Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) (16 page)

Keys in hand, they jingle in the silent night, but I make no move to fit them into the lock, just like Dexter makes no move to kiss me. In fact, rather than move closer, his hands disappear into the pockets of his navy pea coat, stuffed inside protectively. Whether it’s against me, or the cold, frigid air, is beyond me.

“Thanks for inviting me along today, despite all the crazy.” A smile tips my lips. “Your sisters are really something. Do you even realize how much they love you?”

“Of course I know how much they love me. They have to; I’m their brother.”

“No, I mean—they really love you. They set this whole thing up; getting me to your mom’s house to bake cookies so I’d be thrust in your path. Emailing me from your phone. Breaking up the tension with Elliot and threatening to cut a bitch.” This earns me a low chuckle. “You are their everything. It’s…”

“I haven’t thought of it that way. They’re such pains in my ass most of the time it’s easy to lose sight behind their intentions.”

“I bet. But truly—they adore you.” My hand finds the sleeve of his thick, wool coat, and I squeeze, relishing the feel of him under my gloved hand. “
I
adore you, Dexter.”

With a nervous blush that has nothing to do with the cold, I glance from under my long lashes into his brown eyes and wait for his reaction.

Pleasure curves his mouth. “You do?”

“I do.”

He hums. “That’s good because I adore
you
.”

“You do?”

His head dips. “Yeah.”

Beneath the awning of my tiny condo, under the winter stars, our lips touch for the second time tonight. And when he finally digs his hands out of his pockets, our fingers lace together.

I shiver.

“You need to get inside,” he murmurs at the corner of my mouth. “It’s freezing.”

“Dexter,” I breath, a tad wistful. “Come inside with me.”

My key goes in the lock. Feet hit the tiled foyer; shoes get kicked off. Large hands find the base of my neck, pulling me in hungrily and pushing my back against the wall in the entryway.

“I really
do
want to talk and get to know you, I swear I do.” He breaths into my hair. “But all I can think about right now is—”

“—Ripping all my clothes off and—”

“—hauling you to the bedroom.”

Oh jeez, we’re doing our own version of the Twin Speak thing, finishing each other’s sentences, the words flowing out our mouths as our lips and bodies collide. My hands fist the collar of his coat, seeking out the row of toggles barring me from unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Dexter sheds his coat, thank god; it drops to the floor in a heap, followed by his knit hat, gloves and—only Dexter would remove his socks.

Grinning like a fool I shuck my own coat, hat and gloves, adding them to the pile on the floor.

L
eading Dexter up the stairs and down the narrow hallway to my bedroom, I turn to face him once we’re through the threshold of my door. Instead of a hurried frenzy to tear at each other’s clothes, we face each other, drinking each other in from head to toe. Admiring each other.

Reveling in each other.

My chest swells with complete happiness when Dexter’s hand gently cups my cheek, his fingers stroking my jaw line as he watches me, one part captivated—the other part aroused.

My eyes flutter shut when he leans in to land a kiss to the corner of my lips. The curve of my cheekbones. My eyelids.

Pleasure sends a ripple of tingles surging throughout my body, tipping my head back, giving him the access he needs to—

Gently suck on my neck.

His tongue slides leisurely along the column of my throat until his nose is buried in the hair behind my ear. A moan escapes my lips as our breathing becomes labored—I swear we’re both panting; but is that his breath or mine?

Our tongues are sliding together when our bodies finally meet; my body sighs in relief. Exhales. Vibrates on high with anticipation.

“I love these glasses,” I slur, finger tracing the frame at his temple, back-and-forth…then back again.

“What?” Dexter sounds as drunk as I feel.

“Your glasses, your glasses, God I love your glasses.”

“You don’t say?” More kisses against my neck. “That’s got to be a first.”

His ministrations on my body feel so good I can barely roll my eyes. “S-somehow, I doubt that.
Mmm
… you would be surprised at how…
your tongue feels so good
... many women find glasses and bowties and suspenders sexy.”

“I only need
one
woman to find it sexy.”

“I do, I do,” I chant, finally groaning into his mouth when our mouths meet; finally, blessedly meet.

“Take them off me,” he demands.

So I do.

I do; and he’s gorgeous.

H
oly shit.

Daphne Winthrop is taking off my shirt
.

Tugging the hem from the waistband of my dark jeans… hands splayed on my smooth chest, her soft palms running over my abs and pec muscles. Fingers trace my hardening nipples.

I bite down on my lower lip, nostrils flaring. At my sides, I clench and unclench my fists. The desire to wrap my hands around her waist is unbearable when she finally pushes the dress shirt down over my shoulders, down my arms, down to the floor.

Daphne Winthrop is taking off my pants
.

Belt.

Then, before I can wrap my brain around it, the snap on my fly is popped open, the zipper slowly being tugged down. So slowly the simple sound of the metal track coming undone has my dick throbbing painfully hard.

Anticipation pulses through my veins, every fantasy I’ve ever had can’t beat this reality as my pants get pushed down around my ankles.

I step out of them, and am slowly propelled towards the bed in nothing but my boxer briefs. My legs hit the mattress as she propels me back, back, back.

“Lay down against the headboard?” comes her quiet request. “I want you to watch me undress. Is that okay?”

Somehow, I manage to nod.

Swallow air.

Breathe Dexter
, I remind myself. Breathe.

Holy shit. Daphne Winthrop is about to strip all the clothes off her gorgeous body and get naked.

For me.

She starts at the top button of her collared shirt, plucking one free from the hole, then another.

One.

Two.

My eyes are riveted to that gap of exposed skin; fucking riveted as a third button is plucked free, followed by a fourth. Her hands pause momentarily to part the seam of her shirt, the creamy expanse of cleavage sacredly, beatifically—
oh shit
—full. I’ve heard the phrase “spilling over” a few times, but I’ve never seen boobs overflowing a bra in person.

I force my face to remain impassive; willing my jaw to stay closed.

Instead of unbuttoning the rest of her pretty, preppy shirt, her hands glide to the waistband of her jeans. The snap on her fly opens; zipper forced down. I watch as her hands drift over her pale, perfect skin and push the denim down over her slim hips.

White lace boy shorts.

Flawless porcelain skin.

Daphne steps out of her skinny jeans, leaving them on the carpet in a heap, and strides slowly forward, fingers poised on the fifth button of her shirt as she comes to stand next to the bed.

With baited breath, I wait.

H
e can’t take his eyes off me, and quite honestly, he’s holding so still I’m afraid he’s stopped breathing. Dexter is completely… motionless. Crap. What if the sight of my near naked boobs gave the guy a stroke?

I pause, waiting to unbutton number five. “Dexter?”

His mumbled, incoherent, “Huh?” puts a coy smile on my lips, giving me leave to continue my strip tease.

Climbing up onto the bed, I crawl towards him in the center of the mattress and note with satisfaction his nostrils flaring when I straddle his hips. Dexter’s hungry eyes roam my body as I pull off my pale pink shirt, dragging it slowly down my arms. Unceremoniously, I toss it on the ground next to the bed.

“
Oh shit
,” he groans when I reach back and unclasp my bra; it joins my shirt and jeans in a pile on the floor.

Only underwear separates us now.

I lean forward, my breasts rubbing against his chest, the sound of his gravelly groan and my moan filling the air. My hands roam his smooth pecs; Dexter is toned perfection. Olive skin that’s sinewy and trim and hard with perfect nipples. I run my trembling hands over them now, fingering one in a leisurely… burning… tease.

Beneath me, his hips give a jerk, and I rotate my pelvis onto his straining erection; it’s just
begging
for attention.

Begging.

Begging and hard and rubbing so painfully good against my center that a stifling whimper gets caught in my throat as Dexter finally leans forward to capture my lips with his.

Suddenly, I’m on my back, his mouth and tongue are everywhere.

My neck.

My collarbone.

My breasts.

Oh god, my breasts. I arch my back into his mouth as he
sucks and licks and squeezes
, the pressure building between my legs so agonizing that when I pull his hair, we both gasp out in pleasure.

“You are going to drive me out of my damn fucking mind,” he rasps, grinding and grinding his dick into the apex of my thighs, his head still bent at my breasts. His large hand cups one, squeezing gently. “Jesus Christ you feel so good.”

I glance down between our bodies at our pelvises pressed together, feeling my eyes glaze over with arousal. Excitement. Wanting to
feel
him, I find the elastic waistband of his boxers, my fingers trailing along the edge before going under. Inside.

Grasping the hard, rigid length of him.

Stroking him up and down as he whimpers and moans into my mouth; it’s a low, tortured guttural sound that has me desperately pushing his underwear down his hips, my palms smoothing over his firm backside.

Dexter flexes as I squeeze and knead, pulling him down into me by the ass cheeks, eventually, he kicks off the offensive boxers.

“Get on your back,” I whisper when he’s scrumptiously naked.

I start at his neck, languidly lavishing kisses along the pulse beating erratically in his throat—his heart. Kiss his stomach, lick his abs, his belly button and below…