Page 54 of The Liar's Reckoning

I bite my lips because it feels incredible—him touching me like this. “You were, and I also told you a kiss was more than you can afford.”

“You like this apartment? I’ll make you a key.”

“Why are you so hung up on this?” I ask.

“Why are you?” he counters. “Just kiss me, Silas. Kiss me, and then I’ll fuck you just like you remember.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Prove it.”

I roll my hips enough for him to feel my clenching glutes and rigid shaft. I press my nose to his warm neck and lick at the stubble along his jaw. He lets out one of those low, feral growls I remember. “Didn’t you like fucking me, Senator? My ass wrapped around your big cock? Did you like how I took it rough?”

He kisses me beneath my ear, using tongue, like he’s giving me a preview. “Was that you or just who you wanted me to see?”

“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” I say, burning up inside and close to writhing against him. Fuck, his mouth feels good. I givein to the need to kiss his neck, too. If I thought his cum tasted good, it’s nothing compared to his skin. His warmth reminds me of every Christmas Eve by the fireplace. Of sliding into a cab on a freezing day with the heater on full blast. Of the dripping skin to skin heat of two bodies building pleasure beneath a layer of quilts.

He turns his head, and I allow it. His teeth graze my jawline, and my nose brushes his cheekbone. “If you make me do this and you fucking ghost me…”

Those are all the words I get out before our mouths meet, already open, and our tongues tangle in a rough collision. Our lips seal together, and all remaining space between our bodies disappears.

His kiss is untamed. Wild. Eager. It takes a moment for me to remember he’s got almost no experience, so I take him by the head, shift the angle slightly and force a different, but equally deep and erotic pace.

I rarely kiss, so I go for broke, fucking my tongue into his mouth the way I want him to work his cock into me. We swallow each other’s moans and inhale each other’s breaths. I’m no longer grinding against a semi. He’s fully hard, and these compression pants are suddenly my mortal enemy.

This is why I didn’t want to do this. I never want to stop. Kissing him feels like more than foreplay. It’s needy and clawing and necessary like breathing. It’s our star-crossed chemistry ignited. “Oh, fuck,” I breathe, tearing my mouth away.

His mouth is on mine again in less than a heartbeat, dragging me back into this inferno.

A frenzied desperation takes hold of me and won’t let go. “Please. Get me out of these fucking clothes.”

18

GRAHAM

It’s no secret any longer why lust is considered one of thedeadlysins. Every cell in my body is going haywire. My vision is all a blur. My mind is a cacophony of small explosions, and my dick is making its best effort to launch itself off my body to get to him.

I peel off his shirt, and he stumbles backward as I continue to advance. He flings his hip pack to the floor. I stop to grab it—There are things I need in there.

Meanwhile, he’s kicking off his shoes, and the next thing I know I’m on my knees, working his compression pants down, meeting resistance at his thick ass and his rigid cock. It feels impossible to get him out of these clothes without hurting him, but his hands are in my hair, kneading my scalp and pulling at the strands with impatience as he pants and forces his exposed crown past my lips.

I take him in, tasting his spicy precum and scenting his crotch. The musk of him is strong and drugging. My salivary glands kick into overdrive, and I suck him sloppily as he moves my head back and forth over his length. I gag, and he groans, which only makes me want to gag on him again.

My body has never needed anything this much. I want to be all over him. Consuming him. It feels like coming home after years abroad. That he’s allowing me this—I could kiss his feet.

With a pained groan, he pulls my mouth off his cock. Drool drips down my chin as I stare up at him. He looks wrecked and gorgeous. “Pants,” he says in a strangled whisper.

I help him out of them, and as I stand again, I manage to rid myself of what’s left of my own clothes. He grabs me by the hips and pulls me against him. Our mouths collide. We’re both sweating, and our bodies glide smoothly against each other as I keep working him closer and closer to the bedroom.

We don’t make it—not anywhere close. He takes his pack from me, unzips it, pulls out a small bottle of lube, hands me a condom and says, “Now. Here. Fuck me.”

As I obey, and my shaking fingers fumble with the condom, he turns toward the island countertop and stuffs two lubed fingers into his own ass. My jaw goes slack as I watch him work himself open. The sight of his hole triggers memories I haven’t managed to suppress, but the image of him penetrating himself brands itself into the filthiest corner of my brain.

He groans and puts on a show—like he knows exactly how hot he looks. How much I would want to see this.

“God…” he grunts. “Fuck…” He slides his fingers out—wet, glistening, reaching for me.

I step in. With a glance over his shoulder, he grabs my dick and tugs me forward. I practically fall into his ass, and he presses back, swallowing me whole with an unrestrained groan. That same hand takes hold of my ass and keeps me flush against him.

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