Page 67 of A Smile Full of Lies
Then his gloved hand slid lower, curling beneath my ass, squeezing with a fierce, claiming possession that stole the last of my resistance. He hauled me up against his body and dragged me down the hard line of his thigh, forcing me to grind against the muscle.
My breath caught and my blood sang. I was loving every second of this… whatever the fuck this was between us.
My head snapped back against the door with a ragged moan, eyes fluttering shut. Sparks danced behind my eyelids.
“That’s it,” he purred, rocking me against him like a doll. “Be a good girl for me.”
The words hit me like a flash-bang. My clit throbbed and I tugged him closer, basking in the heat that radiated off him. My face twisted with a combination of fear, shame, and unbearable pleasure.
“Come for me, baby.”
The command crashed over me, final and inescapable. My back arched off the door and a sharp, broken cry ripped free of my throat. My body trembled violently, every nerve overloaded, every muscle seizing as my orgasm tore through me harder than I thought possible, wracking me until I thought I’d break apart.
He held me through it, his grip iron on my hips, guiding me, drawing me down until the aftershocks left me soft and ruined against him. My forehead dropped to his chest, pressed into the soft black cotton of his shirt, and I breathed him in. He smelled of heat and dark things, and my breath came in shaking, uneven sobs of release.
His gloved hand slid through my hair, slow and deliberate, feeling every tremor that still ran beneath my skin. I sagged against his chest, body trembling like I’d run a marathon and lost.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, low and soft in my ear.
The words twisted something deep inside me. I hated them. I needed them. They branded me from the inside out.
Even when his hands finally slipped away — lingering at my sides for a beat too long before retreating completely — I was still swaying, knees weak, lungs burning.
The soft metallic click of the door’s lock releasing behind me jolted through my fog.
I turned and my hand lifted, almost without my permission, twisting the knob on instinct. For the first time since the lights had gone out, I realized I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side.
The door swung inward with a low groan. My body moved before my mind caught up, carrying me inside on shaky legs.
I froze just past the threshold.
My gaze snagged on a frame hanging to my left, a massive, ornate gold thing that didn’t belong in a haunted house maze. My breath caught, chest squeezing so tight it hurt.
It was a portrait. Not just a picture, a painted canvas.
Knox.
He was younger, barely eighteen, in a stiff black cap and gown, his jaw set, blue eyes burning with that restless fire I’d always known. My heart kicked hard against my ribs as I stared up at the portrait, the edges of the world tilting around me.
This is Knox’s goddamn childhood bedroom, not part of the haunted attraction and not part of Nox Obscura’s labyrinth, either.
My lips parted, but no sound came out. My eyes burned. I lifted a trembling hand and brushed the edge of the frame, fingertips skating over the textured metal like it might dissolve if I pressed too hard.
My other hand clamped over my mouth, trying to smother the way my breath grew louder, faster, ragged.
“I…”
The word cracked out of me, shattering into a million pieces. My vision blurred as tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill.
I reached higher, my fingertips grazing the painted edge of his jawline. My eyes squeezed shut, a hot tear slipping down my cheek.
The words tore free, raw and wrecked, before I could stop them.
“I wish it had been you who just made me come, Knox.”
The silence after those words hung heavy. My heart slammed so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest. I dragged in a sharp breath and turned, searching the doorway, needing — desperate — to see the man who’d just wrecked me still standing there.
But the hall was empty, dark, and silent.
