Page 9 of The Masks We Wear

Spencer follows behind me, and I can feel his eyes searing into my skin, lighting my back on fire. I shouldn’t, but I like it. The combination of excitement, fear, arousal, and my plan circulate in the thick air around me, settling in my lungs. I suck in the sweet air and open my bedroom door, careful to leave the lights off.

He walks over to my empty desk, tossing down his journal. “What’s going on? We’re supposed to be working on the project, Lily.”

I know it’s my preferred name, but hearing it from his lips feels foreign. Like he’s talking to someone else entirely. But his dark gaze is locked on me, his eyebrows knitting together in a delicious scowl.

My lips part and my tongue peeks out to sweep across my suddenly parched mouth. The dull ache in my belly flares when I see Spencer’s throat bob. The muscles in his jaw tighten as his eyes begin trailing down my body. It’s almost as if he’s fighting the very act, and it turns me on. The thought that my old friend might see me, with just a fraction of the desire I’ve held for him, lights a match between my thighs.

I take large strides toward him, eating up the space in seconds. He stiffens, and I can’t help but drink him in under the moonlight spilling in from the window.

He runs a hand through his dark locks, pausing at the base of his neck. A muscle in his bicep twitches as he massages it before repeating himself. “What are you doing?”

I’m so close to him now, I can taste the mint in his breath. It mingles with mine, sending shivers down my spine. He closes his eyes, letting out a quiet, controlled sigh, and when they open, the passion darkening them swirls with the caramel.

In just those few seconds, I can feel my mask slip. The one that keeps me safe and guarded against all the things I’m terrified of. His eyes pierce through it, forcing me to see him too.

He’s beautiful.

He was supposed to be… mine.

I wrap my arms around his neck and rise on my tiptoes, my lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Do you want me, Spencer?”

He moves his head to look at me, his jaw tight as he examines my face. He blinks a few times before his gaze finds my lips. “Whatever this is... stop, Liliana.”

There it is. Even if it’s just for this moment, he sees me—remembersme, and I take full advantage.

My tongue sweeps across his earlobe before dipping down the curves of his neck. He stiffens, grabbing my hips to keep me from smothering him with my body, but he can’t control the growl that erupts from the back of his throat.

“Liliana,” he warns, his voice impossibly deeper.

It makes the fine hairs on my arms stand, every sense suddenly heightened. Strong fingers sink into me, but I can tell by the way his breath hitches that he’s losing control. Losing the willpower to keep from giving in to something that’s been brewing for way too long. I kiss his soft skin, trailing my lips down his collarbone. He grips me tighter the more I push into him.

“Spencer, just fuckingfuckme already.” My voice is too heady, too desperate, too real.

But it does the trick. He releases my hips, and our bodies collide. One arm wraps around my waist while the other snakes up my back, and he tangles his hand in my hair, gripping it by the root. He tugs my head to the side, exposing my neck.

I hiss as the sharp pain subsides and turn into jolts of pleasure when his mouth connects with my jaw. His warm tongue slips across my pulse point, and my head tilts further, urging him to continue.

My sex throbs as he continues his descent and my knees begin to shake, forcing me to shift my weight onto him.

I yank on the hem of his white shirt, pulling enough that he lifts his hands, letting me tug it over his head—the dips and ripples of his muscles on full display. His glasses fall from his face, and he laughs. It’s low, and the vibration against my chest heats my core.

He hooks his finger beneath my chin, tilting it gently to look at him. The golden flakes in his eyes shine in the moonlight. In this moment, I forget everything, too transfixed, utter putty in his hands to bend as he pleases. It’s as if the smolder has been waiting ten years to ignite.

His hand moves to cup my cheek, and I lean into it, my eyes closing under his warmth. I feel it before I open them—the heat of his lips closing in on mine.

No.

I promised myself I would do anything but that. The connection of our mouths would reveal the truth I won’t admit, not even to myself, and ruin all the things I have planned.

Pushing him into the bed, he huffs, not seeming to notice my deflection. I climb on top of him, digging both knees into the soft mattress on either side of his thighs. His sculpted body lays beneath my heated core, a definite bulge pressing into my ass.

I hook a finger in the waistband of his sweats, and he lifts his hips, allowing me better access to rip them from his body. His erection slaps against his stomach. It’s even bigger than it felt, rock-solid, and glistening at the tip. I have an indescribable urge to lick it but instead chew the inside of my cheek to distract me.

Spencer grabs my forearm, pulling me flush on top of him, a primitive growl escaping his throat at our connection. His thumb frees my lips from my teeth before stroking the length of my jaw. “You are so incredibly infuriating.”

“And it turns you on,” I counter, gesturing toward his massive erection.

His eyes narrow, but before he can respond, I take out handcuffs hidden beneath the pillow. I clamp them on his wrist, which is in the perfect spot above his head, just under the metal headboard. He’s attached to the bed faster than he can blink, and I have to laugh at the way his thick vein pulses in his neck.

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