The Lying Game

by Miller, Mickey

  Something coils inside me. Every square inch of my body throbs with want for him and the release only he can give me. It’s not about the act. It’s about ten years of pent-up tension begging for release.

  He pauses, not quite grinning as he runs a hand through my hair. “Stand up,” he orders.

  I obey, sitting up and then sliding my feet to the ground. I walk back around to his side of the island. I quelch the resistance in my head that wants to disobey him. My need to have him is stronger than my want to be disobedient, for once.

  “Turn around,” he says.

  I do.

  “Arch your spine and stick out your ass. Like this.”

  I reach my hands onto the marble for balance, and Carter presses my spine down and my ass up.

  Pulling my hair out of my eyes so I can see him, he says, “You’re gorgeous, Laces. Remember that. I love the way this pose accentuates all my favorite parts of your body.”

  He sweeps behind me and, holding onto a clump of my hair, he guides his cock into my pussy.

  I lean my elbows down onto the countertop, my neck pulled back by Carter’s strong grip on my hair. I let out a desperate moan as Carter thrusts into me and pulls, a tingle running down my spine at the dual feelings of pleasure and stimulation at the base of my scalp.

  His motions are slow and deliberate at first. I’m finely attuned to the hand he rests on my back, running back and forth over my skin while he thrusts into me. Letting go of my hair, he grips my hips with both hands as he pushes deeper into me.

  Even though I was on the brink of orgasm not long ago, I find myself resisting.

  So much between us is still unresolved, up in the air. I want to get more in depth with him.

  Or maybe we should just succumb to the healing properties of sex.

  I blink when I feel a slap on my right buttocks, followed by a soft rub.

  I don’t just like it.

  I love feeling his power.

  I rock my hips in tandem with Carter’s thrusts and we find our groove.

  Slap again. Left buttocks. Then he softly rubs the tender area.

  Why the hell is Carter the man who can make me feel more than I’ve ever felt before?

  I should hate him for never giving me a chance to explain myself.

  But it’s hard to hate him fully when he breaks me down like this.

  The feelings swell inside me, a confused stew of pleasure, anger, and lust.

  The pleasure as I clench around him, holding onto nothing and everything as he slides in and out of me.

  Slap. Rub.

  The anger that I’ve submitted to him.

  Slap. Rub.

  My stomach lurches knowing how badly I want him, and what I might be willing to do to get this feeling again.

  Slap. Rub.

  Fuck. He’s going to leave a handprint. The way his hand connects to my skin undoes me. The pain and pleasure mix together, and my mind fades to mush as pleasure override kicks in, nothing making sense.

  “. . . I’m going to. . . come. . .” I mewl, barely lucid enough to remember Carter’s rule.

  My words are a last second ditch effort to gain his permission as my orgasm crescendos. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything and I try to hold back from coming. But everything about this is too much.

  His huge hands on my hips. His big hips and the skin-on-sweaty-skin slapping noise every time he thrusts into me. The way his powerful, hard cock spreads me out and touches deep inside me. Pushing down on the countertop, he presses the weight of his whole body into me.

  Grabbing my hair as if it’s his anchor, he speaks, his voice a gravelly growl. “Come, Beautiful. Don’t hold back. Come all over my cock, Laces.”

  Laces.

  It’s my childhood nickname that sends me right over the edge.

  A subtle reminder that this isn’t some one night Tinder date with a random guy.

  The man I’ve both idolized and hated for years is the one who can give me this sort of pleasure. I let out an awkward cry as I clench around his cock and come so hard I wonder if Chicago might be having its first earthquake.

  My toes shake, my calves quiver, and my thighs tremble as the heavenly feeling takes over my whole body.

  I scream again—nearly in tears of pleasure—and turn my head to look at Carter. His eyes are as wide as mine as we lock onto each other.

  With my free arm, I reach back and slap him on the side of his butt.

  He blinks—shocked, perhaps?—and then smiles ever so slightly.

  Wrapping his fingers around my neck, he leans forward and growls as he kisses me, pounding me all the while. He pulls back and his eyes flutter. I love the way his eyelashes look. His breath is short, and he slides his hand up my neck to cup my cheek.

  I whisper in his ear. “I want to feel you come now.”

  Carter screams so loud, I flinch.

  “Holy fuck,” I yell, as he shoves me down on the countertop and fucks me like I’m his last. He runs his hands over my tits, my hips, my ass. I feel his cock twitch as he shoots bolts inside me.

  I rest my head on top of my forearms while I pant to catch my breath. When Carter pulls out of me, I can feel the emptiness he leaves behind. Totally destroyed, I glance up at him with one eye from my resting position. His body glistens with sweat. “I hate you, Carter Flynn,” I mutter.

  He swallows. “I hate you too, Lacy Benson.”

  But as he drags his hand across my thigh and my stomach flips, I know that’s a lie.

  This isn’t hate at all.

  It’s something else entirely.

  22

  Carter

  I’m jolted out of a deep sleep when I hear the sound of my own voice trying to speak.

  My palms are sweaty, and I have the sensation of being on edge. Taking a few deep breaths, I attempt to still myself.

  Hints of nightmares nip at me, but they fade away into the backroads of my subconscious.

  I open my eyes, and a surge of adrenaline rushes through me when I see Lacy lying face-down, stark naked, in my king sized bed.

  Late evening rays of golden sunshine seep through the blinds in my room.

  The heat of what Lacy and I did in the kitchen this afternoon comes crashing back to me.

  I’m naked too.

  Although we were both wrecked when we finished, I can feel my hard-on returning as I watch her gorgeous body while she sleeps.

  Sitting up in bed, I blow out an audible exhale.

  So we fucked each others’ brains out. Holy fuck, did we ever.

  I pull strands of Lacy’s dark hair out so I can see her ear. I contemplate whispering a sweet little nothing into her ear.

  Like, sleep in your own damn bed.

  I don’t let girls sleep in my bed. Especially late on a Saturday no less. I’m tall with long appendages, and I like to starfish when I sleep.

  But this isn’t just anyone. This is Lacy, my original inspiration. I listen to her breathing pattern, watching her back gently rise and fall.

  She’s damn gorgeous, I’ll give her that. Supple skin, toned legs from years of dance. That fucking attitude of hers has got to go, though. From watching her sleep, you’d assume she was a proper fucking good girl.

  In truth, she’s the first girl I’ve been with who seems to be able to stand up to me.

  Running my gaze from her heels, thighs, the small of her back and neck, I want to kiss her everywhere. Just because I can. Because even though I still can’t stand the way she’s acted in the past, I can’t deny she’s sparked something in me. What that is, I’m not sure yet.

  I could never get past what she did to me my senior year of high school.

  Lacy knew my dad wasn’t dead like my mom had told me all those years.

  She knew, but never told me.

  Lied to my face for an entire year while I was falling deeper in love with her.

  That was silly love though, teenage stuff. I knew in my heart that she she was the One with a capital “O.” I had t
his picture in my mind of us taking it slow, dating throughout our college years, before we would finally get married and have beautiful children.

  I just knew.

  But then my mom told me--well, more like sobbed to me--on my eighteenth birthday in early May of my senior year that my dad was alive, that he was a powerful man and that I was essentially his bastard child who he wished was never born.

  That hurt.

  But I’d had so much love from my mother and my friends in Blackwell, I brushed it off at first.

  I told my mother everything was going to be fine. God had given me the strength to make it through my first eighteen years of life and get a scholarship to play basketball. I knew He had eyes on me, and I was blessed.

  But when I saw Lacy on my birthday, I broke down.

  I told her everything.

  Only she barely reacted.

  She didn’t even seem surprised.

  Because she knew.

  She’d overheard that my father was alive, and she fucking knew all along.

  I’d trusted her with my heart, and she’d chosen allegiances. She kept a secret for her mother instead of being honest with me.

  My chest tightens, and I swallow a lump in my throat as I replay the movie of my birthday in my head.

  I know my father’s out there somewhere, but just doesn’t give a shit about me as a son. Sometimes I wish I still thought he was dead. That ignorance was blissful.

  Though I’ve never had the motivation to seek him out. I’ve shunned it. I don’t want to know who the fucker is.

  I grind my teeth and try not to think about him. Luckily there’s a beautiful distraction on the bed right in front of me. A grin spreads over my face.

  Goddamn, she has really grown into herself. Mentally, I never remember Lacy being so headstrong. And then there’s how hot she’s gotten. Wider hips. Is her ass slightly more bubbly?

  I snort. Bubble butt. I’d love to shake the hand of the man who invented the term.

  I think about how good it felt to be with her last night.

  This was beyond sex. With other women, we’d had no connection. It’d been mechanical. I always knew something was missing with them.

  And now I know exactly what I was missing: Lacy.

  I swallow, and without even trying, I realize I’m at full mast again.

  I get onto my knees and straddle her, pumping my hand over the fat tip of my dick.

  A low growl escapes my lips. I want to kiss her. I want to fuck her again.

  Why the fuck can’t I stop with Lacy?

  She shifts a little bit in her sleep, wiggling her ass, and it damn near sends me over the edge.

  Her phone buzzes on the nightstand close to her head. She stirs and I think she might wake to see who texted her, but then she just scratches her little nose and puts her cheek on the pillow again. Well goddamn if that wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve seen all day.

  Still naked, I check her phone to see who’s texting her.

  The name shows. Some guy named Norton. Wasn’t that her ex who she came here to live with originally?

  Now I use both hands on the phone. I’m interested to know what this fuckhead has to say.

  Number locked with five digits.

  First, I try the numbers that correspond with ‘Laces.’

  No luck.

  Then I try 1-2-3-4-5. Nope.

  Hmm.

  Lacy, five digits.

  A memory of pulling up to her house in Blackwell when I was a kid flashes in my mind.

  10439 Country Road C.

  Bingo.

  Time to mess with people for my own enjoyment, one of my favorite activities of all time.

  I pull up Norton’s text.

  Norton: Hey honey, just wanted to say happy birthday! That party looked fun yesterday, too bad I couldn’t come. WYD tonight

  Hey, Honey?

  I narrow my eyes, somehow angry at the text message. What the fuck is going on with this guy? I guess I’ll play along. I text back.

  Lacy: Wow! Things got pretty wild last night. How have you been honey?

  Norton: Good to hear. So, I was thinking, what are you up to tonight?

  Lacy: Oh idk why

  Norton: Well obviously you moving to Chicago caught me off-guard, but I was thinking. . . we could just hang out tonight and do whatever

  Lacy: Whatever. . .?

  Norton: lol like you don’t know. . . don’t act all innocent

  My blood boils. What the fuck is going on with this guy?

  Lacy: Norton you’re just going to have to spell it out for me.

  Norton: lol. Ok. . . DO YOU WANT TO HOOK UP TONIGHT?!

  I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I know Lacy didn’t hook up with Lance, now.

  But could she have hooked up with this Norton Motherfucker while she was here?

  Jealousy courses through me, and I can feel blood pumping straight to my balls.

  I look down.

  Even while I’m concentrating on sending this text, I’ve got a hard on as straight as a flag pole. Must be the pheromones she gives off or something. I can’t not be hard around her.

  A devious idea creeps into my mind.

  “Carter Flynn, you’re a real dick,” I say in a low voice. Still straddling Lacy’s body, I land in a sitting kneel position so my cock lays across her supple ass.

  I snap a picture with Lacy’s phone and send it to Norton along with a text.

  Lacy: Hook up? No, I’m actually taken care of in that department tonight :)

  I smirk to myself, wondering what that turd will think when he sees my fat, hard cock on top of Lacy.

  I snap my finger. Damn. Should have taken a fucking video. I pull up Lacy’s messages again when a text from Lance comes through.

  Lance: Hey Sexy Bitch, you alive after last night?

  I shrug. Well, when in Rome. . . might as well troll him too. Especially since he was willing to play a devilish prank on me with Lacy.

  Though to be honest, I actually like and respect the guy that he had the balls to do something that wacky.

  Lacy: I crashed so hard. We have a lot to talk about

  Lance: lol I’m sure. Have you spoken with Carter since last night?

  I think for a moment. If Lacy said something to Lance, he’d just reflect that back via text messages now, right?

  Lacy: I just didn’t know what to tell him. What do you think I should say?

  Lance: Tell him the truth. That you hate him but no one can make you come like he does. And can you please turn him bi? Lol

  Lacy: lol you’re funny

  Lance: I’m serious. So you never told me, is his dick as big of a dick as he is? I always assume the more of an asshole, the bigger the equipment. It’s sort of an informal survey Joseph and I are running

  Lacy: lol that’s none of your business

  Lance: Come on you sexy bitch I faked sloppy slappy sex with you I deserve DETAILS!

  I grin at Lance’s response, thinking about how I can have some more fun when Lacy stirs and seems like she’ll really wake up.

  Fumbling my hands, I aim to send one more text to Lance.

  But what I actually do is send the dick pic to him.

  Oops.

  Lance: holy Chicago Sausage King who took that picture though?!

  Lacy starts to rotate around in bed, and I toss her phone onto the ground just before she opens her eyes.

  And sees me straddling her.

  “What are you doing Carter? You creep,” she says, her eyes sleepy.

  I clear my throat. “Just, ah, you know. Stretching.”

  Squinting a little bit, she throws her arms behind her head. She looks like a damn mermaid. Or a siren, sent straight from heaven to seduce me.

  “It looks like you’re stroking yourself to me while I’m sleeping,” she says in a sultry voice.

  “You’re not sleeping anymore.”

  She bites her lip. “Were you going to fuck me in my sleep?”

  I wink
. “I already did.”

  She rolls her eyes, speaking playfully. “Carter. That’s not funny. Do you ever stop being an asshole and take things seriously for like two seconds?”

  I shrug, trying to keep a straight face as I consider the dick pic I just sent her ex.

  Instead of answering, I grip my cock at its base and thump it on her abdomen. “Carter Hard. Carter Smash.”

  She can’t hold back her laughter. Sitting up, she pushes into my chest. “I still hate you. I do, you know.”

  “So if you hate me you can’t laugh at my jokes?”

  She bites her lower lip and stares at me. “You’re very hard.”

  “I know.”

  “How are you that hard again?”

  “Not sure. I think it’s something to do with testosterone and being close to you.”

  “Close to me? Like specifically?”

  “Yes. You’re. . . what, a Gemini? I’m pretty sure Taurus’s get hard naturally when there are Geminis in the room. Plus, you’re just hot.”

  She furrows her brow and snorts. “I’m a Cancer, not a Gemini. And you’re wrong—I’m not hot.”

  I clench my jaw. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “I said I’m not hot. Come on. You know it’s true. I’m okay. I’m no Davina though.”

  Without thinking, I reach my hand out and hold her. I stare at this mystery of a woman in all her naked glory. Her thick black hair. The natural hue of her pink lips—her make-up is faded away by time and kisses.

  “Carter,” she gasps, and I forget how I’m holding onto her even harder than when we were fucking on the kitchen island.

  I swear I see her wipe away a tear from under her eye, but it could just be sweat.

  She straddles my stomach and lowers her head to mine, whispering in my ear. “One more time, Carter. And I want to be on top this time.”

  I put my arms behind my back. The corners of my lips quirk upward in a curious grin. Who is this girl, sitting on top of me?

  I’ve known her for more than twenty years. I’ve seen the good and the bad develop in her from a young age.

  But right now—she seems like a stranger.