Page 62 of The Obedient Lie
To hear herwhimpermy name like she meant it.
She straightened up, completely unaware of what she’d just done to me.
She sat on the bed, legs tucked up, scrolling her phone like none of this was happening.
Like she hadn’t just walked through the dorm in satin that clung to her like fuckingsin.
Every few seconds, she reached up, fingers brushing her neck.
Maybe it itched. Maybe it was just habit.
But each time she did it, the hem of her top lifted.
Higher. And higher.
Until I saw it—the underside of her breast. The softest curve.
Just there. Just barely.
But I saw it.
And when I looked harder, closer, slower.
I could see the outline of her nipples beneath the satin.
God help me, Inoticed.
I wasn’t breathing. I was watching.
Every shift of her hips. Every flex of her thighs beneath that pale pink fabric.
Every quiet inhale she took as her thumb moved across the screen.
And she had no idea the kind of torment she was putting me through.
Me—who took punches like air. Who kept knives like secrets.
Who once knocked a man without blinking—with one clean shot.
Now reduced to this.
To a silent storm brewing in my own damn bedroom because the girl we couldn’t stop wanting was back in our space—soft and satin-wrapped—like nothing had happened.
She pouted—just slightly. A soft little frown on her face as she stared at her phone.
Then she turned on her knees and started crawling toward the bedside table.
I nearly fuckinglostit.
Her back arched, satin riding up just high enough to show the curve of her ass, those shorts clinging like second skin.
The pale pink lace pressed to her thighs like a promise I hadn’t been allowed to cash in on.
I pictured it then—reallypictured it.
Pushing those shorts to the side.
Forcing her legs wider.
