Page 7 of Addicted Lies

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Ivy asks, coming to stand beside me. Her short blonde hair is smoothed back, and her blue eyes are fixed on the others, playing over what I now notice is a small gift. Most likely, Hawke is trying to steal the gift Billie brought for Bentley because he didn’t think to bring one.

“Hasn’t it always been?” I ask rhetorically. I like Ivy Walker, but I wouldn’t trust her as far as I can throw her. I say that about most people. It’s mostly because of the way she keeps to herself. She’s a bit of a mystery, even though I’ve known her for years. She’s close with Billie and my cousin, Hope Ivanov.

“It’s even more when my father’s here,” she says with a smirk, watching Will Walker talk to Billie’s parents, Honey and Dawson Taylor. Alina, Will’s wife, stands silently next to him, looking amused. Will has the ability to piss everyone off, and yet, somehow, everyone still likes him. That’s exactly why I’m suspicious of Ivy. She’s a prankster, in a weird, twisted way that only she seems to find humorous. Though, I do enjoy it when we play chess.

I glance back in the direction of Hawke and Billie. My eye twitches at the way she clings to his arm, trying to use it for leverage to jump higher.

I turn and head toward the house.

I need something sweet.

Now that a kid lives in Dutton’s home, there are more treats available, which is fucking fantastic for me.

I’m searching through the pantry when Billie walks in. She leans against the counter, pours a glass of water, and hands it to me. She then pours herself a glass of vodka and orange juice. A long time ago, she picked up on the fact that I don’t drink alcohol and that I only pretend to do so when around others. Not because I give a shit about what they think, but because there are certain things I don’t want people to notice about me. So I try to throw them off the scent.

“Are you not going to talk to me at all?” she asks, placing the small box between us. “This might be what you’re looking for.”

My gaze dips but not to the gift. She’s wearing a low-cut shirt that’s showing off her perfect breasts. A small, heart-shaped gold pendant hangs at her throat, and I stare at it, trying to focus on anything other than devouring her with my gaze.

I want her.

I want my next hit.

I want to eat her pussy on this counter and smack her black and blue for ignoring me all day. And it doesn’t make any fucking sense because she hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I want to fuck you. Now,” I tell her.

She sucks in a sharp breath and looks over her shoulder as if someone might hear. They can’t; they’re all the way out the back.

“We can’t do that here,” she whispers. And that’s exactly why I try my hardest to stay away; I struggle to control my impulse to grab her.

To break her.

To devour her.

To brand her.

“Here, this might tide you over. Sorry, the box is broken a little because of your brother, but I baked you some cookies. Eat them in private in the bathroom or something.” She laughs as she slides the box toward me.

I go to take the box, my hand covering hers. The feel of her smooth, cool skin against my hot, callused palm breaks my resolve. I yank her toward me and cup her pussy, holding the box in my other hand.

“I want to eat this,” I growl, and a small moan escapes her lips. “I want to taste your sweet cunt right now.”

Her lips part and then close. “Not here,” she replies, sounding unsure.

I step into her space, pressing against her so she can feel my hard cock against her stomach. I just can’t control myself around this woman. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“Kiss me?” she asks.

My eyebrows drop.

“Kiss you?”

“Yes, Mr. Badass. Ever done it before?” She waggles her eyebrows in amusement as she looks into my eyes. I don’t fucking kiss. Ever. But if it’s all the crumbs she’ll give me right now, I’ll fucking take it. “We can’t fuck here, but I might be open to?—”

I crush my lips against hers, taking whatever she’ll give me. Whatever will tide me over until the next time I can get my hit.

She seems startled at first, but her tongue finds a rhythm against mine, then submits to the way I devour her. I place the cookies down and cup her cheeks, consuming her. Scared that if I let myself get used to this, I won’t be able to stop.

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