Page 43 of Addicted Lies

She pales, and I can tell she’s uncertain despite being ballsy enough to stay and wait for my reaction.

Her trepidation quickly fades, replaced by a flush of red as she points her finger at me, furious. “Did you burn down that tattoo studio?”

“Yes,” I reply, trying to hide my smirk.

“Why?!” she demands, and I find it so ironic that she comes into my home demanding answers and acting like a fucking saint who’s done no wrong.

“They needed a refurb,” I tell her, then kick the door closed so the fucking cat doesn’t interrupt.

She scoffs with that nose pointed in the air. “That is showing signs of jealousy, Ford. Are you jealous?” She’s intentionally pushing my buttons.

Her hair is damp, and she looks like a fucking goddess that was crafted from the rain itself.

I take a step toward her, and her mouth snaps shut.

“No, they needed a refurb,” I repeat as her back hits the wall, and I grab her by the throat. It bobs beneath my thumb as I graze her jaw. This poisonous little vice of mine is making me act crazy, making me do things I wouldn’t usually do.

Seeing her in my room, wearing my clothes, and smelling like me, has my cock jumping to attention.Mine. Mine. Mine.

I can’t contain myself around her, and it’s a big fucking problem.

She opens her mouth to speak and then shuts it again. It draws my attention, and I trail my thumb along her lips, fascinated. I should walk away from this—fromher—so she can find herself a better man. But with that thought, my other hand grips her waist possessively. Even when I think it, my body reacts, needing to feed off her.

She opens her mouth again, and I wait for the smart-ass comment, but instead, she asks seductively, “Have you missed me?”

I’m startled by the question. My grip on her waist tightens, and I release my hold on her throat. I twist her around and push her onto the bed face-first. A small squeak escapes her as I crawl on top of her. That perfect ass is pointed to the ceiling as my shirt bunches around her hips. My mood darkens when I notice she’s not wearing panties.

She looks over her shoulder as I mount her, pressing my groin against her ass.

I slide my hand over her hip and under the shirt, skating up to her tit and grabbing a handful. Fuck me, this woman makes me crazy.

She moans and presses her bare ass and pussy against my soaking wet pants. “Have you?” she asks, almost a little desperately.

“Yes.” She seems surprised by my confession, but I don’t give her much time to think about it as I slap her ass. She buckles under the pain, red immediately blooming along her skin and blemishing her ass cheek beneath the half-finished tattoo. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll go unpunished.”

“For the grass?” She grins mischievously.

“No,” I growl as I fist her hair and yank her head back. She gasps, and I love the way her body perfectly angles into me. Like my own personal fuck toy that couldn’t be more beautifully designed. And she’s wearing my fucking shirt, which I very much want to fuck her in.

“Then what?” she whispers. I rub my thumb against her entrance, mesmerized by the pink pussy I’ve thought about every night since fucking her the first time. I thrust my thumb inside, and she arches, but I tug her head farther back so she can’t embrace her own moans.

Punished.

But her punishment is my own undoing because it strains my patience.

“Tell me, did you want him to touch you?” And the question sounds more feral than I anticipated. I insert a second finger, and she pants, her eyes searching mine as if trying to figure out what I’m referring to. Then her gaze clears as she makes the connection—Mr. Sweater Guy, who’s so fucking lucky I didn’t kill him that night. I remove my fingers and slap her cunt, tearing a scream from her. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” she’s quick to say. I rub my thumb against her entrance again. She’s already soaked. I bring it to my lips and suck; the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. She’s transfixed as she watches me.

“Did you want him to kiss you?” I ask before sucking harder on my fingers. I go to insert my fingers in that sweet little cunt again until I see the challenge flick through her gaze.

“Yes.”

My fingers hover at her entrance, and I pull my hand away completely. I release her hair and get off the bed.

“Liar,” I growl. I know she’s fucking playing this game as much as I am.

She quickly scurries to her knees, flushed in the face, her damp hair a tangled mess.

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