Page 57 of Cruel Lies

And then my whole world tilted on its axis, all his past transgressions forgotten for the moment.

In a scrawling script I recognized as my own, the name ‘Harpie’ was inked into his skin, traveling the line of his muscles, tempting me to run my finger along it.

So, of course, as inebriated as it was, I did.

The skin there was soft, a smooth-as-velvet inch-long expanse that made me weak and melty for the man in front of me. It didn’t matter that he’d just killed a woman in cold blood, though itshould have.It didn’t matter that we’d been at odds with each other here and there since I first asked to go back to my normal life. It didn’t even matter that at one point, I’d called him my brother.

I wanted this man. And thanks to the alcohol, I could admit it to myself.

Could I admit it to him?

"My turn," he whispered, his left hand sneaking under my chin to tilt my gaze to meet his as he took a huge swallow from the bottle. "Do you wanna see the inside of my bedroom?"

"I’ve already seen the inside of your bedroom, Nash," I started, my brain slow to pick up what he was putting down. It clicked, and a light went off in my head as a blush washed over my face. "Oh.Oh.Yes, I think I’d like that." I dragged my finger over the tiny tattoo again, mouthing the name in silence as his eyes fluttered closed and he tipped his head back, moaning at my touch.

"Fuck, Harpie," he sighed, jerking free of my touch with another groan. "Come on."

With a bottle in one hand and my traitorous, misbehavingfingers in the other, he dragged us into the safety of his room, slamming the door and flicking the lock in a heartbeat.

In the second heartbeat, he had me against the wall, his lips on mine, devouring me like he’d starved for affection for his whole life and would die without it.

And we couldn’t have that, now, could we?

"Nash," I moaned against his ear as he nibbled along my neck, his hands pinning my arms at my sides against the wall.

"Be quiet unless you want the others to hear what I’m doing to you."

"Maybe I want that," I mumbled, so incoherent I could barely form words. "Maybe I want them to know."

"Oh, you’re a naughty fucking brat, aren’t you?" He nipped the skin at the juncture of my shoulder and throat, smiling as he placed a kiss there to soothe the pain. "Fuck, Harpie girl, I wanna do bad things to you."

I broke free and dug my nails into his hair how he’d always liked, especially when he came home stressed or had it out with his father. Sure enough, like the obedient dog he’d always been, his head tipped back and moved into my touch, a small groan slipping from his lips.

"What kind of bad things, Nash?" I whispered, arching into his body like a cat in heat.

Truth was, I wanted whatever personal brand of pain Nash subscribed to. I needed to feel alive again, in a way I’d never felt before. Needed the rush, the pain, the reminder I wasalive.

Nash growled at me, his hands moving to lift me by the waist so he could throw me on his bed. "They’re unspeakable," he rasped, crawling up the bed after me. "I’m quite fucked in the head. I wanna put my blade to your skin, drag the tip across your body from head to toe." His finger drew the imaginary line up from my ankle, along the inside of my calf and thigh, swerving to the outside edge of my bikini line at the last minute. "I wanna tease you with it, keep you on the fucking edge, until you’re notsure if I’m gonna cut you or fuck you, and you just want it, no matter what my choice."

"Shit, Nash," I panted, feeling my panties dampen at the idea. "That’s hot."

"Maybe I’ll cut you just a little so I can lick the blood off your skin." His finger crawled lazily over my ribs, curling around the edge of one breast as I arched into the feeling, needing more than he was giving. "Maybe I’ll tease you until you can’t take it, and you’ll cutyourselfforme."

"Mmmm," I moaned as his hand closed around my throat, not tight enough to cut off oxygen, just enough to have my heart pounding through my chest at a mile a minute.

"Harper."

I didn’t register the movement of his hand from my throat immediately, but I felt him withdraw from me mentally. I don’t know what I’d said or done to cause such a disgusted look on his face, but I wanted to rewind and take it back off. I wanted a do-over, so he’d keep touching me like he had been.

"Harper," he said again, a little more insistently this time, his eyes hollow, voice faint and pained. "Harper, where’d you go on me?"

I couldn’t make my lips move, couldn’t say the words I needed to make him understand that I wanted this.Needed it.

Why couldn’t I say anything?

I realized belatedly that I’d shut down in one of my classic panic attacks, so with the little willpower and autonomy I had left, I curled up in a ball in his lap and muttered, ‘hold me’,and closed my eyes, focusing on things I could hear, see, smell, and touch.

One, two, three. Nash’s hands around me, rubbing up and down on my shoulders. The soft blanket under my feet, rubbing against my toes. The cool air from the air vent above his bed.

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