Tell Me Pretty Lies

by Charleigh Rose

  He’s always been magnificent to me, with his onyx hair that hangs in his dark, mismatched eyes. His full lips and slightly pointed nose. The dimples that I didn’t even know existed for an entire year into knowing him, because the boy never really smiles. Smirks, yes. Taunting, mocking, sarcastic grins. But a full-blown Asher Kelley smile is rarer than a blue moon. Now that his shoulders are broader, his chest and arms bigger, and his jaw more chiseled…he’s a man. And he’s perfection. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of my small breasts that visibly harden beneath my tank top and my tiny baby pink sleep shorts. I’m looking every bit of fourteen, feeling so inferior kneeling in front of this young god.

  Asher scrubs a hand down his face, and I notice that his knuckles are bloody, too, but the sight is nothing new.

  “Do you want ice?” I ask as I stand up, gesturing toward his hands.

  “What, this?” he asks, examining his knuckles. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want me to go?” I fidget with the hem of my shorts. His eyes follow the movement, then move up my body until his eyes lock on mine.

  “No.” His tone is firm, but he doesn’t elaborate. My stomach flips with nerves, and I nod, biting on the corner of my lip.

  “Do you…want to watch a movie?”

  A shrug. “Sure.”

  “What do you want to watch?”

  “You pick.”

  I look around for Dash’s remote before finding it underneath a sock and start flipping through the channels. I stand in front of the TV awkwardly, not knowing if I should take my spot on the floor or join him. Asher pats the bed next to him, seeming to sense my hesitation.

  “I won’t bite, Bry.”

  I sit next to him and settle on one of my favorite movies. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I always have to watch it when it’s on.

  “Really? Tombstone?” Asher cracks a real smile at that.

  “Hell yes. It’s my favorite.”

  “I’ll be your huckleberry,” he says, quoting the movie.

  “Shut up.” I give a weak smile, still feeling helpless in this situation, but I toss a pillow at him in an effort to appear unfazed.

  “Shit!” he growls, bringing his hands up to his face.

  “Oh my God! I’m an idiot! I’m so sorry!” I say, crawling over to his side of the bed, feeling terrible for already forgetting.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, prying his hands away, but when I do, he’s laughing.

  “Jerk,” I huff, turning away, but he grasps my wrists and flips me onto my back. His body hovers over mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But you were looking at me like my dog just died. I had to do something to lighten the mood.”

  He still has my hands pinned above my head, and he’s close enough that I can smell his spearmint gum and the faint trace of cigarettes.

  “I worry about you,” I admit, not making any effort to escape. His eyes clench shut, like it physically pains him to hear those words.

  “Don’t,” he says. “The last thing an angel like you should be doing is worrying about a fuck-up like me.”

  “You’re not a fuck-up. And I’m no angel.”

  Asher drops his forehead, rolling it against my own.

  “You are,” he insists, his lips trailing from my cheek down to my ear, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “And this is the last fucking thing I should be doing with you.”

  “What are you doing with me?” I whisper.

  “Touching you,” he says, rubbing my wrists with his thumbs. A small noise slips from my mouth, and he lowers his body onto mine. Instinctively, my legs part to make room for him. He groans once he fits his hips between them.

  “I need to leave,” he says, his voice thick and strained.

  I lick my lips, mustering up all the courage I can when I ask, “Can I kiss you?”

  He makes a pained noise, but he doesn’t deny me. He presses his lips to the skin just beneath my ear, then he trails his lips back across my cheek, down to my chin, and finally, his mouth is on mine. I’ve kissed a few boys, even though Dashiell, Asher, and Adrian, have done their best to run them off, but this is so much more than just a kiss. At least, for me it is.

  Asher licks the seam of my lips before tugging the bottom one into his mouth. He sweeps his tongue inside, and tentatively, mine flicks out to tangle with his. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he must like it, because his hips flex, grinding into me. I feel him harden beneath his jeans, and I spread my legs further, wanting more, more, more. I pull my hands out of his grasp and bring one to the back of his neck, kissing him harder. The friction between my legs is something I’ve never experienced, and I don’t think anything could stop me from chasing this feeling. I feel it building, much more intense than anything I’ve ever done alone in the privacy of my bedroom. I wrap my legs around his back and rock into him, uncaring of seeming too eager.

  “Fuck. Stop,” he rasps. I don’t.

  “Briar, that’s enough,” he says, pinning my hands to the bed once again, this time using his demanding tone that brooks no argument. But I don’t listen. I tilt my hips up again, and he groans. Before I know what’s happening, I’m flipped over onto my stomach, my arms trapped at my sides by his knees as he straddles me.

  “You’re fucking fourteen, Briar. I’m not even in high school anymore, for fuck’s sake.”

  “I don’t care,” I say stubbornly. “I’m old enough to know what I want.” My hair is in my face, muffling my words. He brings a finger to my cheek and sweeps the strands behind my ear.

  “You have no idea what you want,” he counters. “What you’re asking for.”

  His condescending tone makes me feel childish and inferior, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I could feel his want for me digging into my backside, I’d probably feel hurt, embarrassed, and rejected. In a brazen move, I arch my backside and move against him.

  “So, show me,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. His eyes are fixed on my pajama shorts that have ridden up, exposing my cheeks.

  “No,” he says harshly. I drop my face into the mattress. God, my brother’s mattress. I’d tell him to take me to my room if I thought for one second he wouldn’t come to his senses and put a stop to this—whatever this is.

  He shoves off me, horrified, and sits as far away from me as Dash’s queen bed will allow. “Fuck!” he yells, tugging at his hair. Seeing him like this is enough to make me feel guilty, but not enough to regret anything.

  “Why, Asher?” I ask, tears brimming my eyes. “What is so wrong with me?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I turn to leave, but Asher lunges for me, snatching my wrist and pulling me back toward him until I’m straddling his lap.

  “Briar,” he says, his eyes searching mine, begging me to understand.

  “Say what you mean and mean what you say, Ash. I’m not a mind reader.”

  “You’re fourteen,” he stresses, as if that’s reason enough. And I suppose it is. But this thing feels bigger than our ages. He’s not some predator. He’s just…Asher.

  “Not to mention, my best friend’s little sister. Do you know what I’d do if someone even looked at my little sister sideways?”

  “You don’t have a sister,” I point out. “And it’s different,” I insist. I’m not like other girls my age, and I want this. My friend Sophie still plays with Barbies—when no one is looking, of course—and loves One Direction. I like this. This feeling with Asher, right here, right now.

  “It’s not. It makes me sick,” he starts, his warm hands smoothing up my back. “It’s not right.”

  I push his shoulders, causing him to fall backward, and boldly, I lean down and press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t react. He simply lies back, allowing me to explore, to kiss and nibble and suck with his hands clenched at his sides. But when he feels my tongue against his lips, seeking entrance, his hands fly to my waist, and he kisses me back. This time it isn’t timid or polite. This kiss feels like war. A battle
between right and wrong. Moral and corrupt. Honorable and deplorable.

  Asher slides his right hand into my hair and positions us so that we’re both lying on our sides as he continues his assault on my mouth, on my soul. He shifts his body until his leg is wedged between mine, and I can’t help but chase that glorious friction once again. A moan slips free, and I feel him stiffen like he’s about to deny me again. I bring my hands to his cheeks to keep his lips on mine and rock into his thigh.

  “Please, Ash. Touch me,” I beg.

  “No.”

  “Then let me touch you.” I reach for the bulge in his jeans, and he smacks my hand away.

  “Fuck no. It can’t go any further than this.”

  I could cry tears of disappointment right now.

  “Look at me,” he orders, hooking a finger under my chin. “Keep your hands to yourself. If you go for my cock again, I’m gone. Understand?”

  I nod eagerly in agreement.

  “Goddammit, give me words, Briar.”

  “I promise. Just make me feel…that.” I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth twitches, like maybe he’d be amused if he weren’t on the verge of jumping over a line that should never be crossed.

  Asher plants each of my hands on his shoulders and gives me a searing gaze, silently ordering me to keep them there. I swallow and give a sharp nod, and he places his own hands flat on the mattress by his head, purposely not touching. I press my lips to his, and he reluctantly kisses me back. I start rocking into his leg, powerless to this feeling. Once I find my rhythm, he clasps his hands behind his neck, watching my body move. Seeing him lying back like a king while I grind into his thigh is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Oh my God.” My voice is just above a whisper.

  I press myself into him even harder. The new angle has my eyes snapping shut and my head flying back. My movements are becoming sloppy and jerky, and I know I’m close to something epic. Life-changing even. I hear Asher shifting again, but I don’t dare open my eyes. I can feel my wetness leak through my shorts, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if that’s normal. But Asher doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind.

  I’m climbing higher, higher, higher, when I feel something hot and slightly damp wrap around my nipple. My eyes shoot open to see Asher drawing the tiny bud into his mouth through my tank top. And just like that, I come apart. He holds me in place through my orgasm as he continues to suck until I’m shuddering and shaking in his arms.

  I’m practically panting as he uses his palm to brush the sweaty hair off my face and leans in to kiss the damp skin of my neck.

  “Thank you,” I say dumbly. Because what else can I say after that?

  “I’m going to hell.”

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” I say honestly, laying my head on his shoulder, feeling so content that I could fall asleep and stay here forever.

  “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I did. You don’t understand it now. But you will look back at this some day and see it for what it is.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” I ask, feeling my temper rising.

  “A man who just took advantage of a fucking child,” he spits, looking up at the vaulted ceiling.

  “That’s bullshit. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what, Bry? It’s the truth.”

  “Don’t act as if I didn’t practically throw myself at you. That I’m too young to make my own decisions. You didn’t take advantage of me. You didn’t take anything. You gave.”

  “The only thing I gave you is false hope. You know this can’t ever leave this room. If Dash knew…”

  “Why would I tell my brother about hooking up with anyone? I know this doesn’t make you my boyfriend. I’m not that naïve. But maybe when I’m eighteen…”

  “This shouldn’t have happened,” Asher says, grabbing me by my hips and lifting me off him. He stands and reaches for one of Dash’s T-shirts lying on top of his dresser. “It’s wrong,” he says once again.

  “Yes, Asher, tell me again how wrong I am for you. I don’t think you’ve gotten your point across.” I roll my eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  He pulls the plain black shirt over his head, and I watch his muscles flex with the movement. I gulp. Asher’s growl has my eyes snapping back up to his.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Briar,” he warns, his voice lethal and low.

  “Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

  “Like you want what I can’t give you.”

  “The only thing I want is for you to stay.”

  “I have to tell you something,” he says, changing the subject.

  “What is it?” And why does it feel like he’s about to end our nonexistent relationship?

  “I got a scholarship,” he says, his mouth twitching at the corner in an almost-smile. “A full ride.”

  “Are you serious?” I squeal, my frustration from a minute ago all but gone. I’m more excited for him than I’ve been about anything in my entire life. I knew he was applying, but he told me it was impossible for swimmers to get a full ride. “That’s amazing, Ash!”

  I throw my arms around his neck, but there’s nothing sexual about it this time. Just genuine pride and happiness for him. Ash is one of the best people I know, and he deserves an opportunity to live a life as good as he is. I pull back, scanning his face. He’s not easily excitable, but I expected more enthusiasm than this.

  “What is it? What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s in Georgia.”

  For the second time tonight, I feel like that time I fell on the playground in the fourth grade and got the wind knocked out of me. “What?”

  “I leave in four months.”

  I nod, caught between two warring emotions. I’m elated for him, but I’m sad for me. He untangles our limbs and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, avoiding eye contact.

  “Does Dash know?”

  “Yes.” He looks over at me, and his eyes soften at his admission.

  He never even bothered to tell me.

  “I’m happy for you,” I say, my voice contradicting the words coming out of my mouth. “This is your chance.”

  He nods, and we sit in strained silence, unsure of where to go from here.

  I try to hold back the tears. To be a good friend and be happy for him, but my chin starts to wobble, and one, single tear runs down my cheek. Asher is in front of me in an instant, gripping my face with both hands, forcing me to look into his eyes.

  “Don’t waste one fucking tear on me.”

  I sniff and look away.

  “Dash is losing his best friend. And so will I.”

  “I’m not leaving tomorrow, or next week. We have time.”

  “Promise me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Promise me you won’t leave without saying goodbye. Promise me I won’t be blindsided.”

  “I promise,” he swears.

  I nod, feeling slightly pacified. I want nothing more than for Asher to get the hell out of there, but selfishly, right now I can only think about losing him.

  “When you leave…”

  Asher watches me, waiting. “Yeah?”

  “It won’t be forever, right?”

  “I can’t promise you that.”

  “You really need to work on this whole ‘comforting someone’ thing. You’re really bad at it,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. Ash is at least six feet tall, and I have to strain my neck to make eye contact when we’re this close.

  “I’ve never had to do it before.”

  “Why does it feel like we’re saying hello and goodbye all at the same time?” After years of tugging at his sleeve and following him like a lost puppy, I’ve finally gotten Asher’s attention in the way I’ve always wanted. But I’m not naïve enough to think that this could end well.

  “Because once I leave, you’re going to forget this night ever
happened.”

  I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement.

  “But you’re still here now, so…” I rise onto my tiptoes, circling my arms around his neck. Asher grips my waist and lifts. My legs automatically wrap around him.

  “For once in my goddamn life, I’m trying to be the good guy, and you’re not making it easy.”

  “I like you better when you’re bad.”

  Something not unlike a growl is all I hear in response before his lips are on mine once again. Ash walks us over to the wall next to the window, still holding me by my ass. When my back hits the wall, his hands are free to roam. He smooths them up the outsides of my thighs and then either side of my waist. I hold on to his shoulders to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet as I feel it building again, and my hips shift in search of the friction I need, when I hear it.

  Giggling. Feminine, annoying giggling.

  “Shut the fuck up! You’re going to wake my parents,” says a familiar, albeit irritated voice.

  “Fuck,” Ash whispers, dropping me like a sack of potatoes, right before Whitley, Asher’s ex, appears in the window. She lands in a pile at my feet, and she smells like alcohol and cheap perfume. When she notices me, her face morphs into one of total and utter disdain.

  Dash climbs through after her—his preferred method of entry when he has a girl with him—and looks between us. It’s not exactly suspicion I detect on his face, but confusion. I feel the need to straighten my shirt or tame my hair, but I’m frozen, afraid of doing anything that will display my guilt.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, concern coating his tone.

  “A little help here!” Whitley slurs in her high-pitched, dolphin sonar voice. Dash rolls his eyes, reaching down to help her to her feet.

  “She was looking for you. Wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Dash explains. “Figured you’d be here when we didn’t see your truck at yours.”

  “I was just, uh, helping Asher with something,” I say. Dash reads the meaning of my words, and his head jerks toward Ash, assessing.