Page 30 of One Twisted Lie

I swallow roughly, hoping that my face is hidden enough so he can’t see the guilt creeping in. “I think he was just trying to fuck with your dad.”

Carter takes a few silent seconds, humming to himself as he continues to play with my hair. “I guess that makes sense. Hey, Oz?”

“Yeah, babe?”

The term of endearment slips out before I can do anything about it, but Carter doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the steady pressure of his hand on my neck increases, warm and comforting as he tugs me closer.

“Are we wrong?” he asks, his voice a soft whisper. “Should we…is this something we shouldn’t be doing?”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. I know exactly what we shouldn’t be doing. We shouldn’t be fucking each other, period. We shouldn’t be talking like this as if we’re best friends, cuddling like we’re Magnus and Daniel, like we’ve known each other all our lives and can’t stand the thought of there being any distance between us.

“I…I don’t know,” I answer honestly. It’s a question I’ve been thinking of as well. Not just because of my heavy conscious, but because of the implications that this could be something other than what it started as. “I grew up hating you. Loathing you. It’s weird not to feel that way anymore.”

“What do you feel instead?” he asks, and my face heats.

Unwilling to answer, I shake my head. “You first.”

“No,” he insists in that firm, authoritative manner that always puts me delightfully on my knees. Right now, it’s not doing the same trick. When I don’t answer, he tugs gently at my hair so that I’m looking straight into those cruelly wanting eyes. “Tell me.”

There’s a vulnerability to him right now as if he wants to say something he knows he shouldn’t. It’s as if he’s wrestling with the same muddled and confused feelings I have. Torn. That’s what we are. Torn between what we know we need and what we have come to discover we want. We’re both just too afraid to say it.

But I can’t be afraid. That would make me weak. And the king of kings—an apex predator—is anything but weak.

“I’ve never felt more comfortable than when I’m with you,” I blurt out awkwardly, tripping over my words, my face heating when Carter’s eyes widen. “Um, when you touch me, it’s weird. I get all tingly. When you kiss me—”

“Does it all just not matter anymore?” he interrupts. “The hate, the feud, our parents? Does it not matter?”

“Is that what you feel like when you kiss me?” I question because that’s exactly what it is for me. He put into words what I couldn’t express. When we kiss, it all disappears. It all becomes so insignificant. It all fades to the very blurry background of our existence.

“Princess,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against the crown on my head. “I hate this. I hate how much I want you. I hate that I fucking light up whenever you’re around now. I hate that I can always taste you, like how is that possible? And I really, really hate how much I think I’d do for you.”

His words hit me square in the chest because I don’t think he hates it. In the way he’s touching me, whispering in my ear, rubbing his foot up and down my calf, all of it leads me to believe that he doesn’t hate it one bit.

And that’s where the danger lies. We went from mortal enemies to tentative fuck buddies and now to actual friends. The more I have him and the more he takes of me, the more and more I think that I’m not following my dad’s orders. Carter and I, just like this, as if the past was nothing but a bad dream.

But it isn’t. The past is real. He and I aren’t endgame. We’re satisfying our curiosities until one of us gets sick of the other. I’m burrowing under his skin because my father asked me to.

“Carter,” I mumble, snaking my hand across his stomach because the sudden urge for him has returned. We fucked just an hour ago, but I can’t resist pressing kisses along his chest and grinding my growing erection against his hip. “I…I like it when you own me. I like it when you use me like I’m nothing. It’s weird, but I almost feel free.”

It’s a freedom I crave anytime he’s not around. When we’re together, I can fully let go. I can surrender to the most primal parts of myself, let myself fall, and allow the serenity and peace of pure submission wash over me.

“Again?” he questions, but he isn’t making fun of me. I can see his own cock thickening in anticipation. He rolls me over so I’m on my back, his large body caging mine against the mattress, his glasses so precariously close to slipping off his face. “You want me again, princess? You want my cock?”

I whimper helplessly, letting the haze begin. He always takes care of me. The gentle pressure of his fingertips digging into my skin soothe me as they run down and around the back of my thighs. I yield like I’m boneless, morphing into whatever shape he wants when he pushes my bent legs all the way back until they’re practically touching my shoulders.

“I’m going to eat your ass out,” he states in his dark, hungry tone, his hands parting my ass cheeks, shamelessly on display for him. “So pink and swollen.”

The first swipe of his tongue against my hole has me shuddering. It’s not even a violent shudder—the wracking, earth-shattering kind that wrecks you—it’s one of a deep and intimate chill that threatens to freeze you over. I can feel him tingling in every inch of me, in my skin, in my chest, and in my mind. I pull my legs even further back, whining when he pulls back to bite my ass before spearing me with his tongue.

“Carter, Carter, Carter,” I mumble, hands lodged in his hair, using it to anchor me to some sort of reality. “Yes.”

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles against my skin. “How does my tongue feel in your ass?”

“Like…the best thing I’ve…ever felt.” I manage to get through slurred words, rolling my head side to side as a finger joins the gentle sweep of his tongue.

He pulls back, wiping his lips against my leg as he smirks at me. “Better than my cock?”

I shake my head. “Your cock.” I reach for him blindly, fingers urging him up and toward me, desperate for something I can’t describe. “Your cock, please.”

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