Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2)

by Jeana E. Mann

  “No.” He edged toward the door.

  “Then you can’t stay here.” I blocked his approach.

  “Jesus, Kota. One more night. I’m serious.” He pushed his hair back from his face, a petulant furrow on his forehead, the same expression he’d worn as a six-year-old. “I could really use a shower. Besides, it’s going to rain, and I don’t feel well.” A peculiar shade of green tinged his complexion, and his eyes were dull, devoid of their usual sky blue.

  “Okay. Fine.” I stepped aside. A bright smile bowed his lips, and my hopes plummeted, knowing he’d once again played me. He pushed past me and into the living room. “But this is the last time. Tomorrow you’re going to the mission and see if you can get a room there.”

  “I hate the mission,” he shouted from the bathroom. I heard the water turn on and the banging of cabinet doors as he searched for a towel. “They make you pray twice a day.”

  “Good. You need to pray, you big sinner,” I shouted in reply.

  He stuck his head out the door, shoulders bare. Steam rolled into the hallway. “People who live in glass houses, Kota.”

  I made macaroni and cheese from a box, heated a can of green beans and a few smoked sausages for our dinner. We ate at the table and laughed about silly things. He helped me wash and dry the dishes. Later, we played Scrabble until we were both bleary-eyed. It was one of the best times together I could remember since we’d reached adulthood.

  “I’m going into rehab tomorrow afternoon,” he announced in the middle of our board game. I stopped, hand in midair holding a letter tile. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “It is a big deal.” In spite of his protests, I threw my arms around him and held him tightly. “This is great. I’m so happy for you. What brought this about?”

  One of his shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “I think I’m out of options.”

  Relief washed over me. A weight I hadn’t known I carried dropped from my chest. “You’ve been before. What makes this any different?” I’d seen him fail on three previous attempts to get clean. As much as I wanted to believe this time was different, my excitement was tempered by trepidation.

  “One of my friends died from an overdose last week.” His expression twisted with the first sincere remorse I’d seen in years.

  “I’m sorry.” I covered his hand with mine, tears of empathy stinging my eyes.

  “It could’ve been me. I don’t want to be that guy, Kota.”

  The thought of losing him like that constricted my chest with panic. Yet it was entirely possible. Over the past few years, I’d steeled myself for the possibility, dreading the day I received the phone call announcing my brother was dead from an overdose or a drug deal gone wrong. “I don’t want to lose you, Crockett. Neither does Mom.”

  His sheepish grin warmed my heart. “It’s a place outside of the city. They take a few charity cases every year, so it won’t cost anything.”

  “This is good, Crockett. So good.” I covered his hand with mine and squeezed. Pink colored his cheeks. “Does Mom know?”

  “Yeah. I called her this morning.” We hugged again.

  “Do you need a ride there?” I choked back tears of relief and happiness, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate the show of emotion.

  “Nah, I’m good,” was all he said.

  After midnight, I crept from my bed to watch him sleep. He looked so young and vulnerable, his dark hair mussed, eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. His skin stretched over the bones of his face, and he was too pale. I curled my fingers into fists, wanting to hug him one more time and somehow make all his problems go away. But they were his problems to solve, and it was his life to live. I had enough issues of my own with Sam.

  In the morning, thunder rattled the windows of the apartment. I didn’t have the heart to throw Crockett into the midst of a storm, so I let him stay after I left for work. I offered to see if Rockwell would drop him at the bus station, but he declined the option in order to sleep a few more hours. He promised to leave as soon as the weather cleared, and I chose to believe him.

  Chapter 18

  Dakota

  A LITTLE past ten in the morning, Samuel summoned me to his office. I hadn’t seen him yet. He’d arrived early for a call to Tokyo. Rockwell had driven me into the office. A thrill of anticipation buzzed through me, the way it did every time I saw Sam. When I entered, he was pacing the length of the room, Bluetooth in one ear, conversing in French with someone on the other end of the line. He didn’t glance in my direction, just waved me toward the conference table opposite his desk. By the time he ended the call, my nerves were dancing.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. As he spoke, he strode to the door then clicked the lock. Rain drizzled down the windowpanes, the drops creating a pleasant pattering noise.

  “For what?” Moisture began to gather on my palms. I’d seen that look in his eyes before, pupils black as onyx, and knew it meant either one of two things. Either he was pissed or he was horny. I expected the first but hoped for the second.

  He pushed the intercom, gaze locked with mine, promising me things—dirty, hot things. My nipples drew tight beneath the white silk of my blouse. “Mrs. Cantrell, please hold all my calls. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  I swallowed hard. Could he be any more handsome this morning? He wore a dark gray pinstripe suit with a tan vest beneath and a crisp, white dress shirt. The scruff on his cheeks had been trimmed into a beard outlining his square jaw. It gave him a somber, commanding air. It gave me heart palpitations.

  “You didn’t answer me. I want to know if you’re ready. For your punishment.” As he spoke, he went to the door and turned the lock. It clicked, echoing inside my ears like a gunshot. “From yesterday.”

  “Excuse me?” A white-hot thrill shot through my body. I had the MacGruder file in my grasp, prepared for another grueling session of numbers and data. I wasn’t prepared for whatever glimmered in his eyes.

  “Put your hands on the table,” he said, his voice low and deep.

  “What?” A tendril of hair escaped its hairpin. I puffed it away, trembling too hard to risk repairing it.

  “You heard me, Ms. Atwell.” He came around the end of the table to stand behind me. The heat of his breath shimmered over the shell of my ear, sending ripples of gooseflesh along my neck. “Do it. Now.”

  “So bossy, Mr. Seaforth,” I chided, but I did as I was told. Cool air whispered across my thighs as I bent over the table. With my palms flat on the walnut surface, I cast a questioning glance over my shoulder. His gaze rested on mine. What I saw there winded me. Playful. Confident. Demanding. All the things he’d been when I’d married him. All the things I needed him to be in the present.

  “You, Ms. Atwell, are insubordinate and headstrong. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Well, you could start by giving me a raise,” I countered.

  One large hand skimmed over the back of my knee then surged upward along the inside of my thigh. His thumb halted just short of my panties. “You don’t even have a job here yet,” he murmured, voice rough. “And after that little escapade yesterday? Well, you’ve got a lot of balls to ask for more money. You’ll be lucky to make it through the day here.”

  A wave of panic replaced the lust welling inside me, the way it did every time the subject turned to money. I silently cursed myself for bringing up the subject. His hand gripped my thigh, warm and demanding my attention. I forgot to worry when his thumb stroked the tender flesh on the inside of my leg, grateful I’d worn my favorite bra and panties today. I could hardly wait until he saw them.

  “I’ve been thinking, Ms. Atwell. Maybe it’s time we take this relationship to the next level.” The fly of his trousers pressed against the cleft of my bottom, giving me a good idea of what awaited me. He ran a hand along the groove of my spine. I closed my eyes, savoring each second of his touch, impatient for more. My thighs twitched to ease the ache between them. After a few short seconds, he backed awa
y. The chill of air conditioning replaced his body heat.

  “I’m open for negotiations. What did you have in mind?” I looked over my shoulder at him and started to stand up, removing my hands from the table.

  “Hands on the table.”

  The low, warning growl of his voice did incredible things to my insides. I complied, loving this new game. So full of surprises, my Samuel. I could see his reflection in that god-awful, ostentatious mirror on the opposite wall. He pulled a chair from the table and placed it behind me, sliding into it with his easy grace. “You’re so fucking hot like this, Kota. I’m just going to sit here and admire you for a minute.” He dragged his palm over his zipper, exaggerating the outline of his erection. My insides clenched, so turned on by his desire for me that I could barely stand still.

  “Wait until you see what I’m wearing underneath,” I said and widened my stance a little further. It was an uncomfortable position in four-inch heels. With my hands on the table and my ass in the air, it created an ache in my back. If it turned him on, I was willing to take one for the team, however.

  “Show me.”

  “I’ll have to take my hands off the table.” My pulse tripped and my palms began to sweat with nervous anticipation.

  “Go ahead.”

  With seeming leisure, I turned to face him. While he watched with lust-darkened eyes, I trailed a finger down the placket of my blouse. His gaze followed along as I popped each button. Beneath the silk shirt, I wore a white lace bra, my breasts surging upward in perky abandon. Pink satin bows adorned the straps and centered between the cups. I let my shirt open before shrugging out of it. Sam’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell, with two deep breaths.

  “Keep going.” He twirled a finger in the air, one brow cocked.

  “You said you wanted to negotiate the terms of our relationship. What was it you had in mind?” I turned my back to him, fingers gripping the hem of my skirt, and pulled it up high enough to reveal my panties. They were sheer white lace in front. The backside consisted of several delicate beaded strands gathered from the hip to the center, joined by a matching bow, exposing the whole of my bottom.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “You wear that fucking shit to work?” Sam rarely swore. He said profanity was for people with low IQs and limited vocabulary. I guessed my lingerie had that effect on him.

  “I like wearing sexy things,” I said, letting the skirt drop back into place before turning to face him once more. “It makes me feel like I have a secret.”

  “That’s one hell of a secret, sweet pea.” He scratched his jaw, fingernails rasping on the wiry hairs. “If I’d known you were dressed like that, I would’ve cancelled my meetings this morning.”

  I crooked a finger at him. “Come here, sexy man.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a devilish grin. “Let’s negotiate.”

  Chapter 19

  Dakota

  SAM CROSSED the room in two long strides. His mouth found mine, lips softer than I remembered, even though it had only been a day since our last kiss. The plush hairs of his new beard tickled my chin. I fisted my fingers into his shirt, drawing him closer, savoring the scent of his shampoo and the cologne he always wore. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon pastry. The tactile sensations were sweet, familiar reminders of lazy morning lovemaking and frenzied late-night fucks.

  He kissed me like it was the first time and the last time, like he wanted me, like he loved me. My tummy twittered when his fingers tightened on my hips. The sweep of his tongue over mine was more than a kiss, it was a claiming, a statement that he was mine and I was his and nothing would ever change those facts.

  “Strip,” he murmured when we finally parted. “Leave the panties on.”

  I quickly complied, watching while he unbuttoned his shirt. Ripples of muscle covered his abdomen. A trail of dark blond hair disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the fly, and lowered the zipper. When he hesitated, I drew him forward, centering him between my legs. I tugged his boxers down, and his erection bobbed forward, long and heavy.

  “I’ve imagined this so many times,” he said, skimming a hand down my throat. “Fucking you on the table. Here. Like this.” His palm rested between my breasts. I could feel my heart thumping against it in uneven, excited beats.

  “Me too,” I whispered, barely able to speak past the knot in my throat. I wanted to tell him how much I’d missed him, but something kept me from saying the words. I needed to know how he felt before I put myself out there, and I was too much a coward to ask.

  “Put this on me.” He pressed a foil packet into my palm.

  I tore it open with my teeth and unrolled the condom over his length. When I was finished, he pulled aside the crotch of my panties, exposing my sex. We both looked down to where the tip of his cock nudged my clit. It was hot, sexy, and the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. He dragged the head of his erection along my wetness, preparing me for him.

  “No foreplay. I need you,” I managed to say on a ragged exhale. I was drenched and ready for him. Standing in front of him made my heart pound and my mouth dry.

  “Sweetheart, every minute with you is foreplay for me.” He pressed into me slowly with a quiet moan, one centimeter at a time, drawing out the pleasure of two becoming one. Our eyes met. Suddenly I was drawn into the depths of the man in front of me, tumbling through grass-green irises into the convoluted soul of my ex-husband.

  The hands on my hips were warm, holding me in place, demanding my compliance. I surrendered willingly while he moved in and out of me, in and out, in and out. He surged inside with agonizing delay, dragging out to the tip before easing in to the root again.

  “I’ve missed you, baby.”

  The sweet confession melted all of my doubts, liquefied my bones, and dissolved any resistance I might have had. “I know. I missed you, too.” When I cupped his cheek, he turned his face into my palm and planted a kiss in the center.

  “This is good, right?” The uncertainty in his question had me searching his eyes. They were filled with naked need and vulnerability. “This is more than fucking, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, Sam.” Tears stung my eyes. His words broke my heart and shored it up, all at the same time. He wanted to love me again, but something held him back. I knew it was the hurt of my betrayal. I could heal the wound if he’d let me. I’d give anything to take away his uncertainty. “It was always more. It’s still more.”

  He rested his forehead against mine. We moved together, nose to nose, lips to lips, breathing and feeling, savoring the sweet ache of our union. Pleasure built with an intensity bordering on pain. I slipped my hands beneath his shirt, tracing the smooth groove of his spine, letting him set the pace while I worshipped him with soft touches and tiny, tender kisses.

  “If I wanted to take care of you, would you let me?” I asked, burying my face into his neck. I felt him stiffen and feared I’d gone too far, ruining our moment of intimacy.

  “You want to?” With fingers tangled in my hair, he pulled my head back, tipping my face up to meet his. The flare of his nostrils sent a new pulse of need through me. Something possessive and masculine sparked in his eyes. “Do you want to be mine, Dakota?”

  “Yes.” It was all I ever wanted.

  With my confession, the nature of our sex changed. He shoved into me hard enough to make me gasp. “Can I trust you?” He thrust into me again, bruising and punishing me with each stroke, eyes filled with a wild, primeval light.

  “Yes.” I fought back the tears threatening to spill over at any second and clung to him. “I promise, Sam.”

  “You promised once before. How do I know you mean it this time?”

  “Because now I know how much it hurts to live without you.” Our gazes held fast. I took his face between my palms to show him my sincerity. “There will never be anyone else for me, Sam. You’re my one and only.”

  Something inside him released. He pushed me down, the wood cold and unyielding against my back. One of
his hands hooked my right leg over his hip. The rhythm of his thrusts increased until he was pounding into me. Our skin slapped together. The friction of his erection against my clit ignited tiny explosions of bliss inside my core. I rose to meet him, wishing I could draw him further inside me, keep him safe, and never let him go.

  He tilted my pelvis, angling deeper. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop myself from clinging to him. I came hard, fingernails digging into his ass, teeth buried in his shoulder. My sex fluttered and pulsed around him. Each spasm sent ripples of fiery ecstasy to the tips of my toes. My legs trembled with the strength of each contraction. His muted grunts of pleasure spurred my orgasm. It went on and on while he rode me faster.

  “You’ve always belonged to me,” he hissed. I opened my eyes to find his face inches from mine, etched with need. My body continued to clutch and spasm around his, filling me with a euphoria I hadn’t known possible. He slowed long enough to press a tender kiss on the tip of my nose. “You just didn’t know it.”

  Chapter 20

  Dakota

  AFTER WORK that day, at Sam’s insistence, I found myself on the steps of Le Beau Monde, an exclusive dress shop on the elite side of the city. I took Muriel with me for fortification, having never ventured into that kind of place before. Once I’d broken the news to her about Sam’s invitation to accompany him to the Charity Auction, she’d recovered from her shock with impressive speed. She was happy to ride in the BMW with Rockwell behind the wheel. He dropped us at the front door with his cell number in case we couldn’t find a taxi home. I didn’t care what Muriel thought. I floated on a cloud of euphoria, still sated and glowing from sex with Sam.

  Inside Le Beau Monde, we sat on velvet chairs beneath glittering gold chandeliers in a private room, sipping champagne and nibbling some kind of hard sugar cookie while waiting for the owner to greet us. A tall, thin brunette floated into the room on endlessly long legs. She gazed down her nose at us, obviously unimpressed by my box store suit. “Did you say someone referred you?”