Page 38 of Conflicted Lies

Taking the lead as I melt into the abnormality that is Braxton Hero.

And I let him.

Oh boy, do I let him.

He lowers me until I can feel the tip of him at my entrance. He holds me there, not moving, his lips lightly brushing mine. I rock my hips, pressing down just a little bit with each movement until I feel more pressure at my opening. He doesn’t stop the kiss and, slowly, I lower myself down, leaning back with my hands on either side of his knees as I take his entire length. His hands twist through my hair to keep me close, and he deepens our kiss.

I taste blood. I’m not sure if it’s his or mine or both, but I lap it up.

It brings me to life, and who I am in this moment is far from the woman I present outside this room. This is my depravity and something I’ll cling to if it’s the only time it can see the light of day.

If there’s one thing I know, I could never get sick of the way this man kisses me, and I’ll think of him fondly even when I do have to put a bullet through his brain.

Once I’m fully seated on him, I almost take back the words about having seen a bigger cock than his, but fuck, he fills me so well. His hands glide down my body until they grip my hips. He starts rocking me back and forth, never breaking our kiss, and my breath becomes labored as I try to keep up with all the sensations running through my body right now.

I don’t know how he can ignite every single piece of me that he touches, especially my lips. But he does. He pulls back, holding me still as he looks at me.

“Can you see without these?” He taps the arm of my glasses.

“Barely,” I answer truthfully.

He takes them off, tosses them to the end of the bed, then quickly flips me onto my back so he’s hovering above me. He doesn’t waste any time as his hands find my wrists and pin them above my head. My legs wrap around his waist. And he fucks me. Into absolute oblivion.

He hits all the right fucking spots. He lowers his head and bites my breast, and I know he’s marking it. Then he does the same with the other. All the while, his cock continues its punishing rhythm. I can feel the scream working its way up my throat, but before I can release it, he’s kissing me again, taking it away.

He keeps tugging at that damning part of me that wants to be seen, stroked, pleased, and engulfed in danger and darkness, and he violates it, provoking it into the most toxic elixir I’ve ever consumed.

I never want this to stop. Ever.

For the first time, I feel fully alive and seen.

“Such a fucking bad girl,” he growls as he grips my throat and cuts off my air. I want to stop breathing. I want my heart to stop. I want to go to the extreme, to skirt the edge of no coming back. The build grows as I relinquish all control, riding the orgasm that he’s about to rip out of me.

“I fu-fucking hate y-you,” I scream, my body convulsing under his weight as a painful and electrifying buildup explodes within me.

“Fuck,” he grits as he jerks inside me, breathing heavily into my ear as I curl my arms around his back, my nails dragging down his skin as if I’m petting him, but I also want to hurt him. But I’m too tired for the fight. I feel nothing but bliss.

The darkness within me recedes as if exhausted from being exposed and exploited.

He’s heaving in breaths as he pulls out of me, rolls to the side, and then stands, looming over me. He brushes sweaty locks of hair from my face. I feel dead like he’s sucked out my soul and left behind a barely functioning body. I can’t see his expression because my eyesight isn’t the best without my glasses, but I’m certain his gaze rakes over me. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, then turns and walks away.

I lie there, trying to catch my breath. I hear the fridge open and then close before the sound of his footsteps comes closer. That’s when I see him again, holding out a bottle of water, but I don’t want to move to take it. I’m not sure if my legs or arms will work right now. What the fuck just happened? It’s so crazy that I want to laugh.

This is madness.

“I need to go,” I tell him.

“But I haven’t even shown you my gifts yet, Shortcake.”

I manage enough energy to shake my head and sit up. Finding my glasses I put them on and look at the carnage of the room. All the photos, strings, and pins are scattered on the floor. The coffee mug from the dining table is shattered, and paperwork is strewn everywhere. A few droplets of blood dot the wooden floors. And when I look at Braxton’s bare feet, I notice he must have cut himself on a shard of the coffee mug or lamp. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, though. If he did, he’d care about the small bleeding hole at his throat from my stiletto. The gun rests on the table, and a guttural growl vibrates in my chest, recalling the smooth slide of it inside me.

Every part of me aches, and when I look down at myself, I see my skin is a map of bites and marks.

Oh my fucking God. What did we do?

I shouldn’t be into this, right?

“I have your statues under my bed,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. His hair is mussed, sweat glistening on his forehead.

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