Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  When his eyes have their fill, he crashes his mouth into mine forcing his tongue into me. He picks me up, wrapping my legs around him, his cock rubbing against me.

  “Condom,” I say between kisses.

  “Nothing between us, Hen.”

  He kisses me even more fervently. “Hen?”

  He pulls his head back slightly to look at me.

  Breathing heavily, he pleads, “Say yes. Say you want to feel me. Please. I need you. I need you to feel me.”

  “Kip,” I start.

  “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you,” he interrupts, begging me with his eyes under furrowed brows.

  “I want to feel you,” I tell him.

  His reaction makes it look like I just handed him the entire world, and he leans in to kiss me again.

  River of Deceit

  Sasha Marshall

  River of Deceit

  Copyright 2015 Sasha Marshall

  Published by: Sasha Marshall, LLC

  Originally Published: October 16, 2015

  Proofread by: Joseph Breedon, Brianne Live Thyen, Rachael Hyndman, Emma-Jane Holmes, Teresa Harrington, Camille Jensen, Tanya Castilleja, Leann Griffis, Brooke Robertson, Lisa Perkins.

  Cover Designed by Sasha Marshall

  Photographs on Cover: © Fxquadro/ Dollar Photo Club

  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  For my brother, Kevin.

  Sometimes we are right where we are supposed to be, so we can become who we’re supposed to become. The unknown lacks sparkle and smile. The known offers solid ground upon which we stand when we face the wind. Don’t forget to hold your arms out and your head back as it whips around you. Ensure you enjoy the hell out of every gale. There’s no sense in fighting the universe.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Please be advised there are sexual situations, profanity, and other situations which are not suitable for anyone who is younger than 18 years of age.

  There are character biographies and profiles on the author’s website at SashaMarshall.com.

  Please leave a review on a retailer’s site for this book. Indie authors depend on you to spread the news. Thank you for reading my book.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Review

  Follow

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Kip

  Grief is perhaps the most perplexing of all emotions. We feel grief after a relationship comes to an end, or losing a significant lifestyle, but especially with death. I thought as a child that death was final. A person lives a set amount of years, and then they just cease to exist. Caleb’s death taught me that there’s something out there after we take our last human breath. I’m not sure what it entails, but I sense it’s peaceful. The people left behind after the life drains out of your body struggle through seven stages of grief, or so they say.

  Grief begins with a jolt to your system. You aren’t sure what you’re hearing is right, or if your mind is playing tricks on you. Then, numbness overtakes all aspects of the body. I think in most cases, people wonder if there is pain involved in the process of death, if there is indeed an afterlife and, if so, if their loved ones feels peace. They probably wonder if the person thought of them in their last moments as life flashes before their eyes.

  Chaos sets in next. Life is in disarray, and the pain from the loss is astounding, at least for most people it is. Most people find anger in the pain, angry they’ll never see the person they love again. Angry they must live the rest of their existence without said person. Not me. I’m in pain, and I’m angry. I’m not in pain for the reasons most people are during the first moments of grief. I’m not angry because my father died. I’m in pain because I feel guilty for not caring that the mother fucker is dead. The guilt is all-consuming right now. I feel angry because he never did a goddamned thing for me. He never played catch with me, never told me what a great student I was, never fished with me, and he sure as fuck never uttered an “I love you” in my direction.

  I’ll never have a chance to make shit right with him, but I don’t think the opportunity would have existed if the miserable prick had lived to be a hundred. I don’t care if he felt pain when he died, or if he’s in an afterlife, and I sure as fuck don’t care if he feels peace. Hell, I never felt anything of the sort when I was around him. I know he didn’t think about me during his last breaths. I’m not pissed off that I won’t see him again, I feel relieved. I don’t care that I’ll live on this earth for any amount of time without the son-of-a-bitch because he didn’t give a fuck about me. He made me feel insignificant, ignorant, and he made sure I knew I was the biggest disappointment in his life. Even so, I feel guilty for wanting to spread weed killer all over his grave as soon as the grass comes in.

  For the next few days, I’ll need to take care of his arrangements, greet people who will say how sorry they are for my loss, and pretend I give a fuck. I must be the son of a soldier who served his country faithfully and with honor. Too bad those traits didn’t spill over into the rest of his life. Before I give in and play my part, to give him the last thing he needs from me, I will do what I need to do.

  I need her. I need to feel her. I need to concentrate on the way she tastes, smells, and feels. I need to breathe in everything about her and touch every single inch of her body. I need all of this so I can do what I must do when I leave this room. He doesn’t come first because I never did. She comes first, I come second, mom comes third, and he comes last. He’ll understand, he always put me in the same spot.

  I left Henley in Detroit when my mom called. I didn’t know how to tell her, to say the words to her, so I left the hotel and everyone behind. I caught the first flight home, turned my phone off and did my best to make it through the fog of numbness.

  I knew she was here before she ever trekked up the steps of my mother’s home. The fury inside of me died down to mere flames when she called out to me. The fireball of rage became blue flames, burning hot but not so hot she got singed.

  We pass a whiskey bottle back and forth, saying little. The rest of my friends join me in silent support until I finally have the nerve to look at her. My fucking rock, my heart. Once I looked in those grey depths, I couldn’t look away. I’ve lost myself there before and always found my way back. Sometimes getting lost in her eyes is the only thing I can do to stay safe. She stands and goes to the bathroom, and I notice everyone else is gone. Where did they go?

 
I stand and start cleaning up the mess I made when I destroyed my room earlier, but I can’t find the motivation. I look around the room and notice the picture beside my bed. I placed it there in middle school before I had my own room at the Hendrix house. A smile crosses my face as I remember the day. We were having a carnival at school and Henley’s mom snapped this picture. Henley and I both had them framed as soon as they were developed. My arm is thrown over her shoulder and we’re both so damn young. You don’t feel old or older until you look back at photographs like these.

  Henley Hendrix saved my life and told my dad to go fuck himself when she was only in junior high. The day I saw her do that, I knew I loved her. Throughout the years I’ve realized she has strength where I don’t, she still has fight in her when I’ve given up, and she loves when people least deserve it. I have little strength right now, no fight left, and I don’t deserve to be loved because I’m glad my dad is dead.

  She opens the door to my bathroom, making my chest hurt, right smack dab in the middle. I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t know what I’d do if she wasn’t here. I need her more than I’ve ever needed her in my life. I take in her partially open lips and the doe look in her eyes. I swallow the need down the best I can, but it takes a second to realize swallowing doesn’t lessen the pain.

  “Hen,” I say.

  “Kip,” she answers.

  I’m trying to keep my tears at bay because what I feel for her is too much. It’s too fucking much, and it hurts.

  “I need you,” I finally say.

  “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

  She’s not getting it. I need her to take the pain away, like she always had. I need her to make it stop. All she has to do is love me, and it will all be okay.

  “I need you,” I repeat trying to tell her what I’m saying, what I mean.

  “I’m here,” she says slightly breathy and I take that as my cue.

  She gets it. She understands what I need, and why I need it. I close the distance and touch her face, taking in her beauty. I peer into those grey eyes and almost come undone. I lean forward and kiss her but second guess myself, wondering if I’m pushing this new thing between us too far. I rub my nose against hers instead, giving myself time to garner more courage. Fuck it. I finally touch my lips to hers and do it again, and again, and again. I take her face into my hands because that’s what a man does when he loves a woman. That’s what a man does when he wants to show her this is far more than getting off inside of her. I push my tongue into her mouth and simultaneously press her against the closest wall.

  “I. Need. You.” I say, emphasizing each word so she knows she’s the only goddamned thing I need right now.

  She isn’t fucking close enough. I need to feel more of her so I pull my shirt over my head and close in again.

  “Henley. I fucking need you. I need you,” I declare on the verge of both tears and screaming.

  I swear she can see into my fucking soul, always has been able to. Whenever she sorts out what she was looking for in my eyes, she nods. Licking her lips only makes me harder.

  “Baby, I need you so fucking bad it hurts. I need you,” I croak out as the tears fill my eyes.

  She nods in understanding and I feel like she gave me a rainbow and a pot of gold. I kiss her deeply, forcefully and pull her shirt over her head, and then snap her bra loose. I break the kiss to reach down to her chest. Filling my hands with her, I lean down and pull a nipple into my mouth. While I’m licking and sucking on it she moans.

  That sound is the most beautiful sound in the world, like a work of art. She has the prettiest breasts I’ve ever seen. They’re natural, round, and full with perfectly round pink nipples. Playboy tits.

  Her hand brushes against my cock when she works frantically to unbuckle the belt. Her hands touch me again when she unbuttons and unzips me. Fuck. She uses her hands to push my jeans down as far as they’ll go, and then her foot to push them the rest of the way. I move from her chest back to her mouth and reach down to work on her jeans.

  I push her pants below her ass so I can access her pussy, and rub on the outside for a second while listening to her moan. That sound might be the death of me. Pushing the fabric to the side, I dip my finger inside of her, working her clit while she comes undone in front of me. There’s no better sound in the world than a woman’s pleasure.

  “So soft,” I say.

  I rip my fingers out of her, relieve her of everything below the waist while she pushes my boxers down my legs. After we kick that shit to the side, I take her body in. Fuck me. I press my mouth to hers. When I pick her up, she wraps those pretty stems around me and my cock touches her pussy.

  “Condom,” she says.

  I have a lifetime supply, but using one with her doesn’t feel right. I’ve always used condoms, never slipped up. I never trusted a bitch not to get pregnant on purpose.

  “Nothing between us, Hen,” I say and assault her mouth again.

  She hasn’t replied, and it worries me so I call out to her because I need her to tell me she’s okay with not using protection. I want to feel all of her.

  “Hen?” I call out and pull my lips from hers to gauge her expression. “Say yes. Say you want to feel me. Please. I need you. I need you to feel me.”

  “Kip,” she whispers and I’m afraid she’ll stop this whole damn thing.

  “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you,” I promise.

  “I want to feel you,” she responds.

  Chapter 1

  Kip

  She wants to feel me. I’ve never needed anything as much as I need to be inside of her now. Henley is my light, the place I’ve always sought out in the good and bad times life throws my way. She’s been my heroine since I was a boy. She saved my life and now she’s giving me a part of her I’ve always craved and dreamed of. Men often fantasize about celebrities, porn stars, or a woman they can’t have, but I’ve always dreamed of her. My deepest desires have always been locked up in her and now I can explore it.

  I crash into her mouth, kissing her so hard our teeth scrape together. I’ve imagined this so many times, but never in my childhood bedroom. Never in my house of horrors. I grab her forcefully, turn and walk us to the bed. I gently lay her down and crawl back between her legs, towards the one thing that I hope can douse my internal fire.

  I place kisses at the bottom of her stomach and work my way up her ribs to her chest, where I suck a nipple into my mouth. Henley’s back arches and her fingers push through my hair before she sucks in a breath. I move to the other nipple and flick it with my tongue until she’s writhing underneath me. My tongue licks a path from her chest to her neck, then to her jaw, and finally my lips touch hers once again. My hands slowly take the path from her chest down her sides to the outside of her thighs, over the knee, and then behind the knee. I push her knees back and lay across her body. I lace my fingers through hers and pull them above her head as I lean down and kiss her softly. After I move both of her hands to my left hand, I reach down with my right and place myself at her entrance.

  My eyes find her radiant greys. That’s what I want to look into when I push inside her. I kiss her lips once more and then ease into her. Fuck, she’s wet.

  “Ahhh,” she moans and closes her eyes.

  “Look at me, Hen,” I whisper and her eyes flutter open.

  I tighten my grip on her hands, and pull out of her completely and then push back inside. It’s so fucking warm. I could stay here forever. I completely remove my dick from her again, and then plunge back inside. My hips move until I find my rhythm. Too slow or too fast isn’t what this occasion calls for, something in the middle will do. I glide in and out of her, her slick cunt lubricating me.

  I’ve never had sex without a condom, so feeling the walls of her silky pussy has to be what nirvana feels like. This is the shit love is made of, no wonder mother fuckers have a hard time wrapping it up. I alternate between kissing her mouth and her neck. She
lays there for a while and lets me hold her hands down while I love her. She moans and the sounds that come out of her are the sweetest thing my ears have ever heard. When you fantasize about one person for so long, you imagine what she sounds like in the throes of passion, and I could’ve never imagined this. The real thing is so much better than what my dreams manufactured.

  “Let me touch you,” she pleads and breaks free of my hold.

  Our arms fight momentarily to cup each other’s face. I kiss her so deep I’m afraid I’ll get lost. My heroine. I continue kissing her while she pushes her hands down my body, causing goose bumps to spread over me. She stops when she gets to my hips, grabbing onto them with her fingers dipping slightly into the sides of my ass. She pulls her legs back more for me and wraps them around my back. I’m so deep inside of her, it’s a good thing my cock is attached to my body or I just might dive in head first and stay here forever. She grips my hips in her small hands and with a little force, she pulls me in even deeper each time I thrust.

  “Fuck,” I grit out.

  “Don’t stop,” she begs.

  “I can’t,” I admit. I can’t fucking stop.

  “Oh God,” she breathes out.

  “That’s it, baby,” I encourage her.

  She leans down to my torso, turns her head slightly and pulls my pierced nipple into her mouth. My nipple must have some sort of nerve that leads straight to my dick, because when she pulls it between her teeth and puts a little pressure on it, my dick jumps inside of her.

  “Oh fuck, Hen,” I call out.

  “I’m gonna come,” she gasps.

  “Yeah, come on me.”

  “Don’t fucking stop…? Jesus Christ… best fucking… dick… ever.”