Page 72 of Conflicted Lies

I want to take everything from him when I’ve already given him so much of myself. Loving this man will be torture; the lines blurring between hate, desire, wanting to kill him, and wanting him to live for me.

All of these emotions swirl in my stomach as I ride his cock, feeding my own depravity as I take and take, moaning and crying at my own bursts of pleasure. Using and feeding off him.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known, and I feel myself lighting up from the inside and, for the first time, not forsaking my inner demon but embracing it.

My eyes shoot open, and I stare into his crystal blues, taking him with me. Taking us to a place neither of us could have ever imagined we’d go four years ago.

“Do you want to shoot me?” he grits.

“Always,” I whisper breathlessly.

“It’d be easy. Just pull the trigger.”

“Oh fuck,” I curse, my pussy flooding at the thought. “This is sick.”

“Yes, we’re fucked up together,” he says as he pants, not able to look away from me. “Take it all. My life is yours, Shortcake.”

The orgasm is blinding when it hits, and I scream and shake, the intensity tearing me in two. He groans, and I catch his lips, kissing him as he spills into me. I continue rocking my hips, taking every drop he’s willing to give to me as he curses me with unfavorable names. I eat every single one up.

This is twisted and fucked up.

But it’s everything right now.

I rub my fingers over his mouth, my eyes darting back and forth over his beautiful face as I contemplate pulling the trigger.

“Take it all. My life is yours, Shortcake.”

My heart pounds, terrified of those words. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, right? He was just in the moment.

He tries to kiss me again, but I pull back and stand.

Fuck.

What have I done?

I cross the room, my mind racing as I consider taking my chance to kill him now. The gun is in my hand, so why the fuck am I walking in the opposite direction to get my clothes?

I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I’m covered in bite marks, and my skin is smeared with blood, and I don’t even know if it’s his or mine.

I glance back at Braxton, who is now relaxed back in the chair, even though he’s still cuffed to it. “So you’re just going to run away?”

“It was fun, but I have to go now,” I say, sliding on my underwear. I search for my shirt and find it poking out from under the bed.

“You liked that as much as I did,” he states.

I reach under the bed to grab my shirt, and that’s when I see the box with all of my statues in it. My heart skips a beat at knowing he kept them, and it only riles this wild thing that’s trying to free the room.

“I did.” I try to sound unaffected as I pull my clothes on. Because,like,is an understatement. In that moment, my suspicions became a reality. I don’t hate Braxton. I don’t like Braxton. I’min lovewith Braxton. And this type of love is not made to last.

“You know neither of us can run away from this, Shortcake. You’re acting like a coward.”

I turn, swinging the gun in his direction. That’s when I see he’s no longer cuffed to the chair.

His expression is smug as he removes the cuff from around his wrist. “Do you really think I don’t know how to remove my own cuffs?” he scoffs as he saunters toward me. “Now, let’s talk about this like adults.” He steps in close enough that the muzzle of the gun presses directly over his heart.

“There’s nothing to discuss. If I’m gone for too long, my family will notice.”

He chuckles. “How much longer do you plan on hiding?”

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