull. “I’ve never been married,” I state.

I’m pretty sure he already knows that, especially since he smirks when I tell him. He reaches out, slips the bottle of beer from my hand, then lifts it to his own lips.

My breath hitches as his mouth touches where mine just was. It's almost like a kiss, but definitely not because I find myself craving a kiss from his lips. Craving everything from him. Unable to take my eyes off his mouth.

“Me either,” he says. “Glad to know my sources were correct, then,” he chuckles, taking half a step toward me.

I watch as he lifts the tequila to his lips, taking a pull from the bottle. Sliding my tongue along my bottom lip, I think about taking one, too, but decide not to reach for it. This feels like a dance. It feels like we’re moving around one another but staying just out of reach.

He brings the bottle to my lips, his gaze focused on mine. When I open my mouth, he pours some tequila inside. I swallow what I can. The rest drips down my chin and then to my chest. I would feel guilty that it’s dripping onto the floor, but I don’t think he cares.

Smiling, I wipe the booze away and chase it down with some beer. My chest burns, and the woozy, drunk sensation becomes stronger. He stares at me, his eyes practically burning into mine. That’s what is making me feel this way.

He’smaking me feel this way. Trembling, I stand in front of him, wishing he would touch me. I shouldn’t wish that. I swore I wouldn’t. I don’t know what this makes me, the fact that I want this man to touch me after I’ve just had sex with another one last night. Does this make me a slut?

I’ve never been considered as one before. All the men in my family’s organization tried to get with me, and when I denied them, they called me a prude. I was a virgin when I left home.

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed that way. I threw that part of myself away as if it were a burden that I was trying to get rid of quickly.

And it was.

I wanted it gone—but I wanted nothing to do with my family’s men. I didn’t want any of them near me, not for a moment. But now I’m wondering if I’m just as bad as them. I want to pretend that I’m not like them, but I’m obviously filled with a wild instinct that can’t be erased.

It’s ingrained inside of me as much as I fight it.

So, I make an instant decision. I’m going to give myself this night. This man. This moment. Just like I do with my secret lover, and then I will be gone. I will walk away from this whole life and start anew.

Somewhere I can disappear.

I’ll take these memories, these moments, with me, and I’ll welcome them to keep me warm and satisfied until the end of my days because they will be all I’ll have. I don’t plan on dating, falling in love, or having children. These memories will last me a lifetime, and they will be all I have.

So, I'm going to throw caution to the wind.

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