Page 48 of Torched

“There was no good time when it came to you.” It was nothing more than a puppet show with me as the fucking one-man audience. I see that now. My ego wants to believe it was real, but my heart keeps comparing it with what I have with Gen. And it’s not even close to what I had with Cristina. Looking back at those memories used to cause me pain, but now they are just empty shells. Hollow and harsh. They may have looked pretty, but that’s all it was.

“You don’t believe that.”

“Every fucking word.” My head rears until I lock my eyes with hers. They glitter under the light of the moon, the dark of the night bringing out the little golden specks as they dance around her irises. They are laced with mischief. Once upon a time, they turned me on, thinking she was a wild child that loved to play. I adored her lack of shame and how she was classy on the street, but a hellcat in the sheets. But now, I see those eyes for what they truly are; witch eyes, that can compel you like a siren if you’re not being careful enough.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Her features soften, a hint of a smile smoothing her pinched mouth, and my nostrils flare at the sight of it. I don’t want her anymore. I don’t. But still, my mind wanders to the moments that felt real for me. When she woke up in my arms or poured me a glass of wine after a long day, greeting me with a flashing smile when I walked through the door. I still want to dig into her brain and pick out all the moments we had to see if any of them made her as happy as they made me. If she had any doubts about betraying me the way she did.

“You don’t mean that.” I dismiss her, facing forward again. The sigh that follows from her chest is deep and heavy, and I close my eyes, trying to filter her out. My shoulders are tense, still on high alert with Cristina in my presence. I know she needs us, giving me the confidence she won’t try to hurt me, but this is the woman who sold me out to her psychotic cousin after I thought she cared about me. I don’t know how to feel. My mind ping-pongs like a pinball machine.

I hear her get up and my eyes lift to hers. She licks her lips in that seductive way I’ve come to know all too well, speeding up my heart rate as she reaches out to cup my cheek.

Vigorously, I snap her wrist, keeping her from touching me with a scowl set on my jaw.

Unbothered by my anger, she smoothly lifts her leg over mine, lowering herself over my groin until she’s straddling me. My organs feel like the life is sucked out of them, my pulse throbbing with velocity at her invasion of my personal space.

“Don’t you get it, Liam?” Her black hair frames her cheeks when she brings her face forward, close enough for me to notice the beauty spot on her cheekbone. I can smell a hint of her vanilla perfume, a scent that used to intoxicate me whenever I brought my lips to her neck. Swallowing, I wait for my mind to get clouded, but luckily for me, it doesn’t happen. “I mean every word of it.”

“Bullshit,” I spit, still holding a tight grip on her wrist.

The air whooshes from her lungs with a sad gaze, resting her free hand on my neck. Her touch feels scorching and dirty, but it also reminds me of how she felt when I was inside of her, and when she conveniently settles herself deeper onto my lap, I can’t help my dick from stirring alive. Thumb strokes below my ear are giving me a hard time to concentrate, but I hold her attention, ignoring the small shifts as she starts to grind over me.

“It was Junior.” Her voice sounds small and filled with regret. “He forced me to help him. You know what he was like.” Boldly, she pushes her forehead against mine, sucking me right back into her arms without effort. I let go of her wrist, giving her free rein to hold my head as I place my glass on the table next to me. Her tiny movements are growing a desire between my legs I shouldn’t feel, but I can’t seem to fight it. And it’s pissing me off.

“I do know what he was like.”

“He threatened me. Threatened mí mamá. I didn’t know what to do.” I filter out the despair in her words as her face closes in on mine with every drift of her hips. My lips part, my breathing growing heavy at the sensation she builds inside of me.

“Tell me you believe me.” Her red lips hover above mine, our noses brushing. My hand slides into her hair, cupping the back of her head.

“Please, you have to believe me. My feelings for you were real. I’ve been wanting to see you and tell you for so long.” Her whisper is clear as she keeps going, my ears registering everything I ever wanted to hear from her. “But I was scared. You and I, we belong together. I never wanted to hurt you. Buthemade me.”

Her hair feels soft as silk between my fingers, and when I notice her gaze flipping to my lips, I throw her a longing look, followed by a ghost of a smile that’s hidden in the corner of my mouth.

“I’m sorry. I really am. Please forgive me.” Water pools in her eyes. “Please, forgive me and say we can start over. I want you. The only thing I ever wanted was you. Say you believe me.”

She’s speaking to the Liam of two years ago, and I believe her. I believe every word she says, my mind fogged by thinking, hoping, and wishing she is different. That she changed and deep down has a pure heart. I once believed it and it’s so easy to slide back to that feeling when she closes the distance between us with every passing second.

Our breaths mix, her eyes hooded when she darts out her tongue, licking the seam of my parted lips. “Tell me you believe me. Please,” she begs.

Our lips are nothing more than half an inch apart. I can feel her heat as she presses her body even closer, her chest flush with mine. The tight grip on my neck sparks my body alive while my dick is getting frustrated with the tease.

“I do,” I huff.

But doesn’t she knowthatLiam, that version of me, is dead and gone.

I do believe her.

Almost.

Rigorously grabbing her black hair like she’s an animal, I yank her hair with a speed that she didn’t expect, and her eyes grow wide. With a force that’s meant to hurt, I throw her off my body and onto the floor. Like a cloth being ripped off her, she shows her true colors when her vicious gaze finds mine, a glare that’s meant to kill coming my way.

There she is.

She’s hot. I’m not going to deny that. And if I didn’t have Gen waiting for me to wrap her in my arms, I probably would’ve fucked Cristina on the deck, just because I can. But there is nothing, and I meannothing, that will ever make me forget who this woman really is. What she’s capable of, and the wood she’s carved from. She’s tainted, rotten to the core.

I once thought she was Peitho, Goddess of Seduction. But really, she’s like Apate, the true personification of deceit.

“What the fuck?” she shouts, loud enough to crack her little act like an eggshell.

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