Page 198 of The Liar's Reckoning

He stuffs two fingers into my mouth. I suck them hard, and my orgasm takes hold. I shoot all over the legs of his jeans, the floor—everywhere as I grunt and groan around his sexy gag.

“Damn, puppy…that was a lot. Figured you’d jerk off before I showed up.”

Somehow I manage to say I did before I lean back on the door, not giving a shit about the rug burning my knees.

“Having fun out of the cage?” he asks.

I nod mindlessly. I don’t know where to even begin cleaning up, so I just stare up at him and try to find where all my breath went.

“I plan to spend the night, so we should probably hit the mini bar and pace ourselves.”

He holds out a hand to help me up, and I take it, something a lot like happiness seizing my chest. He kisses me when I’m on my feet, licking his way through my mouth while I shiver as he chases his own taste with a series of erotic moans. I hang onto his bare hips and try to keep from melting into the floor.

“You are so—fucking—hot,” he says as he finally pulls away. His gaze on me is direct, like he’s daring me to contradict him.

“Thank you for being here.”

“Told you. You’re hard to resist.”

“You texted me.”

“Exactly.” He turns away, taking a moment to scan the room. Locating the mini bar, he walks over to it while stuffing his dick back into his jeans.

I follow suit and trail along behind him, wrapped up in his scent and his general presence. Devoted to it. I love that he’s here. That he plans to stay the night. I love the idea of pacing ourselves and staying up until dawn, soaking the sheets with sweat and cum.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning for everything—for the kisses, for being here, for wanting to stay.

“Don’t thank me. Thank my cognitive dissonance. It’s really doing a number on me these days.”

I should have kept my mouth shut. That’s the last thing I needed to hear. “Sorry,” I mumble, giving up on trying to say the right thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, opening the small fridge. “Mixed drink or random shots?”

61

SILAS

I’m twitching, sweat dripping, dick milked to emptiness in Graham’s ass when he taps my hip and holds up his cock for me to mount. I gather the cum leaking from his hole and spread it over his dick before shifting forward, bracing my hands on the pillow beneath his head and sinking onto him. He manages a few rough, uncoordinated thrusts, and then he’s filling me while I squeeze him with my entire posterior chain.

“Jesus,” he groans, stiff as hell as he comes with his head thrown back.

I bend to kiss his neck, wishing I could mark him up and claim every inch of his skin.

But he’s not mine. I mean he is, but not really. Not in any way that matters. It’s hard to want someone the way I want him—to know I have his whole heart, but I can’t have the rest. I mean what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

“Let’s go again,” I say because what else is there?

“Give me five minutes,” he says, still panting.

We’re on round three, heading into round four. We’re out of alcohol, but at two a.m., I consider the night young.

“We should shower.” I roll off him to lie at his side.

“That’s not gonna make the bed cleaner.”

“It’ll make your cock cleaner for when I try and suck out whatever you’ve got left in those balls.”

“Then I might need fifteen minutes.”

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