Lies We Keep

by Danielle Rose

  “Fuck,” I whispered, wobbling forward. He grabbed my ass, steadying me. “S-so good.”

  The stubble of his jaw brushed against my inner thigh. His tongue dipped inside, licking, taunting. He teased me. I needed my release, but I needed it while he was fucking me.

  “Blakely,” I said, breathless. “I want you… inside.”

  Leaning against the wall, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. I grabbed my breast, squeezing it, tugging on my nipple through the thin lace. I pulled my bra up until it tugged over my head and dropped it to the floor.

  As much as I wanted him inside me, I couldn’t stop my release from consuming me. With each stroke of his tongue, I was one step closer to falling.

  “I-I’m… Soon. Fuck! R-right now. Right now,” I said, and my release crashed through me. I couldn’t stop myself from free falling. I came hard, fast, and I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I collapsed in his arms, and he held me there. I was pinned against the wall as he devoured me.

  Pulling away, he tossed me over his shoulder, closed the bedroom door, and walked across the room and into his walk-in closet. Setting me down, he dropped his pants, springing free. I widened my eyes at the sight of him. He was glorious: long, thick, and veiny; I wanted every fucking inch of him inside me again. I trailed the rest of his frame until I met his gaze.

  With a cocky grin on his face, he asked, “See something you like?”

  I licked my lips, nodding. I got on my knees and wrapped my fingers around him. “I want to taste you.”

  “As much as I want that, there’s no time.”

  He closed the closet door, locking us inside. I frowned.

  “Tara will probably be up soon, but if I’m not inside you in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

  I swallowed hard and relished in his honesty. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him. The only difference was that he had much better control. I stood, wrapped my arms around his neck, and jumped, wrapping my legs around him.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked, resting the tip of his length against my center.

  I nodded.

  “Don’t scream,” he said as he sank into me in one quick, long, hard stroke.

  A cry escaped my lips, but I quickly muffled it. I scratched at his back as he slid in and out of me in rapid succession. I leaned forward and sank my teeth into his shoulder when the first orgasmic wave hit. After it passed, I released him.

  “Yes, fuck. So. Good. Don’t. Stop.”

  He thrust harder and deeper with each word.

  “So tight,” he whispered. “So good.”

  I kissed him, tasting myself on his lips, and moaned into his mouth as he rubbed against that perfect spot deep inside me.

  “Right there. R-right there.”

  “Come with me.”

  I nodded, resting my head against his forehead. Loose strands of hair clung to our slick skin, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the sensation of him inside me. He felt so perfect, so right. If it was possible to fall in love with a dick, then I was head over heels for Blakely’s.

  He tensed beneath me, his fingers digging into my thighs, and I knew he was close.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He kissed me. It was a long, deep, slow kiss that made my heart ache. When he pulled away, he came. The look on his face, knowing I could give him that much pleasure, sent me over the edge, too. I cried out his name, and we sank to the floor. I rested against him, letting my breath catch, not wanting to escape back to reality.

  When I was with him, the world disappeared. All I could think about was the feeling of his skin on mine. I didn’t want to revisit the pain of the world. I didn’t want to think about bodyguards and stalkers. I just wanted to stay here with Blakely forever.

  But even in the movies, forever never lasted longer than the credit roll.

  I sat back and wiped my hair from my eyes.

  “So, what does this mean?” I asked.

  His smiled faded. “I guess this means you better hire a damn good secondary bodyguard.”

  I bit my lip. “Why’s that?” I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Planning to fuck me again, Blakely?” I wiggled my hips.

  A deep rumble vibrated in his chest, and he grabbed my hips to steady them.

  “Don’t tease while I’m still in you, Jezebel. I can go again.”

  His words were a threat, and I felt that promise to my core.

  “You have no fucking idea how sexy you are,” I said, standing.

  I wobbled, trying to maintain my balance, but my legs felt like jelly. I felt a thick, slow drip slide down the curve of my thigh. Glancing down, I watched its descent.

  “That’s so fucking sexy,” Blakely said.

  I bit my lip, silently thanking the inventor of birth control.

  Taking a seat at a bar stool, I glanced over at Tara, who was still asleep on my couch. I smiled, shaking my head. She was going to be pissed when I told her I had no intention of never again fucking Blakely.

  “I have something for you,” Blakely said, breaking my concentration. He took the stool beside me as he placed a black jewelry box in front of me.

  “Isn’t it a little soon to propose?” I joked.

  He exhaled dramatically, and I took the hint, opening the box.

  The light from the ceiling reflected against the metal of a small, simple, silver cross. I was once a religious person, but after I lost my parents, I cursed the idea of an all-knowing being. I’d felt abandoned, and I didn’t care to relive those feelings.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, running my thumb against the cool metal.

  “There’s a GPS tracker in it,” he said.

  Ah. I should have known.

  He slid the box from my hands, pulled the necklace free, and stood behind me, clasping the necklace around my neck. I let it fall. It hung low, resting just above the arch of my breasts.

  “The chain’s too long,” I said.

  He shook his head as he sat beside me, and I turned to face him, running a hand over the cross.

  “It’s meant to hang low. It’s not meant for display. I want it hidden.”

  “Oh…” I said.

  The metal was cold against my skin.

  “Wear it always, and I’ll find you,” Blakely promised.

  I swallowed the knot that was forming and smiled.

  “I trust that you will,” I whispered.

  He reached forward, brushing a loose hair behind my ear. In that moment, time stood still for us both. But as usual, Blakely pushed me away.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve been thinking about Maine. We need a cover story.”

  My interest piqued. “Cover story?”

  “We’ll attend as partners. That way, no one will suspect anything when I follow you around. They’ll think, being new to this relationship, that we’re young and in love.”

  I nodded. A week-long trip away with Blakely as my significant other? Fuck, yeah!

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll be all yours.”

  His jaw clenched, and I bit my lip at the sight of it. Never had a man made that look so damn sexy.

  I dropped my suitcase on my bed, unzipping it and tossing in the clothes and supplies I’d set aside for my trip to Maine. We weren’t due to leave for another day, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was too excited at the idea of a week away with Blakely. I was ready to ride that dick all over the hotel. I wasn’t sure what I was excited about more: seeing old friends or fucking Blakely until I couldn’t see straight. How the fuck could Blakely have thought pretending to be my boyfriend would be a good idea? That momentary lapse in judgment would work to my benefit, though, so I didn’t press the issue.

  I zipped up my bag and lugged it into the hallway.

  “You’re packed already?” Blakely asked, an eyebrow arched.

  “Yep,” I said, breathless, as I dragged the heavy tote to the front door. I pushed it against the w
all, exhaled sharply, and dusted off my hands. “Better to do it now than in the morning. I thought I could make us dinner. I have a chicken casserole ready to be put in the oven.”

  A small smile formed on his face when he nodded. “Sounds good.”

  A hard knock on my front door startled me. I jumped back, heart pounding, proving, once again, I could never survive writing a horror novel. Blakely, on the other hand, was his usual cool, calm, collected self.

  Or not.

  He pounced into action, placing himself between the door and me.

  “I’m sure it’s just a neighbor or Tara,” I whispered. Even so, I didn’t move.

  “Probably,” he said, peeking through the small, circular opening in my door. Stepping back, he unlocked and opened the door.

  “Mr. Blakely,” Tara said as she sidestepped him.

  “You need to remember to call or text before you come over, Mrs. Johnson,” he said.

  I scowled. “No, she doesn’t. You’re always welcome.”

  “Ugh, I know. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting about these new rules.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ignore him. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to see you before you go. What time are you leaving?”

  “Too fucking early, that’s when,” I said. It was not secret that I wasn’t a morning person.

  “Around seven,” Blakely clarified.

  “Yeah, like I said. Way too fucking early.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Tara shook her head, laughing. “Some things never change. Well, anyway, I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need. And do you know if you’ll have cell service?”

  “I’m good, and yeah, I should.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  She tugged some loose hair behind her ear. Her usually flowing black locks were pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her bright orange top contrasted against her dark mocha skin. She shifted from foot to foot as she scanned my apartment.

  She was nervous, but she’d never admit it. This was the first time I was leaving the safety of my home for more than a couple hours while we were still no closer to discovering the identity of my stalker.

  “I’ll be fine, Tara. Trust me. I’m sure Blakely will never let me leave his side.”

  She smiled, glancing up at Blakely. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug. “Y’know I love you, right? You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, not to mention the best damn lit agent in the game.”

  She leaned into me, taking deep breaths. “I know, but it’s my job to worry.”

  “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m making my famous chicken casserole!”

  She pulled away, shaking her head. “No, no. I’m fine. Besides, I have dinner plans. I have meetings soon.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, I need to go.” She turned to leave, but before closing the door behind her, she shot Blakely a glance over her shoulder. “Take care of her.”

  And with that, she was gone. The door closed, and Blakely bolted it shut.

  I exhaled slowly. I loved Tara for worrying, but I hated how her worries had the ability to make reality come crashing down on me. I decided to ignore those fears while I sauntered into the kitchen.

  I slid the casserole into the oven, set the timer, and plopped onto the couch, scrolling the TV for a good time-waste. Finding nothing, I groaned and clicked off the TV. I scanned the room, letting my gaze settle on my laptop. I hadn’t written in a few days. I was taking a hiatus until the bodyguard search was over, and now that it was, I could get back to my latest novel. I still wasn’t sure what I was writing. It happened like that sometimes. I’d sit down to write without truly knowing what I was going to create.

  I often found inspiration by walking around the city. I’d camp out somewhere in Central Park and people-watch. The plots of novels played out like movies in my mind. I was lucky, I guess. Not every writer had it so easy.

  The couch sank beside me, and I smiled, letting myself lean against him.

  “I can’t decide if I should get back to my book now or wait until we’re back from Maine.”

  “Wait,” he said.

  I leaned back, and he lifted his arm to let me lean fully against him. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t like to take breaks once I’ve started a new book, but since I’ll probably get no writing time at the residency, it would be smart to wait.”

  “What are you writing about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “It’ll come to me. Maybe a sexy bodyguard and his luscious client,” I teased.

  He ran his thumb along the curve of my cheek, and I closed my eyes, letting myself drift away to the sound of his heartbeat. I didn’t drift for long, however. The incessant beeping of my stove woke me only thirty minutes later. I groaned, sulked into the kitchen, and pulled out the casserole. I set out plates, silverware, and glasses and walked through the apartment in search of Blakely.

  But he wasn’t there.

  A knot worked its way from my stomach to my throat.

  He was gone.

  I was alone.

  Had he found me?

  I ran back into the kitchen, yanked my phone from my bag, and quickly dialed Blakely’s number.

  The line went dead.

  I swallowed hard and fell to my knees. I leaned against the front door as tears threatened to spill. With shaking hands, I fumbled to dial 9-1-1. In the corner of my eye, I saw a curtain blow as a slight breeze pushed it aside. I dared a peek and found the door to my rooftop deck ajar.

  Could he be on the roof?

  I crawled over to the door and opened it slowly.

  “B-Blakely?” I said. I spoke barely above a whisper. Even if he was up there, he never would have heard me.

  I took one step. And then another. When I reached the top, I swallowed hard and opened the door that stood between me and whatever was outside, internally cursing myself for not bringing a weapon of some sort. I chastised the women in horror films, but when it came down to it, I acted just as stupid in stressful situations.

  Blakely stood at the far end of the rooftop deck. He faced the skyline, his phone pressed to his ear. I walked toward him, scanning my surroundings with each step.

  “I told you to never call me,” he said.

  The person on the other end must have interjected because Blakely was silent a moment.

  “There’s nothing left to discuss. Do not call me again.” He clicked off the phone, dropping it in his pocket. His arms hung at his sides, his hands in white-knuckled fists.

  I dried my eyes as I reached him, suddenly embarrassed that I had overreacted. I kicked the debris at my feet, and he turned quickly. Noticing me, he offered a forced smile.

  Something was different. He was different.

  “What’re you doing up here?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t find you,” I said, my voice shaky.

  “Sorry. I thought you’d be asleep longer.”

  I nodded slowly. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “You seem… upset. Different.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s get inside. It’s not safe for you to be up here.”

  He still seemed odd, but I dropped it. Instead of arguing or demanding answers, I quietly followed him.

  I assumed my emotions had gotten the best of me.

  I assumed he was fine; I was over-analyzing the situation.

  After all, if I couldn’t trust Blakely, who could I trust?

  I didn’t understand early-risers. I moseyed through my morning ritual, spiting whoever thought it’d be a good idea to have six a.m. wakeup calls. I shuffled down the hallway and kicked my bag. It was still sitting where I’d left it the day before. I glanced up to find Blakely staring at me. He’d stopped mid-drink to witness my internal bickering. His cell phone beeped. Setting down his mug, he read the message and barked out a hard laugh.

  “Ugh, can you, like, stop being so fucking happy, Blakely?” I grumbled.

&
nbsp; “Tara just texted me. You should read it.”

  He flipped his phone around. I strained my eyes to focus on the bright white screen.

  Give her some coffee.

  “Tell her to fuck off,” I said. Tara and I had been best friends for years. She didn’t need to witness my behavior to know exactly how I’d react to certain situations.

  Like Blakely, she was too fucking chipper in the morning.

  I picked up Blakely’s cup and swallowed down the warm liquid.

  “That was mine…” he said.

  “Not anymore.”

  “You can nap in the car.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why does everyone say that? It’s not the same as sleeping in a fucking bed!”

  He chuckled. “I’ll bring down the bags. You grab another cup of coffee, and then meet me downstairs.”

  I waved him off, grumbling under my breath. I poured coffee into his mug and swallowed it down.

  “Don’t forget to lock up and set the alarm, sunshine,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  “I’ll show you some fucking sunshine,” I mumbled.

  It was a vague threat at best, and really, I had no idea what it even meant. But Blakely was ruining my routine. I did my best writing late at night, which meant I usually slept until noon. It never bothered me, but it annoyed Tara, who was an early-riser. I had listened to too many lectures about missed meetings. In this line of work, it was typical to have writers with my same routine, yet the business world still wanted (and expected) early morning meetings.

  I finished my coffee, washed the mug, and rinsed out the pot. Scanning the room as I walked toward the door, I grabbed my purse and left the apartment. Outside, Blakely loaded our bags into the trunk of a black SUV. The windows were tinted black. I could only see my reflection in the glass.

  “Where’d you get this?” I asked.