Cheater (Curious Liaisons Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Stay.” He brushed a soft kiss across my lower lip. “I want you to stay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  LUCAS

  She asked me what I wanted—and meant it. But she’d also taken my heart and beat it against the door, stomped on it for good measure, then shoved it back into my chest with a smile on her face.

  She wasn’t like my other women.

  Not at all.

  But I didn’t want her to be, and it pissed me off that she was categorizing herself the exact same way—like she was planning sex, like she was just another freaking day of the week.

  All I had to do was look in the mirror to know whose fault that was.

  And all I had to do was tell her no—in order to fix it.

  But I’d always been selfish—once a cheater, always a cheater, right? Only this time, this time it really did feel wrong.

  This felt like cheating.

  I wasn’t cheating her.

  I was cheating us.

  And when the idea of cheating suddenly transformed into something plural, like an “us”—that’s when you were in the wrong, that’s when you fought like hell. So I decided to give her this night, I decided to do the wrong thing—in hopes of doing the first right thing I’d ever done.

  I’d hold her in my arms.

  I’d kiss her lips, draw out each moan and scream, and if she tried to leave me, I’d simply chain her to my bed and provide enough food and water for her to survive until she agreed to be with me for longer than a twenty-four-hour period.

  Okay, so it wasn’t a solid plan.

  But it was all I had.

  And because of my lifestyle I knew if I told her she was different, she’d want to believe me but wouldn’t be able to—and seeing the doubt in her eyes would hurt me as badly as her asking for one day had when what I wanted to give her was a week, a year, a lifetime.

  Something bad was happening to me.

  Either I had a tumor in my chest.

  Or my heart was . . . beating.

  Hell, I knew it had been there all along—it just needed a conniving little snot to weasel her way inside and clang around a bit with a hammer. It needed Avery.

  “Come on”—I kissed her nose—“I have something to show you.”

  Avery rolled her eyes. “Does that work on the other girls too?”

  “I rarely have to say that, usually they just strip me at the door and—”

  Avery covered my mouth with her hand and shook her head. “Not helping your case.”

  I moved her hand and kissed her palm, and her breath hitched when my lips touched her skin. “I was kidding.”

  “Too soon,” she said with a breathy sigh.

  I led her by the hand down the hall and into my bedroom. “Go ahead, ask me.”

  Avery gazed at the large bed and then the window and then back at me. “Who’s your decorator?”

  “Avery Bug, come on—ask me.”

  “How many women?” she blurted. “How many women have been in that bed?” It killed me that she had to squeeze her eyes shut as if she was expecting the number to be such a blow that she couldn’t look at me when I confessed it.

  “One.” I kissed her forehead. “Though last time she was in it, she was really cranky, drunk, made fun of my pancakes, and threatened my life.”

  “She sounds awesome. Can I have her number?” Avery grinned up at me.

  “She’s alright I guess.”

  “I bet she has amazing boobs and knows how to moonwalk, and can eat an entire block of cheese within a ten-hour period.”

  “One whole block?” I repeated.

  “With wine,” she added with a smile and then looked back at the bed. “Any reason why no other girl has been in here?”

  “Easy.” I shrugged. “This is the only part of me that’s for me.”

  Avery reached for my hand, then squeezed it. “I think this is the part where I say I’m honored that you’re sharing your eight-hundred-thread-count sheets with me, but I can’t quite manage to choke out a thank-you before sex.”

  “I’ll expect one after.” I chuckled. “Or you could just tell me to go to hell and run out the door.”

  There it was again.

  The push.

  We did banter well—I made her think I didn’t care, and she treated me like a disease—and yet when we connected, we felt it. Words can lie, and the words said between Avery and me? Absolutely necessary to avoid the truth of our touch.

  A touch can’t lie.

  A touch may as well be a confession—and in that confession, you have no choice but to acknowledge the truth.

  “I think you better kiss me right now.” Avery stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across my chin. “Before I say more stupid things or just bail on you altogether.”

  “We’re doing this.” I wasn’t sure if I should be excited, elated, or disappointed that she wasn’t telling me to go to hell when, according to her, I’d be seeing another girl in less than twenty-four hours.

  “It’s not cheating if you know.” She repeated those same damn words I’d told her less than a week ago. And I only had myself to blame. Funny, when I said them I’d meant them. Truly believed that if you were that transparent, then it really wasn’t a bad thing. Everyone wins.

  Until now.

  I’d never been on the receiving end, and it hurt.

  It cut deep.

  Because if she left my bed to warm someone else’s, I’d end up in prison.

  Another kiss to my chin and then my lips. I knew I should push her away—we needed to have the dreaded talk, we needed to . . . I let out a moan as her hands fumbled with the buttons of my shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, gently grasping her wrists.

  “Taking your clothes off, Thorn. Why? You got a problem with that?”

  “Are you going to mount me if I do?” I teased.

  Her scowl deepened while her face flushed bright red. “I guess I brought that on myself.”

  “Yes.” Still holding her wrists, I backed her up against the bed until she had no choice but to fall backward onto the pillows. I straddled her and pinned her arms above her head. “Now, why don’t you let me kiss you first? It’s only polite before you start pulling my clothes off.”

  She nodded and swallowed as I lowered my head to hers. We were a breath apart.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  AVERY

  Bad idea.

  Bad idea.

  Good.

  Oh my hell.

  Was that his tongue?

  So.

  Knees buckling, I held on to his firm body to keep myself from collapsing against him.

  Good.

  I shivered as the aching tension between us intensified past anything I had ever experienced.

  Why hadn’t I jumped into his bed before? This was a splendid idea. His lips trailed up and down my neck, causing me to shiver, and then his fingers moved to my dress and tugged it down my shoulders. My flesh was too sensitive for words, and that was just from kissing.

  Something about the way his lips caressed my body—something about the way he held me—signaled what we were about to do was a way bigger deal than anything he had with his other girls.

  Was this how he treated all of them?

  With awestruck worship?

  Because it could get addictive—his touch wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced. You know it’s bad when the way someone touches you alters the way you feel about yourself. No longer was I the young, inexperienced brat he’d grown up with.

  In Lucas Thorn’s arms, I, Avery Black, was a woman.

  “You’re shivering.” His lips nibbled mine before he took a step backward and pulled his shirt off over his head.

  I sucked in a breath. “Can you do that again? Maybe slower next time?”

  His lips spread into a wide, arrogant smile. “That depends. Will you gasp louder next time?”

  “Ladies don’t gasp, and if they do, a true gentleman wouldn’t p
oint it out.” My lips were moving, but my eyes were locked on his insane chest.

  “Good thing,” he said as he took a step toward me, “I’m not a gentleman.”

  “Good thing,” I repeated, my voice sounding airy, nervous as he very slowly snaked his right arm around the back of my neck and tugged me forward against his solid wall of muscle and heat.

  With a moan, I pressed an openmouthed kiss to his chest. “I may just hang out here for a bit.”

  I could feel his chuckle against my mouth—I hated how good the vibrations felt. I hated how they made my heart pick up speed, and how warmth spread from my head all the way down to my toes when his grip on my body tightened possessively. I hated all of it.

  Not.

  “You know this has to be the slowest seduction ever,” he grumbled. “I’ve been waiting years to see you naked, and you nearly pass out when I take off my shirt.”

  “Years?” My ears perked up. I waited for details while his hands ran down my back, his fingers locating the zipper to my dress and pulling it.

  “Years,” he repeated. “Years.”

  “You’ve said that twice—no, three times.” Cold air hit my back as Lucas slid my dress all the way down.

  Lucas stepped back and cursed. “Oh, Avery, the things I’m going to do to you.”

  I gulped.

  His eyes seemed to darken as if a switch had been flipped. I was in his territory, where he ruled—and I had no idea how to proceed.

  The last time I had sex hadn’t been so great.

  It was rushed.

  It was a blur.

  It was messy.

  Awkward.

  Embarrassing.

  I left with one sock.

  “Tell me if I hurt you,” he warned, his voice on edge like he was about to pounce or something—and then, with a wicked grin, he charged me, gripped me by the hips, and flung me farther up on the bed.

  Like he was a freaking superhuman.

  I’d love to say being manhandled was horrible. Lucas Thorn, boo, you suck in bed—well, may as well make my grocery list while he does what guys do.

  Nope.

  False.

  I bounced once.

  “Don’t move.”

  I licked my lips and watched in utter fascination as black slacks fell to the floor.

  He made black boxer briefs look too sexy. But of course he did.

  And then he tilted his head and ran one hand up my right leg, pulling my thong down with his fingers before tossing it on the floor. I hadn’t worn a bra with my dress, so now I was naked.

  What happened to fast?

  Like, Oh look—let’s take off our clothes, have sex, and get the awkward staring at each other part over with?

  He didn’t do fast.

  His hand slid up my right leg again, and then the man hooked my leg up on his shoulder and flashed me a cocky grin. “You’re gorgeous.”

  I would have argued, but I had no voice.

  We locked eyes.

  And I almost passed out when he lowered his head. I opened my mouth, assuming he was going to kiss me.

  “Thorn!” I yelled. “Totally not necess—” Words. I lost them completely as he pressed his lips at my center and swirled his tongue. Warmth pooled where he was kissing, and my entire body went red-hot and then cold again, only to get hotter and hotter as he worked magic that mere mortals with penises should never possess! I accidentally smacked his head and used the opportunity to grab a fistful of his hair. At the moment holding on for dear life and trying not to lose my mind while he devoured every inch of me like I was his own brand of chocolate seemed like a good choice.

  His head popped up. “You were saying?”

  “Nothing.” I sighed, aching for more of what he’d just been doing. “Absolutely nothing. I’m silent. Mute.” I released his hair and sucked in a breath as his eyes locked on mine.

  “Well, we don’t want that either.” He disappeared again.

  My muscles flexed, contracted. He added fingers to his tongue until I felt so thoroughly worked over, I was certain I would explode. Fire raced through my veins and gathered where he was sucking and licking and thrusting with his fingers. The room dimmed, and I realized I’d forgotten to breathe. When I gulped in air, my arms and legs went numb and tingly. Is that what Lucas Thorn did? He gave women strokes in the bedroom?

  I released his head a second time as a white-hot sensation rushed over my lady bits, slamming into me in rapid succession. I let out a scream. “THORN!”

  He said my name against my skin, sent a vibration through me, giving the impression that I had the most beautiful name in the world. He murmured it once more, and little aftershocks rocked me.

  I became lost in my own desire again.

  I was happy to stay there forever.

  Or until he got tired.

  Amazingly, the man’s mouth was good for something. “Thorn!”

  I needed him to stop.

  Or keep going.

  Or just give me a two-second time-out before I lost my mind. Just when I felt like I couldn’t take any more of his moves, he jerked away from me and said gruffly, “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Oh thank God!” I reached for his head the minute he reached for mine, our mouths fused together in a frenzy of tongue sucking and near teeth knocking. I tasted what had to be me on his lips, and it only made me want him more. In the hazy distance I recalled this was Thorn. Lucas Thorn. Someone who’d broken my sister’s heart, someone who cheated, someone who was bad, but was still so, so, so good . . .

  There was something oddly arousing about the sound of our kissing, of our bodies hitting the sheets, crumpling them.

  Lucas groaned as I jerked his briefs violently down his legs and kicked them off the rest of the way.

  “What? No more patience?” he teased between searing kisses.

  “No.” I kissed him harder, my hands digging into his muscular back as our bodies rubbed against one another. Fierce, aching need between my thighs drove my hips upward, pressing against his thigh.

  I could kiss him all night long.

  And not get tired of it.

  But I suddenly wanted more.

  His cheek rubbed against my face as he cupped my breast. “I didn’t even spend any time—”

  “Not now!” I smacked his hand away, my body dying for the release his mouth had earlier promised.

  “Sorry!” He gripped my ass and pulled me to my knees. “I got distracted.”

  “No more!” I shoved his chest.

  He let out a rough exhale and then chuckled. “Angry makeup sex, and we haven’t even been fighting . . . incredible.”

  “If you want to tie me up, just say it. Otherwise, get on with it.” I winked and then wrapped my arms around his neck; my legs followed as I straddled him on the bed. Desperation burst through me. My already sensitive nipples hardened as they brushed against his chest, and chills spread outward, raising goose bumps all over my body.

  “If I knew it would make you stay—I probably would,” he admitted. The smile fell from his face briefly before he let out a moan and touched his forehead against mine, then pushed his erection against my thigh. “I need to be inside you, I need to feel you.”

  I nodded as searing waves of anticipated pleasure throbbed at my core.

  “Avery—” He groaned again as I ground against his hips, easing some of the craving between my legs.

  “Yes?”

  “Just”—his breath hitched—“just tell me if it hurts.”

  I silenced him with my mouth, hoping to end that certain conversation about my past sexual experience. Then I shocked myself by guiding him exactly where I needed him to be, not that a man like him needed help.

  I just wanted to be in control of it.

  Because that would end up protecting me, right?

  Protection! Oh God!

  “THORN!” I wriggled away from his hard length even as my body protested the move with a surge of pulsing desire. “Condom,” I gasp
ed, feeling like a complete tease.

  “Shit.” He stared at me in horror. “Avery, I completely forgot.”

  Part of me deflated just a little, but I didn’t ask if that happened often. I did notice he was shaking when I pulled away so he could walk over to the nightstand.

  I was ready to die.

  I wanted him that badly.

  “Could you walk any slower?” I demanded, my body twitching with anticipation.

  He burst out laughing. “I figured it was better this way.” Seriously, an ant carrying a picnic basket could have walked faster. His eyes lit up with amusement. “You know, to make you so desperate for me that it consumes you the way it’s consuming me—the way it’s consumed me ever since you walked that tight ass into my office.”

  I gasped, more turned on than I’d ever been in my entire life, damn him.

  “So, yeah, I’ll walk slower.” He pulled a foil packet out of the nightstand and walked toward me. The foil crinkled as he tore it open. “I’ll go as slow as I can because a woman like Avery Black should be savored.”

  I gulped.

  I knew he shouldn’t say things like that to me.

  Tenderness made me want what wasn’t mine.

  He made me want more than Wednesday.

  My eyes filled with tears, and I looked away and forced my emotions out of the situation, which just meant later I was going to end up crying into a box of chocolates while I dipped a serving spoon into a carton of rocky road.

  He leaned over the bed and kissed me, and then very slowly pushed me back against the mattress. His hands grabbed mine as he pressed openmouthed kisses to my neck, his tongue making trails down my jaw, until he nudged my knees wider apart and I felt him press into me, stretching me, filling me.

  It felt familiar.

  It felt right.

  Like coming home.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  LUCAS

  It felt wrong.

  Because of how right it felt.

  With other women, I was easily able to objectify the situation—to go to that place in my head where, in each instance, I truly convinced myself we were in a mutually beneficial relationship that meant I pleased her, she pleased me, and eventually we both moved on.

  I was a jackass.