Page 26 of Ruse
Is this what comes next? Am I cursed to live a life of tragedy, making poor decision after poor decision because of the devastating shit that’s befallen me? Will this scandal define me?
Because that’s what it feels like. Since the moment I discovered my father’s affair, which coincides with the day my mother tried to kill herself, nothing but tragedy has followed me.
I go over my list of misfortunes.
1)My perfect boyfriend, who I now realize I felt nothing for, broke up with me.
2)Those I thought were my “friends” turned their backs on me.
3)The evil whore who ruined my life not only married my father but brought her spawn to live with us.
4)And now he’s here, the bane of my existence, wreaking havoc in my world.
I slam the screen of my laptop shut, falling back onto my pillow, and yelling into the air as I throw my now empty bowl of ice cream across the room. It crashes loudly against the wall, just as a loud howl comes from the same direction. I sit up, terrified of who or what is inside my bedroom.
To my unsuspecting surprise, I find Maverick standing in my doorway, wide eyed and fear stricken, as he stares between me and the broken porcelain on the floor.
Shit, I almost hit him. “Fuck, I missed,” I mutter out loud, pretending it was no accident.
Okay, I obviously didn’t know he was standing there, but hell perfect timing. Maybe the universe hasn’t completely forgotten about little old me.
“You better fucking tell me you had no clue I was standing right here when you threw that,” he growls as he steps into my room, without permission of course, walking toward me with the permanent scowl etched on his face that both terrifies me and enthralls me.
“Now why would I lie, Maverick?” I tease coyly, once again falling back onto my pillow, ignoring the fact he’s in my room. I stare up at my ceiling, completely disregarding he’s getting closer to me by the second with no intention of stopping. My heartbeat quickens, my palms tremble in anticipation of what comes next. “You didn’t lock your door, Nyx?”
“And why would I listen to you?” I close my eyes. If I can’t see it, it can’t hurt me. It’s bullshit, but my high on ice cream mind doesn’t know that. I guess I might have withheld the part about popping a Xany before devouring the bowl of refined sugar. Ice cream can only do so much, and I wasn't really in the mood for anything stronger.
“Closing your eyes won’t make me disappear,” he groans, his gravelly voice like music to my ears. It baffles me how he’s so in sync with what goes through my mind, like he’s inside it or somehow looking in.
Must be his super-villain power.
Or maybe I’m just that transparent.
I can feel his gaze burning me as he stares down at me, surely admiring the outfit I’m still wearing. I don’t budge, but I do, however, rub my thighs together, making the fabric of the dress ride up higher. “No, but it will at least stop me from puking everything I just ate at the sight of you.”
He chuckles as if unbelieving of what I’ve said, settling down on the bed at my feet. “Keep telling yourself you don’t want me, it’s cute.”
I sit up suddenly, irritated by his arrogance, my head slightly spinning from the sugar rush and the awareness of his nearness. “You know what hot shot? You need a goddamn reality check.” I lean forward, getting on all fours, and slowly crawl over to him. His eyes grow hungry as he watches me prowling toward him, poking at his rock-hard chest under his black shirt with my pointer finger. “You may be hot, in an,I’d fuck him just to piss off daddykind of way, and have horny chicks throwing themselves at you daily, but you’re a total fucking dick. That in my book cancels out any looks, no matter how good.”
By this time, his smirk is wide, stretching ear to ear, and doing something very off-putting to my insides. “Is that so?” he asks, leaning closer and pushing against my finger. It’s ridiculous he now looks even sexier than before, his hair damp and slightly falling over his face on one side.
I want to retreat to my comfortable spot on the bed away from him. He’s close, too close. Alarms start ringing loudly in my ear, red flags waving like they’re surrendering before me. I can smell the sweet aroma of his breath, a mix of peppermint, bourbon, and smoke, rolled together with the sweetness of a watermelon flavored jolly rancher he swirls back and forth in his mouth.
It’s hypnotizing. My eyes drop to his mouth, where the light pink candy teases me and taunts me with a good time. To be licked and sucked by his full lips and teased by the metal ball of the piercing on his tongue clinking against it. The guttural sound that leaves his lips haunts me, no matter how sure of myself I may have sounded, it’s all just gone to shit. I lick my lips in response and another feral groan, this one almost frightening, leaves him.
“Is that also what you were thinking when you were watching me workout? Tell me, did you enjoy the picture I sent?”
I want to deny it, but the way his lips move with every syllable he speaks renders me speechless. “I…”
“Shh,” he whispers, bringing a finger to my lips. “There’s no point in denying it, but don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that one came from.”
My eyes remain glued to his mouth and the candy swirling around on his tongue, clinking against pearly white teeth. Why couldn’t they be yellow, stained, and rotting from years of smoking and drinking black coffee? Then there would be no way I could be tempted.
I want a taste, just a small taste to appease this hunger that’s suddenly appeared inside of me, growing with every breath he takes. Maybe one taste is all I need to make this stupid obsession go away.
As if he’s one hundred percent aware of my sudden need, his fingers trail my forearm, making their way up and over my shoulder, tracing the deep dip of my collarbone. I inhale sharply, my heart beating unsteadily as his fingers dip further, pulling the thin straps of my dress down, the top falling beneath my breasts.
They’re out, perky pink nipples saluting their captain, eager and needy. Ready. I’m not very big, a B cup on a good day, despite my mother’s plastic surgeon practically begging me to let him work on them, but they’re nice and round, sitting high on my chest where an eighteen-year-olds tits are supposed to be.
