Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) (17 page)

I suck.

And swirl.

And suck.

“
Oh fuck, oh f-fuck
,” he chants, clutching the bedspread with a vice grip in his fantastically large palms. “
Fuck, oh fuck.”

He’s babbling and grimacing in agony and it’s glorious
.
His dirty cursing only serves to make my lady parts tingle. Ache.

“Shit...stop, baby, I want to fuck you… stop, Daphne… don’t stop. Oh…f-fuck.”

He comes, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Y
ou’re so beautiful,” I murmur into her ear, my cock already hard again. “So beautiful.”

I can’t even believe this shit is real; that I’m in her bed and she’s spread out next to me, my hand roaming her smooth, naked skin.

And that she’s letting me.

Or that she’s encouraging me.

My dick has literally
never
been in a girl’s mouth.

And Daphne Winthrop
blew
me.

On purpose.

Speaking of which… her hand clasps mine, dragging it down under the covers and onto her right breast; I begin a slow caress with my thumb that has her throwing her head back on the pillow and breathlessly saying my name.

Not gonna lie: I push the bedspread down so I can watch my hand stroke her boobs. They’re full and round in my palm, her nipples pink and perfect. Obviously watching myself fondle her tits makes my dick throb; I’m starring in my own goddamn sexual fantasies for Christ sake.

“
You’re
beautiful.” Her hand is on my inner thigh, then my pulsating cock, as she whispers in my ear. Licks it. “Everything about you turns me on.”

“Daphne, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…” Shit. Fuck. Damn. “I… don’t have a condom.”

Her hand grazes my cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I do, I do. I mean… it’s a
hundred
years old, but… I’m also on the pill so…”

Within moments the package is being ripped open, the condom is on and I’m sliding home, the only coherent thoughts after that?

If I died right now, I’d already be in heaven.

“I
love Star Wars,” I slur as he rotates his hips—pressing me harder against the wall, his hands gripping my ass and squeezing. “I love it.”

“Oh yeah?” Grunt. Pant. Groan.

“
Yes
, oh…oh! Yes.” My toes curl.

“Fuck yeah you love Star Wars,” Dexter moans as he grinds and grinds those lean, sexy hips, his hand gripping my backside. Gripping my ass. “Uh… god… fu-ck
kk
…”

“Dexter,
oh god
, mmm
nuh
….”

“Daphne, baby,” his voice is strained. “I could live inside you.”

“
Yes
,” I beg. “Yes, please.”

Yes.

Yes.

Yes
.

Tabitha:
So. “Baking cookies” is your new code word for sex?

Me:
Yeah, pretty much. Dexter is… I don’t even have the words.

Tabitha:
I believe the phrase you’re searching for is “Orgasmic.”

Me:
You’re not allowed to say shit like that. Only I am.

Tabitha:
Le’sigh. Fine. But I’m using your story in a book; sorry, I won’t be able to help myself…

Me:
I’d argue with you but I know it would be pointless. At least make my character gorgeous and smart and hilarious.

Tabitha:
You just described yourself ;)

Me:
Aww, that’s why I love you so much.

Tabitha:
So this thing with Dexter… can you see it getting serious?

Me:
Oh gosh—YES! Yes, he’s… awesome. LOL. Just the thought of him has me…

Tabitha:
Wanting to “bake cookies?”

Me:
Dozens and dozens of cookies…

Six or 8 months later
…
who really knows
?

“I
wonder what the occasion is,” I mumble to a beautiful, blonde haired Greyson in the kitchen of her brother Collin’s new condo. His second condo in a year, but… somehow this doesn’t feel like a house warming party. “What’s up with this little shin-dig they decided to throw last minute?”

He and Tabitha have been living together for the past six months—dating for eight—and tonight they’re throwing an impromptu…whatever this party is.

“Well,” she says conspiratorially, giving me a nudge and grabbing a handful of chips. “
My
theory is that they’re going to announce an engagement. At least, I
hope
that’s what this is. They can’t keep having these house warming parties.”

I glance around at the room full of people; Tabitha’s parents. Collin and Greyson’s parents. Greyson and her rugged, rugby playing boyfriend Calvin. More family. More friends. A crowded room gathered in Tab and Collin’s spacious high-rise condo.

“Or maybe this is about one of her books?” I speculate. Tabitha is an author, and she’s on book number three. “Maybe she’s made a best seller list somewhere?”

Greyson doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But I’m still putting my money on an engagement. Do you see the way my brother is following her around, waiting on her hand and foot?”

I had noticed that. Collin fetching her water. Rubbing her shoulders while she spoke to her parents. Bringing her little plates of food. Touching her.

Hmmm
.

I’m not convinced this is them springing an engagement on us. That’s not Tabitha’s style. “Maybe, but they haven’t even been together for a year.”

Collin’s sister looks at me, incredulously. “Those two? Are you kidding me? They were crazy about each other from day one. Almost inseparable.”

I scrunch my face. “I think you’re remembering it wrong. Collin harassed her, embarrassed her, and she spent
how
many weeks avoiding him. When you say ‘crazy about each other,’ you’re thinking of you and Calvin.”

Greyson and her boyfriend are in crazy, mad, love with each other, and have been since the day they met; the day she created a fake boyfriend named Cal Thompson to keep her nosy friends off her back.

Almost the same way Dexter had asked me to be his fake girlfriend for one night so his family wouldn’t meddle in his love life.

Actually, come to think of it, all three of us—Greyson, Tabitha and I—lied at the beginning of our relationships; Greyson lied about inventing a fake boyfriend, Tabitha lied about being an author and hid her books from everyone, and I lied about being Dexter’s girlfriend.

What pretty little liars we all turned out to be; thank god everything ended well for us.

“H
aving a good time?” I ask, sidling up to Dexter. He slides a hand around my waist, pulling me in. Pulling me close and planting a quick kiss on my neck, just under my ear; my favorite spot.

I shiver every time.

“I’m having a good time; I just wish Collin hadn’t invited my sisters. Why would he do that? They’re driving me crazy. I mean—just look at them over there.” He nods to the opposite side of the room to where the twins are holding court, gesturing wildly and laughing uproariously.

I have a sneaking suspicion they’re re-enacting the moment they came to Dexter’s defense the night of their 16
th
birthday party, telling their cousin Elliot to kiss off. Called him a douchebag. Went Twin Gangsta on his cocky ass.

Even though that was more than six months ago, retelling that story is one of their favorite things to do in mixed company.

And they do it so well. So vividly.

So loudly.

The tips of Dexter’s ears turn pink when Lucy throws her arms in the air, shouting, “We’ll wait here while you finish him off!” The declaration is loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room.

My boyfriend groans. “Why do they insist on telling that story?” He runs a hand through his neatly combed hair, and my eyes follow his movements, trailing down the column of his neck to the exposed skin at his collar. “It’s so embarrassing.”

The top two buttons of his dress shirt, undone. For Dexter, this is as laid-back and casual as he gets. He does own tee shirts; I’ve seen them in his closet, and a few times on the weekends. But he likes to be dressed up. Pressed. Tidy.