50. Lia

50

LIA

"You ditched me for her!"

"Because she was lying!" I couldn't believe that Jessica's selfishness might have cost me my chance with Sarah. "I only wanted to be a good person—" I started, and she pierced me with her eyes.

"I'm sick of the men in my life trying to be good!" she shouted at me, with her whole chest. "I just want you to want me!" It was practically a howl, and then she collapsed in on herself, fresh tears streaming down her face. "Enough to stick around and not die," she sobbed, and I couldn't help it, I took her into my arms.

Sarah let me. She wiped her face on my chest and then kept crying as I held her. I realized that if Mason were still here, she and I would never have had a chance—but that that would've been okay, because I loved him too.

"You realize Mason didn't have a choice, right?" I asked, and she nodded against me. "He would've never, ever left you otherwise."

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

H e said it all casual like, and then turned to retrieve his lockpicks from my door, close it, then lock it shut behind him.

And he seemed genuinely surprised when my pants were still on when he turned back around.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked him. "You realize—I live here. And—I think you just broke up with me."

"See? That's why I want you back. Your cunning insights. Now—take off your pants."

"What the fuck, Rhaim," I complained, as he came to crouch in front of me—and then pulled a goddamned knife out from somewhere on his person.

"Take them off. Or I will take them off you."

It was a simple statement—backed up by every inch of him seething with simmering intent.

"These are my favorite! Don't you fucking dare!" I shouted, scooting backwards in panic on my couch. I had no idea what he wanted to do to me, but none of the options were good. "I haven't showered in two days," I pleaded. "I can't breathe—I'm not sexy!"

He laughed at that, like I'd told him the world's most funny joke as he folded his knife closed against his jeans and put it away. "I'm the only one who decides if you're sexy or not, little girl," he said with a wicked grin as his gaze caught mine and his eyes went hard. "And who the hell told you you could think?"

I swallowed, dry, as all of the precious air that was in my lungs left my body. "No one, sir," I said.

"Damn straight," he muttered, and grabbed hold of my sweatpants and the comfortable cotton underwear I had on underneath at my waist, practically dragging them off of me. "Do you think I'm afraid of pussy?" he asked, pausing to be mystified, after I was left exposed on my couch, with my knees clamped tight.

I'd gotten a wax for our date that hadn't happened—and I already had an ingrown hair from it.

"No?" I guessed, because I didn't think I'd get away with giving him any other of my reasons.

"Good," he said, settling down to his knees in front of me, taking one of my thighs in each hand and beginning to pry me open. "Whatever the fuck else you're thinking about—stop. You think I'd be here if I didn't want to be here?" he asked, rising up on to his knees. "You ever know me to do things I don't enjoy?"

I shook my head wildly, because it was the truth.

"That's right. Forget your fucking college boyfriends. I am an actual man—and I would fuck you face first in a fish market." I gasped, and he laughed, before going serious again. "So be a good little girl, and spread your legs for me."

I did as I was told.

I didn't have a choice.

He might've broken up with me—but I'd never broken up with him.

He reached beneath my knees and dragged me to the edge of the couch for him, putting my legs over his shoulders, and lowered his mouth to eat me.

He licked me everywhere, until there was no doubt left that he was savoring my taste, and then he pulled back to spread me with his thumbs—not my entrance, but higher, sliding my hood back, making my sensitive clit come out.

"There it is," he whispered, and proceeded to kiss it, sucking at it, sending shivers through my body, leaning forward to rub his tongue up and down—it was almost too much.

I didn't know what to do—so I ran my fingers through his hair. He made a pleased sound at that, and so I felt safe enough to rock against him, and soon I didn't want to stop. I could feel his spit and my juices running shamelessly down my crack—it went from being not enough to almost too much in no time at all.

"Oh, fuck, Rhaim?—"

"Language," he murmured against my clit.

"Fuck you," I hissed, and then I clawed my fingers against his scalp. "I'm gonna—fuck—you're gonna make me—" And then I came with a violent shudder and a moan that hurt my already raw throat. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—" I cried out, beating my hips against his tongue, my thighs trembling beside his head.

Then I rocked my head back, panting, desperate for breath.

"That was hot," he said—and I knew he didn't mean the rest of me, because I decidedly was not right now—and his gaze was on my pussy besides. "I like watching you want to take me," he confessed, his eyes finally flashing up. "Your mouth can tell me to fuck off all you want, but your pussy doesn't lie," he said, then pressed my thighs wide again with his palms and pushed his thumbs inside me, to run them up and down my walls.

It took me a bit to catch up to the moment between the cold meds and the orgasm. "What are you doing?" I asked.

He grinned and laughed, as my juices dried against his chin. "Whatever the fuck I want to."