Page 125 of Cruel Lies

I was not a kind man.

I was a monster. And it was high time she got used to that.

"When you hurt, I wanna hurt, too," she whispered, her words as powerful as if she’d shouted them at me. "Make me hurt, Nash."

Make me hurt.

But I already had. Over and over and over, time and again. Words. Actions. Lack of actions. I’d wounded this beautiful woman more with my own hands without even touching her than Bonnie and Clyde had with their guns.

I licked the corners of my mouth, tasting blood, and then dove into her wet heat, sucking and fucking and laving her with my tongue like it was my job.

And while she moaned out loud at my pleasurable touches, I reached up and ran my fingers over her gunshot wounds, grazing them just enough to make her hiss with sudden pain.

The difference between light and dark, pleasure and pain, had me harder than a rock in my pants.

I needed more. But I wanted to taste her release first.

"I want you to come on my tongue, Harpie girl," I moaned against her clit, sucking it between my teeth to nip gently at it, relishing the way her hands gripped the sheets until her knuckles were white from the strain. "And when I’m wearing your arousal on my lips, I’m gonna come up there and show you what you’ve been missing out on all this time. We’ll cross the line together, you and me, pleasure and pain all at once."

"Fuck, Nash," she moaned, one of her hands lowering my nose back to her pussy. "Less talk, more action."

I obliged her, running my tongue up and down her slit with reverence as she arched into my touch, groaning through the pain, gritting those sharp teeth of hers as her body fought her pleasure. She wanted to come for me, I could sense it, but the pain kept it just out of reach. Like a fruit that’s just a branch too high on the tree, but you reach for it anyhow, struggling to get exactly what you want, not what life sees fit to give you.

Just like she was to me.

Or so I thought.

"Shit, Harper," I moaned as I slid a finger inside her cunt, "you’re so damn tight. How am I supposed to fit insidehere?" I added a second finger, grinning through my own pain as her tight inner walls strangled my fingers, desperate for more. "Gonna have to stretch you out so it doesn’t hurt?—"

"I want it to hurt, Nash," she panted, tossing her head back as another wave of near-pleasure washed over her. "Fuck, I’m so close."

I wanted to see her fall apart for me, wanted to feel her legs tighten around my ears as she suffocated me with her cunt. Soft sighs and needy whines accompanied the beat of my heart in my ears, my tongue sliding over her clit as my fingers fucked into her, curving to find the magic angle to make her really scream.

Turned out, I didn’t need that spot, though. As my tongue curled around her sensitive nub, my fingers gripped her hip, pulling at the healing skin, drawing it taught as she hissed—and then, she screamed my name and came all over my face.

All over my fingers.

All over me.

I relished the taste of her as I lapped away the flavor of her release, loving how she twitched and groaned, her hand slipping into my hair to tug me away from the sensitive parts of her as she came down from her high.

"I need you inside me," she pleaded, her voice drowned out by the incessant pounding at my door.

Of course Angel would think beating down my damn door would solve anything.

Fucker could ruin a wet dream.

"You’re not getting in, brother, but don’t worry—I’ll save some for you."

From the other side of that wall, his voice was angry and very strained, probably from his screaming at me for the last ten or so minutes. "You’re hurting her, Nash."

"Duh," I replied, rolling my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. "She asked for it."

I had a feeling he wouldn’t believe me, but I didn’t have timefor a whole conversation through the door with the asshole who’d insisted I not show my face to her until I got the cutting under control.

"Harpie girl, how do you want it?" I ran my hands over her taut stomach, prodding gently at the edge of her wounds as I waited for her answer. I didn’t need to peel the gauze back to see she was bleeding again. A part of me relished in that revelation, knowing I wasn’t alone in my pain. But a long-buried part of me hated that I was the cause of her pain. That I’d essentially done this to her by giving in when I knew I shouldn’t.

"I wanna look at you when you come inside me," she whispered, her hand trailing over the edges of my old scar tissue, careful not to touch the new wound. "I wana see your face."

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