First to Lie: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Unraveled Book 1) Page 5

  Yes, that helped. I ground into her.

  “Sam!”

  Fuck! That name. It wasn’t mine and it reminded me why I was in her bedroom.

  I reared up to watch myself dominate her body. Did she think she could control a man? I’ll—I pounded harder—show—her walls quivered around my cock—her.

  “Oh— I can’t—” She collapsed back, her arms above her head as I completely took over her body.

  She yelled, moaned, twisted the blankets in her grip, and she came. Hard. It was like a death grip on my cock. Only the lubrication of her orgasm prevented me from being at a standstill.

  My balls tightened. If the sight of her sucking me off was erotic, her climaxing, completely undone from my strokes, was magnificent. I clenched my teeth, a growl starting deep and rumbling out, my thrusts shortening.

  “Mara—” I cut myself off before I could declare you’re mine.

  Throwing my head back, I roared, my shout echoing off the walls and mingling with her cries.

  My climax was the strongest in recent memory. In all memory.

  It went on and on. Jet after jet of cum spurted from me. My condom was already at max capacity. I jerked out of her before it busted, then collapsed on top of her.

  Her hold immediately encompassed me and she peppered my face with light kisses.

  I blinked. Did she think I needed comforting?

  Oddly enough, it felt like I did because it was soothing. I was reluctant to move. But this was when I was going to jump up and tell her who I was. Otherwise, why had I let her think she’d seduced me?

  There was another condom in my wallet. And she’d mentioned also having some. It wouldn’t hurt to be Sam a little longer. Besides, my question, why she’d messed with my dad, hadn’t been answered.

  I opened my eyes, but my lids were heavy. I kissed her in return, lingering longer than I expected to before breaking away. “Get under the covers. I’ll be right back.”

  Her satisfied expression couldn’t be missed as she did what I said. Finding her bathroom wasn’t hard in a house this small. The entire bathroom could fit inside my shower. A tub, a dripping sink with six inches of counter space on each side, and a toilet. That was it.

  The condom landed in the trash and I leaned on the sink. Two seconds of looking in the mirror were all I could take. Mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and a chest that was still heaving from the power of climaxing.

  Why was I standing here? I wasn’t one to linger. I either hopped into bed for round two or left. After the second, sometimes the third time, I vamoosed. Didn’t want to give my dates the wrong impression, and work was always waiting.

  It was part of the plan. Crawling back into bed with her. Part of my scheme. If I kept telling myself that, it’d excuse the earth-shattering connection I’d felt when we’d climaxed together.

  Chapter 6

  Mara

  I swiveled my hips, and the man under me bared his teeth like a graphic novel bad guy. He filled me, his length knocking on my cervix—near-instant orgasm. But I held all the cards and used my power to bring him to the brink and back off.

  “You’re evil,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

  My throaty laugh was so unlike me. I was not a prude, but last night through to this morning, I’d been an unrepentant sex goddess.

  How many times could a woman come in one night?

  A lot, that was how many.

  Sam grasped my hips.

  I shot him a hard look and stilled. “That’s not part of our deal.”

  A brief tightening and he released her to dig his fingers into the edge of the couch.

  I resumed riding him. Dry and sore is how I should feel, but when his cock rose to full glory, my body prepped itself.

  Grabbing the top of the couch brought my chest against his face. He wasted no time. The guy was magic with his tongue. After he’d prowled out of the bathroom and gotten between the covers with me, he’d kept going until his head had settled between my legs.

  A flood rushed to my core at the memory—Sam moving under my comforter, the twin points of my knees tenting the blankets over his head, the thunderous build of another peak. I pumped myself up and down.

  He released my nipple with a pop and spoke with a hoarse voice. “Are you finally going to let me come?”

  “Uh-huh,” I gasped.

  His cock swelled inside me. How could he do that, grow impossibly bigger?

  Fingernails dug into the fabric. I’d have fuzzies to dig out later. Totally worth it. From the way his biceps bulged, veins protruding from gripping the cushions, so would he.

  He thrust his hips up to meet my downward push. “Fuck me, Mara.”

  “Don’t you dare let go.” I didn’t, either, otherwise, I’d rake my fingernails down his chest, again.

  My score marks turned me on more.

  It started. The world closed in until it was just the two of us. The coarse hair on his legs tickled my ass each time I rolled over him.

  I cried out, the force of our movements banging the couch against the wall. God, that angle felt good. I did it again. My orgasm slammed into me and I pulsed around Sam as he jerked, yelling out his own stream of obscenities as he came.

  My only coherent thought was how I’d love to feel those hot jets release inside of me, coating my core like a balm to cool the fire we formed together.

  I shook and gasped as aftershocks set in. With a sigh, I sank into him.

  In the four times we’d had sex I’d learned this was my favorite part. No uncomfortable so what do we do now? Just postcoital relaxation.

  I smiled even though he couldn’t see it. I’d had my way with him. Strung it out as long as possible before I had to face adulting for the day.

  His arms wrapped around me, his head buried in my neck.

  Teeth scraped my skin and I shivered.

  “What are you doing?” He couldn’t be ready for more?

  “I’m hungry.”

  My eyes flew open. The last time he’d said that he’d landed between my legs again. Sam had a serious thing for oral sex.

  “I can’t possibly…” I knew I could. Because Sam would get me off.

  The arrogant tilt to his mouth sent tingles to my toes.

  “I want you to stay right”—he lifted me off his cock and boosted me up so he could slide down to the floor—“here.”

  He lowered me to my knees on the cushions, legs spread.

  Sam had reclined against the couch and placed his head between my legs, his greedy gaze licking up my body to meet mine.

  The sheer naughtiness of the position flamed any lingering desire that hadn’t yet dissipated. Would it ever around him? There’d be no choice. He’d leave and I’d have to face reality.

  Real-life was waiting for me, but in my string of selfish moves, I wanted this. One more round of Sam carrying me away to a place where the dreaded hospital visits and doctors’ reports couldn’t reach.

  He gripped my thighs and lowered me to his mouth.

  This was totally happening! I flinched, my over-sensitized clit shocked at the swipe of his tongue. I bit my lip and forced myself to remain still. Orgasms from Sam were something from a different dimension. I’d have to call them Samgasms.

  I hitched a breath in a giggle, but the scrape of his teeth overrode my squirms and put me in oh yeah territory.

  His blue gaze pierced me, the intensity staggering. My eyes fluttered closed as a moan left me. My hands were back to clutching the back of the couch. I would never view this piece of furniture the same way again. It was promoted to the loveseat of ecstasy.

  His hold tightened when I tried to rock my hips.

  “What? Is this payback?” I lowered my gaze and found his full of intent. Yes. It was.

  One of his hands loosened and skimmed along the curve of my ass. Another moan escaped. I was going to be hoarse before he finished with me.

  His other hand clamped me to his face, while his roaming fingers circled my sex. I was still sl
ick from minutes ago when I’d come all over him. He pushed two digits in. I wrenched the back of the couch.

  His tongue lapping at me, and the instant fullness propelled me higher. Ride him, my brain screamed but his strength outmatched mine.

  He pumped his fingers. I wailed, falling against the cushions, warm from when he’d rested against them.

  No slow build. He attacked my clit, his tongue flicking, his teeth nipping. He wasn’t gentle with his hands. Tremors built and I tensed my sore abs. I excused myself from exercising for a week after a night with Sam.

  My toes curled, I clawed at the fabric and bore down. Not even he was strong enough to keep me from rocking in time with his thrusts.

  “Oh god, Sam!” When I cried his name during sex, it was like a power boost. He became ruthless.

  Harder nips, more vigor. Nothing in the world mattered but his mouth on me, his hand driving me wild.

  “Yes!” The couch rocked. “Yes!” My forehead almost hit the wall. “Yes!” A muscle pulled in my shoulder.

  I crested the peak and shouted yes over and over again. Nearly choking on my tongue, I shoved at his head to get him to stop. My heart wouldn’t survive another round. Neither would my poor, old couch.

  Freed, I collapsed to the side, facing the back of the couch and breathing heavily.

  I looked over my shoulder when he moved. Smug. His expression was smug.

  “I’m going to go clean up.” His voice was gruff, almost abrupt.

  When he rose, his cock was hard once again, but he headed toward the bathroom.

  I was in no condition to take care of his erection, but a thread of hurt wove through me. Maybe he knew better than to reuse a condom. Perhaps he had somewhere he needed to be.

  I sighed. The hospital was where I needed to be. I checked the time: ten a.m. The doctors either made their rounds early or pushed their visits later and later into the day, leaving me wondering whether my mom would go home or spend another night.

  Shoving myself up, I was grateful my store was closed on Sundays. I trudged to my bedroom as I heard the shower kick on. A smile tugged at my lips. A hot guy in my shower. I’d dated good-looking guys, but none had had more than two abs or towered over me and blocked out the sun with the width of their shoulders.

  I stopped after flipping on the light in my room. Holy messy bedroom, Batman. Covers draped from the bed to the floor. Clothes scattered everywhere. My nightstand drawer hung open from when we’d dived into my condom stash.

  If I could fist-bump myself, I would. A girl needed to cut loose with a guy who did it for her. And Sam did.

  My heart sank. And today was probably as far as it would go. Searching my drawers for shorts and a cami, I mulled over what the rest of my day would entail. The hospital. That was it.

  The water turned off. I didn’t need long. If I lingered under the spray, I’d miss time with Sam and get stuck ruminating over my mom and the store.

  Mom and the store. One couldn’t seem to exist with the other. The portion of my trust I’d used to open Arcadia was all I had. The rest secured Mom’s future and medical bills, like the last two nights. Pilfering more to open in another location wasn’t an option.

  I blinked furiously. Sam couldn’t catch me being the girl who cried after sex. How mortifying.

  The bathroom door opened. He stepped out and my insides danced. With his black hair slicked back, his blue eyes were more apparent. Water droplets rolled down his chest to the chartreuse towel slung low on his hips.

  He glanced at the towel and shrugged. “Your Superman towel was too small.”

  He passed me as he walked into the room. I loved the smell of my dollar-store shampoo on him.

  “That’s because it’s a kid’s towel, but I had to have it.” My smile faded and I pulled at the hem of my shorts. “I’m going to shower. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He paused picking up his pants. “A woman only taking a few minutes to get ready?”

  “Ha-ha,” I called as I entered the bathroom. I poked my head back out. “Haven’t you realized I’m low maintenance by now?”

  Wes

  Yeah, I had. I glared at the now shut bathroom door. She’d better shower quickly because as slow as her drain was, she’d overflow the tub within minutes.

  Mara had almost talked my dad out of one of his most valuable properties. That old strip mall was in a prime location in Minneapolis. What was her angle? To get a better house? Newer car?

  Everyone had a reason motivating their greed. What was Mara’s?

  If Sam had finalized the paperwork and Mara had become the owner of the building, she could’ve sold it for millions—to me, because I’d had big plans for the location. The high-end condos and upscale shopping center could make me millions.

  The water turned on and I imagined Mara’s lithe body under the spray. Blood pooled in my cock and I didn’t need to talk another hard-on down.

  Her coming on my face. Glorious. I could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  I shook my head and finished dressing. I liked sex. A lot. But it didn’t rule me.

  It hadn’t used to rule me. Since meeting Mara, I could lie in bed all day, fucking her. I had, in fact, except it’d been all night, dotted with a couple hours of sleep before I’d woken with a demanding erection.

  My stomach rumbled. As delicious as Mara tasted, she didn’t fill my belly. The kitchen I’d glimpsed was opposite of her living room, through a narrow hallway. I shoved my hands in my pockets and went in search of food.

  And found myself staring at a short row of cupboards in the smallest kitchen I’d ever experienced. Didn’t matter. It’s not like I knew how to cook. My sprawling estate employed landscapers, a housekeeper, and a personal chef. They worked during the day when I wasn’t around, and when I had the day off, they weren’t allowed to show. I liked my privacy.

  Besides, my mom would con them and worm her way into my house. And never leave.

  She’d eat all my food, too, the trays of five-star meals my chef prepared. Then she’d bitch about it.

  Wesley, call your driver to take us to Templeton’s. A place she couldn’t afford to go on her own. This food should be trashed. I wouldn’t even donate it to the homeless. As if she ever donated anything.

  Wesley, I heard of this fabulous new restaurant in New York. You should fly us there for the weekend. Because being stuck in a plane where I couldn’t throw her out was my idea of a fun weekend.

  I heard the shower turn off. Shit, Mara was serious about a quick shower.

  Cupboards teased me. They were tidy but had seen better days. Probably in the seventies. A couple of cupboard doors were stacked against the wall because they’d fallen off entirely.

  Rummaging through her supplies, I decided to give up. Boxes of processed food lined the insides, and cans of sodium-packed whatever filled the rest. Switching to the fridge, I scowled. Milk, Jell-O, and, hallelujah, some fruit.

  I pulled out the grapes and milk. Better than nothing and not as toxic as what the cupboards hid. There was a carton of eggs, but hell if I knew what to do with them.

  “Oh hey, help yourself.” Mara breezed in. “I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs. You want any?”

  As long as there were no canned veggies in them. “Sure.”

  I stood, holding the food while I stared at her. She wore black leggings covered in Batman symbols and a yellow top. An outfit that should look immature and ridiculous but didn’t on her.

  Wet tendrils of hair were piled on her shoulders. It looked like she’d done nothing more than rake a comb through it. She didn’t need to do more. With her bangs wet and swept off her face, she radiated youth. No one would guess she was a business owner in her mid-twenties.

  She cracked an egg and it nudged me into action, which was to plop my handful of grapes on her tiny, square table. Glasses. I could get those. Did I need to do anything else for grapes?

  Her butt jiggled delightfully as she whisked the goop in the bowl. “Afte
r I eat, I need to get to the hospital. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”

  I sat on a chair I wasn’t sure would hold my weight. “We can do the same thing we did the other night. I’ll call my driver.”

  She whipped around to look at him. “You have a driver?”

  I froze, my mind spinning. “No, no. The Uber driver.”

  Turning back to her eggs, she chuckled. “I was gonna say, those sales must be good.”

  They were, and it was none of her business. “Tell me about your mom. How’s she really doing?”

  Mara’s shoulders tightened as she stirred the eggs around the skillet. “She has multiple sclerosis.”

  “What’s that exactly?” I’d heard of it, knew it was a disease, probably had seen various fundraising stuff cross my desk for it.

  “An autoimmune disorder that attacks the nervous system. For Mom, it started in her thirties. Weird numbness in her hands and feet, her vision would get wonky. Doctors’ visits. She carted me along. It was just her and I.”

  Where was her dad? Another nasty divorce where the father hadn’t stuck around?

  I couldn’t afford to feel sympathy toward her. Mara was no better than my mother, going after Sam for money. But, in many other ways, Mara was way better than my gold-digging, heartless mom. I hadn’t witnessed one rude comment from Mara, not to someone’s face, not behind their back. Mara’s possessions were cared for, even if they weren’t high-end. My mother blasted through clothing and jewelry for the sake of her image.

  But then Sam probably hadn’t seen that side of her when he’d first met her, either.

  Mara kicked a foot against her leg and stirred. “When we found out what the cause was, we thought, okay, we can do this. Some people live a full life for decades.”

  My breath stalled. The rest of her story wasn’t going to be good.

  “But her relapses grew more frequent, more debilitating. Treatment helped, but eventually, she grew so disabled I couldn’t take care of her by myself. She can barely walk.” She clicked off the stove and pulled out a couple of plates.

  The patterns didn’t match. Who had mismatched dishes?