Page 40 of Bitter Lies

Nodding, I stop in the threshold of my room, stepping back in surprise when Griffin fills the space and watching silently as he closes the door behind him.

“You think you can make me jealous, sweetheart?” he says with a smirk.

“Ha! You’d have to have a fucking soul,” I sneer, my heart rate picking up when he steps into me and grabs my hips.

“Is that right? Well, you got my attention either way.” He pulls me into his erection with a leer.

Gasping, I can’t help the moan that escapes as he rubs wickedly against my core, and a cascade of tingles rushes through me wildly. I may hate his fucking guts as much as I still love him, but the fiery need he creates is something I can’t resist. Maybe because he makes the ugly disappear, and I crave the feeling of being clean. I don’t know, but he makes me reckless.

“Fuck, it’s always been you,” he mutters, lifting me into his arms as he turns toward the door and bucks into me heatedly.

“Oh.” My core spasms under the harsh friction.

“Yeah, oh,” he growls, dropping me to my feet and spinning me around. “You drive me fucking crazy, Halsey. You fucking consume me,” he pants, as I wait breathlessly for him to touch me.

He pulls my pants down and runs his fingers over my pussy lips before pulling them completely off and tossing them away. With my hands braced on the door, I push my ass out and moan when he runs his fingers over me once more, up between the folds and back down, teasing me in long gentle strokes.

I’m about to beg, because I don’t care about anything but the pleasure hovering at the fringes of my consciousness, when he pumps his fingers inside, and heat surges through me wildly. With another desperate groan, I arch my ass into him as he thrusts into me and stretches me wide. “Mm, tight and wet.”

“Oh god,” I whisper, tilting my head back wantonly as I ride his fingers, plunging inside me roughly.

He palms my clit at the same time, grinding deep, and an orgasm surges through me so quickly that I cry out and spasm painfully. But before I have time to come down, he’s inside of me and thrusting deep, and I’m racing back to pleasure again, braced against the wall as he fucks me rapidly.

His feral need as he slams into me so harshly that I have to brace my trembling arms on the door creates a havoc of butterflies in my stomach as I moan into the universe and miraculously surge toward another orgasm.

The only sound other than my cries are his pants against my neck as he growls, “Fuck, sweet. So good. You gonna come on my dick?”

“Griffin,” I moan, spasming around him.

“Fuck.” He bottoms out and pumps into me shallowly as I convulse around him. “So fucking sweet.”

Collapsing against the door, I pant into my folded arms as he pulls back out and surges into me over and over, his cock battering me before he shudders and spews inside me naughtily. His hands are tight on my hips as he twitches, and the last of his pleasure jerks from him in tiny pulses before he leans against my back and heaves for air.

The feel of his warm skin against mine creates an ache in my cavernous chest, and as I come down from my high, regret immediately sets in. I just allowed the jerk who cast me away for a bet to dick me against a door, no less.

Where is my self-respect? Fuck.

Stiffening below him, I wince when he pulls free, turning away and pulling on my shorts angrily.

The silence is fraught with tension as I redress, but I refuse to look his way, and after a moment, he says, “Halsey?”

Ignoring him and what I’m probably delusional in thinking was need I heard in his tone when he took me savagely, I concentrate on buttoning my shorts. Only to silently sigh when my mental state is confirmed, and he chuckles. “What? You’re going to pretend you didn’t like it?”

Wincing at the words, even though Griffin will never know their meaning for me, I rub my forehead tiredly, “Just go.”

“Whatever,” Griffin says roughly, his brows slamming over his eyes, “but for the record, I don’t agree with the boys. No wildcat in sight.”

He doesn’t wait around for my response, which is just as well because murder was my only other option.

Chapter Twelve

There is no redemption—only hell.

“You seem tense, Halsey,” Dr. Marks says, tilting his head as he studies me.

“Yeah,” I whisper, playing with a loose string on my pants.

“You want to tell me what’s bothering you? That’s what I’m here for,” he jokes, and I smile halfheartedly.

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