Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (20 page)

It’s my cue.

I pull her body toward me. I’m so hard now
that I think I’m gone explode without any further
effort.

Her trembling whimper as her bare skin
hits my shirt only makes me want her more.

I inhale her scent, move my hands up her
sides. She stretches hers behind me and down to my butt.

I keep moving up, on the sides, then
front, over her petite breasts. Her nipples are hard and tense. It
makes me shudder. I move my hands up to her hair, long and soft on
my right. Prickly and bad on my left.

All I can think of is entering her, being
one with her, holding her while she breaks underneath me. Her
nudity makes my mind howl with desire. It’s all I can do to stop
myself from picking her up and ravaging her on the bed.

I think of removing her denims, licking
her slit slowly with my full tongue. Tasting her tang, feeling the
softness of her swollen
nether lips on my own lips.

She presses delicately against me,
but the pressure on my
probably-broken ribs makes me groan primordially.
“Sorry—”

I don’t let her finish! I tug her to me,
let her body collide with my bruised side. I let the pain roll over
me. She lifts my tee off. Starts kissing my nipples.

Below, I’m pulsing. Begging for explosion.
I hear my groans like desperate cries in the dark.

She bites a nipple.

My hands wrap around her head. I push her
lips onto my chest as they go insane on my male tits. It’s
straining every nerve of mine and making each gland go
bonkers.

My mind’s a whirl. All I wanna do is make
love to
her. I’m losing
control. Good guy’s starting to head for the door—

She bites my other nipple.

OK, that’s it
now
.

The space between
my bedroom and the lounge disappears. I
lay her down on my bed. She looks up at me with needful eyes, wide
and all-engulfing.
MY GOD this girl makes me feel insane.

I get on my knees next to her. But before
I swoop down on her, I look at her, wanting to keep this image—the
soft night-glow on her skin—with me forever.

I’ll never forget
this image.

Her hand stretches out to my waist, tugs
me down. She’s smiling. She wants me as much I want her. Which is
hard to believe, because I want her more than air.

We wrestle. My hands are all over her hair
and hers are all over mine, then trailing my back, my abs, down
into my jeans and over my ass.
The mixture of pain and pleasure drives me wild.

I wanna take my pants
off so badly, and I also don’t want to.
Because I want it to last. I want to
feel
this need for as long as possible. As if the
need itself
is a tangible thing.

Our breaths and sounds fill the otherwise
silent room, the previous song having long since
disappeared into an empty
cavern.

“
You’re music to me,” she says between
kisses.

I have no words to explain how that makes me
feel.

“
You’re my beat,” she says, and then kisses
my ear. “My bass. You’re my treble.” She kisses my neck. I kiss
hers. “You’re the intro in my life. The outro.”

Then she gets close up in my ears, holds
me almost painfully close to her for a moment, and whispers with a
rasping voice, “You’re the
whole damn song to me.”

I don’t know any poetry. I can’t write a
sentence for shit. I’ve never painted anything, never played an
instrument. My hands are only good for catching footballs and
lifting furniture. There’s really only one way I know how to show a
girl how I feel about her, only one way I can get everything I’m
feeling, understood by her:

I weave my hands through Blaze’s hair
and
clasp it tight, not
to hurt her, but because I can’t get close enough to her. She opens
wanting eyes. I fall into them. I fall into a kaleidoscope of
intertwined thoughts and emotions.

Her lips move up toward me, but she can’t
reach me because I’m holding her down. I just want to look at her.
I want to see her face every moment I have left in my
life.

She writhes below me, getting friction on
her center. She wants it as well. I don’t let my gaze drift from
hers as I undo my pants. She takes hers off at the same time.
Before I know it, we’re naked. My unclothed cock presses gently
against her nub and she
hissssssses
and clasps her eyes and
ooompfs
.

We ride. Just like that. Friction
external.

No words are spoken, and yet music howls and
yowls around us.

The room spins.

Lights throb down.

I’m in a club with her, no one else on the
dancefloor. It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s us against the
world.

She holds my cock, tightens it, pulls up on
it just once and I almost fire.

Then pushes it down, toward her
center,
and then lower,
edging me to enter her.

I ease
myself lower.

And I can’t get inside her fast enough.

I won’t bullshit you here. It’s fast. For
both of us. On my side it’s three thrusts.
And then I’m rushing. It’s firing out of
me and I’m exploding and I’m
ROOOOOAAARING
. And then she gasps. And the womanly sound of it only
makes me gun harder. Because now she’s clenching her legs around me
and
holding
me—that’s the thing, you see? It’s how she freaking
holds
me! There’s nothing like it. It
makes me wanna hold her back and never let her go. It makes we
wanna do crazy shit like beat someone into a pulp if they ever get
in her way.

She’s groaning and crying out and spasming
like a
gajillion
times
below me.

We stop together, still writhing. Still
squeezing. Still twisting.

In the end, we rock. And we hold each
other in a deathgrip of need—hands and arms and legs surrounding
each other.

Too afraid to let go.

In the middle of the night, I awake in the
throes of agony. My ribs are killing me. My head feels like it’s
about to explode.

As if connected by some interspatial link
between our minds, Blaze wakes with a start. “Deck?”

“
It’s cool, baby. Just a little pain in my
ribs.”
And in
my mind
.

You’re a devil, aren’t you, Deck?

Blaze
snuggles closer, grazes some fingers over my few chest
hairs. She presses down on my cheek with her fingers and, before I
realize it, her lips are all over mine. The dull thud in my ribs is
excruciating, and the flavor of her sweet saliva is
invigorating.

I turn her and put her on her back. In
response to her hesitation—and the instinctive hand that jumps
toward the bluish red mark on my side—I say, “It’s cool. I want to
be over you.”

Her tense muscles ease, and she widens her
legs for me.

I grab my shaft and massage myself into
her, slowly, then faster. Each thrust is a kick in my stomach, and
a beautiful lick of my manhood.

I love her. And I want her. So I’ll take her.
And if life wants to kick me in the balls because of it, I’ll go
through it. I’ll be with her despite the pain.

She begins to moan.

The thrusts on my part are not exactly
rhythmic. They’re jagged. After each thrust in, I have to suck in a
breath and gather my senses. But each thrust is also an exquisite
contraction of sensation down below.

After several of them, the pain becomes
bearable, and then, dull and nonexistent. Or, perhaps, simply a
part of the pleasure.

Blaze goes
“Mmmmmmm.” She rolls her head side to side. Each
pump into her evokes a wince and a squeeze of her lips, a maddening
tightening of her eyes.

And of her vag.

I feel myself growing inside her, or maybe
it’s her getting tighter.

She begins to push against me below. The
posts of the bed
thump-thump
against the wall.

Blaze raises her legs—eyes still closed.
Her hands go under her thighs. And, still, she groans,
“
Umpf
.
Oh!
Ooh!
”

Every thrust, every drive, and her beat:
“Umpf. Oh! God!”

Thrust. Drive. Pump.

Sweat breaks out on my brow.

She calls my name, and I think of that
song,
Say my
name!
Not Destiny’s
Child. Florence and the Machine. Blaze’s favorite.

Say my naaaaaaaaaaaame!

“
Umpf
.
Oh!
Ooh!
”

And then me, a thumping synthesizer beat
behind the cymbals. Deeper: “OH.
GOD!
”

And always the beat:
thump-thump.
“Umpf. Oh! Deck, baby!”

Thrust, in, out.

She’s wet, so wet. My hand grips her butt,
lifts it slightly. Her head slams back into the pillow, her face a
mixed contortion of smiling magnificence and stinging
need.

Like a herd of wildebeest, I hear it
forming way down in her chest: The rumble, the inevitable
stomp-stomp-stomp
of that mad charge. Over the horizon, approaching, a cloud
of dust being kicked up into the air.

And behind them, behind the beasts, as
they drive, stomp,
chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-snort
over the hill, is the sun.

Approaching.

I hear it, deep in her lungs. First as a
slow wail. Then I
feel
it as well:
An almost unbearable tightness as her body matches her sounds to
tell me...
it’s on its way
.

And it’s gonna blow.

Her hands tighten under her thighs.

Her eyes fly open.

My ribs burst with insufferable anguish.
And yet, I pump—a piston at full roar.

A thin scrim of sweat breaks on her forehead.
Her mouth opens. It’s as if my drives are expelling the very air
from her. The only sounds now are gasps, waiting, waiting,
waiting...

As if begging
, her mouth makes the sound: “
Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
”

One hand leaves her thigh, goes to my
chest, trickles down it. She bends her head right; closes her eyes
once again.

Her entire body goes into a brittle
tenseness, china falling off a ten-floor building, headed for the
sidewalk.

A hundred-ton
pressure
.

I see the striated lines on her neck, the
redness on her face and chest as she wills the orgasm to fire
against her and take her.

And then...

...it does.

And
it does for me as well.

I empty myself into her. I’ve never felt such
relief. Eternal relief, as my juice fills her.

After, the pain is agony. It hits me again
with such a fervor that I actually feel like I’m gonna pass
out.

I think I even do pass out. Because next
thing I know, it’s morning. And the pain is gone.

Blaze Ryleigh

Everything changed.

The earth fell out from under my feet.

Nothing was stable anymore.

Sex is not the same as
Sex
. Sometimes it’s better. Other times, it’s a total
fucking game changer.

Life without Declan was no longer an
option. No longer a factor to compute with. We’d become too close.
We were no longer two separate entities. Don’t ask me how that is,
but it is.

Mr. Bernstein
calls just before Deck leaves. He tells me the
building is inhabitable again. He also asks me if any of my stuff
got damaged and if I “need a little something” to hold me
over.

I laugh. “Mr. Bernstein, in all the years
I’ve known you, you’ve been a terrible landlord.
Terribly
good
. Aren’t you guys supposed to be mean or
something?”

“
I make up for it with the other schmucks I
have as tenants. Besides, I could never be mean to you. I’m too
scared of your mother.”

No, you’re too in love with
her.
“You should call
Mamah, you know? I think she’d like to hear from you.”

A sigh. “Maybe I will. Maybe I will
indeed. How are things with your...
friend
?”

I feel a little embarrassed.
Just like a daughter
to a father.
“He’s...good.” I bite my finger. “I also made another
friend. The real deal, I think. A
girl
.”