Page 61 of Filthy Liar

“The fuck is absolutely right,” I snap. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

This man has the nerve to look at me with confusion. He’s seriously not sure what the hell I’m saying to him. Like he’s shocked that I’m speaking to him this way and not wrapping my arms around him in a huge hug.

Before he can open his mouth, I continue speaking. “I’ll tell you what you are. A liar.”

“A liar?” he asks, his cheeks turning red.

He has the fucking audacity to act pissed off that I called him a liar. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare at him, narrowing my eyes to slits before I lean forward. “I know you’re my secret lover, Humble. I know that you lied to me, pretending you weren’t. I know you’re a fucking asshole.”

Humble smirks. “Baby, I never said I wasn’t an asshole,” he murmurs.

I almost laugh in his face. “Well, I’m glad you’re owning that, but you left out the part where you think that you own me, too. So I am just a game to you.”

My chest puffs up as I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a moment. I’m trembling. I’m so angry. I want to scream and cry. I want to turn and run. I want him to tell me that none of it is true. I want him to tell me that he fell in love with me at first sight and that this was all just a huge misunderstanding.

But it isn’t.

I can see it in his eyes.

“You do not own me, Humble,” I whisper. “Nobody does.”

The moment he snaps, the second he’s sick of hearing me talk, he moves toward me.

It only takes one step.

One lift of his arm.

He wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me against his chest. I place my hands between us against his chest, and I try to push him away, but he anticipates it.

He doesn’t freaking move. He’s rock solid.

“You done?” he asks.

“No. No, I’m not done.”

He snorts out a laugh, then dips his chin and touches his lips to mine. I try to push him away again, even as my lips part and I open for him. He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around my hips as he grips my skirt, shimmying it up to my waist.

Then his hand dives between my legs, hooking the center of my panties before he shoves them over and buries two fingers inside me. I gasp against his lips.

His tongue continues to taste me.

Consume me.

Own me.

As much as I despise it, I want to tell him that I need him. I want to beg him to touch me. I want him to tell me that I am wrong, that none of it happened the way I think it did, but he’s not saying anything. He’s not denying a damn thing, and that’s when I know it’s all true.

He thinks he owns me. Hewasmy secret lover and pretended he wasn’t. Like he was meeting me for the first time. He lied to me.

He is a liar.

I am so angry at him right now, but when his fingers move inside of me, I’m weak for him, too. I close my eyes as my head falls backward, my lips parting as I let out a heavy sigh. His fingers move, then his knuckle swirls my clit before he slips his fingers inside of me again.

“Dillion,” he growls.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say, my voice coming out in pants.

He chuckles. “It means everything, baby.”

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