Page 32 of The Truths that Deceive

At my apartment, I slam the door and hit the keypad, locking us in, and then I dump her on the couch.

She scrambles back, tits heaving, one of them exposed from the struggle, and if I didn’t want her before, I sure as fuck do now.

Pale and pink with a beaded tight bud. It’s a tit men would write sonnets over, a perfect fucking breast they’d try to capture in paint and pastel.

I want to suck on it, but I do the next best thing. “Your truth’s showing. You want me to touch you. Very fucking badly.” I flick her nipple with my thumb, and she moans low.

“You’re—”

“If you’re going to call me a pervert, I can be one. Would you like that?”

I take hold of both sides of the thin silk dress and wrench it hard. It rips right down the middle and I’m greeted by perfection.

She’s sleek, long-legged, narrow-waisted, and those fucking tits are just the right side of big. Soft and plump and decadent. I shift my gaze down.

Her pussy is bare, the hair waxed away, and my dick throbs at the tiny tattoo on the left side of her pubis, a little close to her clit for my liking. It’s an electric blue, a mess of lines and shapes of a microchip’s insides.

Most women would have a fucking flower or a heart. Maybe an initial or a butterfly. If she’s really edgy, it’ll be a skull and crossbones.

Calista?

A fucking computer chip.

And it’s one phenomenal pussy. Puffy lips, clit roused—made for my mouth and cock.

I duck as she throws a punch.

Grabbing her wrist, I back her into the wall. My gaze drops to that spot on her throat, where her jugular beats hard, erratic.

I bite and suck, hard. And she cries out, a moan of need and want. When I look at her, the sweet, lightly salty taste of her moving through me, she scowls. “Fuck off.”

“Not code?”

Her neck is red, a bruise already forming, and I wait. A sullen darkness shifts over her. “I said fuck off.”

“You are fucking sweet, Calista. So fucking sweet.”

I don’t give her a chance to feel the form of her “yes” moving through me and I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze, cutting off her air as I haul her in and kiss her slow. She struggles, whimpers, and her mouth flows open, desperately seeking my kiss.

The harder I squeeze, the softer the kiss. I’m right at the edge because when she can’t breathe, she’s so fucking giving, all the turbulent thoughts and arguments are shut down and it’s just feeling.

And when she’s just feeling, she’s almost divinity itself.

But I let her go, pushing her into the wall and she coughs, splutters, and shakes. I shove her against it, my hand now on the back of her neck as I free my aching cock.

I want to jack it, but I don’t because the ache that borders on pain needs to go without any relief as I trace a finger down her spine and gather up the remnants of her dress.

“Just so we’re clear,” she says, pushing out the words, “I don’t like you.”

“Like’s got shit to do with anything, Calista. I caught you,and now I’m going to devour you, collect on the retribution you owe.”

Slipping a finger between her thighs, I slide into her. She’s right, but so wet, her pussy’s already prepped. And her low moan is an aphrodisiac in the air.

I use that hand to pull her hips back and I push her down the wall, holding her head there so she can’t move. Then I kick apart her legs, and fuck, she’s perfection. Her wet cunt on display, a little spread from where I just invaded.

I line myself up. And wait.

Not a single fucking word from her.

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