Just One Lie

by Kyra Davis

  “You may have mentioned it.”

  “I was already living in Belgium at the time but I arranged a visit back to the States,” I say, keeping my eyes on the ground. “I hid in the back row, wearing big sunglasses and baggy clothes to make sure no one recognized me. She graduated summa cum laude at twenty! She started college at sixteen!”

  “She must have been very academic,” Brad says impassively.

  “It’s so weird. I mean, I remember teaching her how to Vogue when she was three. She sucked at it, which made it more fun. Oh, and there was the time I taught her the lyrics to Right Said Fred’s ‘I’m Too Sexy.’ That one didn’t go over too well with Dad.”

  Brad laughs. “I bet not.”

  “I considered approaching her at the graduation but she was clearly doing so well without me and I . . . I chickened out.” I lift my shoulders in an embarrassed little shrug. “I got scared.” I finally pull my gaze away from the floor and look up at Brad and . . . oh, he’s sitting there with his open shirt, our little terrier pressed up against his muscular chest, and he’s looking at me with such love and such concern . . . If I saw this image on a poster I’d buy it and masturbate to it every night.

  But he’s not a poster.

  And I’m going to let him help me this time. This man cradling our little puppy, he’s going to help me, and oh my God am I going to need it. “I’m still scared,” I say.

  “I know,” he says, still holding my hand. “And I’m here.” He puts our dog down on the ground, and now I’m the one pulled to his chest as his arms encircle me. I curl up in his lap, the soles of my feet pressed into the sofa cushions as I bury my head in the nook of his neck, taking comfort in the way his hands move up and down my back. The music switches to Florence + the Machine’s “Never Let Me Go.” And when I lift my face to him he kisses me just as the music begins to soar. When he pulls away it’s only by inches, and he glances to the speaker before giving me his eyes again. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I will never let you go.”

  I smile and kiss him again as his hand moves up my side, bunching my tank a little in his hand. His lips move to my neck, sucking lightly at the skin as his hand finds my breast and I press myself into him. No matter what happens, I’m safe. He’ll never let me go.

  I let one of my hands wander down, moving into his shirt as he gently pinches my nipple through the lace fabric. And then he pulls the tank off completely, supporting me as I lean back, letting his teeth graze the lace as his free hand moves to my inner thigh and then up between my legs, adding just the perfect amount of pressure, moving just so, and I let out a little moan as I let this feeling drown out everything else. The anxiety, the doubt, the traces of anger that still taint every childhood memory. And when he unbuttons my jeans and unzips them, touching me, finding me wet for him, I shudder, gently scraping my nails against the muscular swell of his pecs, down to his abs as I begin to writhe. He’s using his teeth to pull down the lace bra, and now I feel the tip of his tongue against my skin as his fingers penetrate me.

  I fumble with his belt, but my hands are clumsy and the feelings he’s eliciting too intense for me to manage such an intricate task. As his thumb moves up to toy with that most sensitive little button, I cry out his name and he lifts his head from my breast so he can watch me, and I’m his to watch, to touch, to provoke with his ministrations of lust and love. It’s all it takes to bring forth this first orgasm. Just his touching me, looking at me, loving me, all with his unique mix of ferocity and tenderness. Again I say his name as his fingers continue to stroke me, toy with me, drawing out my ecstasy.

  And after this first wave of pleasure begins to calm, I make quick work of his belt. I straddle him, my knees pressing into the couch as I rip his shirt from him, buttons flying, before I lean down to kiss his chest, then rise just enough to drag my tongue along that tender bit of skin that sinks behind the collarbone as I pull the shirt off him entirely. He unhooks my bra with one hand.

  Is it possible that he’s really getting better looking every year, or has my vision been altered by my own growing love?

  I get down on the ground, almost crushing our poor Yorkie, who is getting seriously freaked out. I pull off Brad’s pants, then his boxer briefs, and oh, there he is, his erection reaching for me, wanting me . . . Brad will always want me. I take him in my hand and then slowly let my tongue trace the contours of him, feeling the little ridge of the tip before taking him fully in my mouth. His head falls back and he grips the back of the couch so that his arms are outstretched to either side, making himself completely open to me as I continue to slide my mouth up and down, one hand gripping his thigh, the other cupping him, feeling him, tasting him. He groans and it sounds both rough and musical, like a Joe Cocker love song.

  And when he reaches down, touches my hair, I know it’s time. Slowly I stand between his legs as he pulls down my jeans and panties, his fingers continuing their journey, touching each inch of skin as it’s exposed to him. And I stand before him naked as his hands explore me, the small of my back, my waist, my thighs, touching, toying with my core as his other hand slides over my chest. And I slowly straddle him again, gripping his shoulders. But I don’t lower myself onto him right away. For a moment I just look into his eyes as he gazes into mine, and then slowly I lower myself, until he’s pressing against me, teasing my lips. “I love you,” I whisper, and then I take him, pressing down onto him so that he enters me completely and then I’m so close to him, my hair falling over my shoulders so that the lavender tips touch his cheeks, blinding him to everything but me. Slowly I ride him as he grips my waist and adds his own power to my movements, pulling me into him with even greater ferocity every time I thrust against him. Then he reaches up with one hand, moving my hair behind my ear, and whispers, “Mercy.”

  And then with one swift movement he lifts me, and without losing our connection turns me on my back so he’s on top. He holds my calf, bending my leg so he can go as deep as he likes and . . . oh, he does go deep. I’m clawing his back now, losing control as he kisses my hair, my neck, my shoulder, never letting up on his intense rhythm. Until I cry out again, my whole body shaking, and we roll, crashing down to the floor (once again missing the dog, thank you God). Now I’m on top again, but he lifts himself, leaning back on his hands as I press my breasts against his chest, grinding against him, taking control once again as I kiss him passionately, connecting myself to him in every way.

  I tease him by pulling back just a little, so only the tip of his cock is inside me. Seeing the need in his eyes thrills me. And I continue to tease, thrusting shallow then deep, then moving in circular motions against him, stimulating new nerve endings until his bulging arms are trembling, overcome with my power, my love. That’s when I take him in entirely, every inch, and the sensation is so intense he explodes inside of me, and as I feel him throbbing, pulsing inside my walls, that’s enough to bring on one more orgasm for me, too. I collapse against him so he falls back and we lie on the floor, drenched in sweat and affection. I close my eyes, savoring this perfect moment.

  And we do savor it for at least a minute or two, hearing nothing but our mingled breath and Moby singing on the stereo about what love should do. Neither of us moves . . . until the dog starts licking the bottom of my foot. I squeal and start giggling and Brad starts laughing . . .

  . . . and then it really is perfect.

  I’m safe. I’m with him. I can face these demons. I can face my sister. I just have to remember I have strength.

  The strength of happiness. The strength of just being okay.

  CHAPTER 44

  IT TAKES LESS than two days to find Kasie. She has her own company now, some business consulting thing. Brad says that from what he’s found out it looks like a promising start-up, in business for less than a year. She used to work at the top global consulting firm in the country.

  How different can the two of us be?

  And that’s one of the many reasons I can’t get myself to just call her up. I
don’t know Kasie. Not anymore. And everything that we’ve found through Google . . . I don’t relate to it. She graduated from Harvard Business School. I didn’t go to college. She used to be a player in a major firm and now runs her own company in LA. I’m a former pole dance instructor who sings in nightclubs for hipsters. In every picture I can find of her she looks like she’s ready to go on a power lunch. I have purple hair. The only thing we have in common is that we both have been with our boyfriends for a significant amount of time.

  So I start there. I decide to contact her boyfriend first. Let him tell me how best to broach the news. After all, he’s someone who must care about her and who does know her, someone who won’t feel beholden to our parents and will put Kasie’s needs first. And he’ll be ready to support her when the shit hits the fan, just as Brad is supporting me.

  At least, I hope that’s the deal. What if he’s abusive or something? What am I talking about, if he’s abusive I’ll just kill him. Surely one murder will make up for all the years I’ve been negligent in my big-sister duties.

  The man she’s seeing is named Robert Dade, and he’s one intimidating dude. Very attractive, fit, salt-and-pepper hair, founder and CEO of Maned Wolf, a company that provides security, Internet and otherwise, for some of the biggest corporations in the world. There are a slew of articles about him, in Businessweek, Forbes, the Wall Street Journal, and so on. He’s a self-made billionaire who appears to be highly respected but not necessarily well loved. Even in his photos he looks . . . intense. But what’s nice is that in his recent interviews he never misses an opportunity to mention and praise Kasie.

  I don’t want to be the one to call. If I do I might be asked to explain in detail why I want to see him, and I really don’t want to do this over the phone. So I get my manager to call for me, hoping my newfound celebrity might be enough to get me in the door. And fortunately for me it is. Mr. Dade’s assistant is a fan and she gets me in for the following week.

  The wait is excruciating. I play and replay what I’m going to say. And then I pray to every God that has ever been worshipped asking that the blogosphere doesn’t blow up with this before I have a chance to tell Kasie in person. I go from chewing my nails, to crying, to jumping up and down with excitement. Brad is a saint for putting up with my hysterics. He makes arrangements for June and his work so he can come down to LA with me. June is easy, she’s seventeen and responsible. She can pretty much take care of herself. But work? The amount of juggling he has to do to get this time off is mind-boggling, and if possible it makes me love him even more. He doesn’t have to come, after all. He won’t be able to go to the meeting with Robert Dade, and I have no idea if he’ll be able to meet Kasie. He’s just going so he can hold my hand as much as possible. It’s both excessive and totally necessary.

  And then . . . it’s time. We fly to LA the morning before the meeting, get an early check-in at The London, and get settled in our hotel room. I could have easily left Mammoth with June, who loves her, but what’s the point of having a small dog if you don’t drag her along with you? Anyway, she’s perfectly happy toddling around the room as I have my nervous breakdown.

  It’s the kind of morning that makes me wish I still drank. I consider going out and buying some business attire for the meeting, but then decide against it. They should know what they’re getting with me. I’ll be myself. Well, I’ll be myself on a low volume setting. I’m wearing dark skinny jeans and a loose gray top with a superwide boat neckline that slips around this way and that. It’s longer in the back and has a sheer triangle inset that reveals the center of my back through dark gray gauze. That way if I get a little shaky he’ll still be able to see that I do indeed have a spine. For accessories I settle for a few silver chains of various lengths and my mammoth earrings for luck.

  “Keep your phone with you,” Brad reminds me for the umpteenth time as we prepare to leave the room. “I’ll just be in the café across the street. One call from you and I’m there in a heartbeat.”

  “Don’t use clichés,” I say absently as I put on my shoes; I’ve changed my mind about what shoes to wear about a thousand times now. Mammoth yips in agreement.

  Brad laughs and kisses me on top of my head. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  We take a cab there and then Brad goes to the café and I walk into the lion’s den . . . or in this case, the wolf’s den.

  It’s a dark mirrored building and the office is on the top floor. I’m escorted to Mr. Dade’s reception area, where I’m presented to his receptionist. It’s clearly not the same woman my manager set up the appointment with, because she doesn’t have a clue as to who I am. In a way that’s a relief. I don’t know if I’m up for signing autographs right now. And yes, lately people have been asking for my autograph all the time. When my income catches up with my growing fame, I’ll be great.

  “Mr. Dade is ready for you,” the receptionist says.

  “Great.” Finally I stand and wipe my now sweaty palms on my jeans. “What’s your name again?”

  “Sonya,” the woman says with a cool smile. I get the feeling I’m being sized up. She reaches forward and opens the door to the office. I close my eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and step in.

  It’s a gorgeous office. The view is almost better than the view from the roof deck of The London. Well appointed, stylish in a classic kind of way, although not exactly warm. And the man behind the desk is . . . um . . . quite the specimen.

  He stands up, revealing about six feet of height and a physique that is actually more impressive in person than it was in pictures. Of course he’s not bulked up and broad like Brad. He’s got more of a lean-mean-killing-machine thing going on. He’s wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car, and it’s tailored to perfection. He’s scary hot.

  And I mean that literally. I’m scared to death of this guy. If I could go running from this room I would.

  “Miss Raye,” he says as he maneuvers around his mahogany desk and offers me his hand.

  “Mr. Dade,” I say in a surprisingly steady voice. Thank God I wiped the sweat off my palms before walking in here.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up,” he says as he leads me to one of the chairs in front of his desk and then goes back to his seat. “Cheryl, the temporary employee who set up this appointment, should have informed you that I don’t actually handle the accounts. I can make sure that one of our top executives takes on whatever security needs you may have.”

  It takes me a second or two to figure out what he’s talking about. “Oh,” I finally say once I get that he thinks I’m here for some sort of security bullshit. “Yeah, I’m not here for that,” I correct him as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I let my eyes wander around the room, taking in the leather sofa, the art on the wall, anything other than the man in front of me. And yet I have to do this thing. I take another deep breath. “I’m here for personal reasons.”

  “I see,” he says coolly. “What personal matters could you have with a complete stranger? We haven’t met before, have we?”

  “Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. Say it, just say it!

  “If we haven’t met, and you don’t want to talk to me about business, what do you want to talk to me about?” he says. His irritation is showing now. His voice has gotten lower, his words just a little more clipped. He reminds me a little of a sexy Bond villain. I wonder if he’ll shoot me.

  I press my lips together, shift my position again, and then force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m here because . . . because . . .” Come on, you can do this! Just one more deep breath and then spit it out! He’s looking more impatient and more menacing by the second. I exhale through pursed lips. “Sorry,” I say weakly. “This is hard for me.” Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God how do I say this? I can’t do this!

  Yes you can, says a little voice in my head that’s slightly more reasonable. You can because you are comfortable with who you are and you have the strength of Brad’s love behind you. It’s all you need
.

  I straighten my posture and offer Mr. Dade a small, determined smile. “Okay, here it goes . . . I’mHereBecauseIHearYou’reDatingMySister.”

  I hold my breath and give him a second to divide the one long word I blurted out into nine separate ones. If anything, he looks more irritated than he did before. He is definitely going to shoot me.

  “I’m afraid you heard wrong,” he finally says as he makes a show of looking at the clock on the wall. “The woman I’m involved with only has one sister and she passed away some time ago.”

  “No she didn’t,” I say softly. I think the beating of my heart might actually be louder than my words.

  His eyes sharply turn back to me. “Excuse me?”

  “Melody didn’t die,” I say, forcing myself to speak slowly, clearly, and with the appropriate conviction. I roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and give him a small, shaky smile. “I’m right here.”

  He stares at me for a long time. But this time he doesn’t look irritated. I can tell he’s taking me in, feature by feature, that he’s thinking, perhaps calculating the age Melody should be, going over what he knows and what he doesn’t. Whatever’s going through his head, it must give my story some credence, because now the look on his face is one that can only be described as shocked.

  “Maybe we should start again,” I say. You can do this! “I was born Melody Fitzgerald, and I’ve been very much alive all my life.” It’s the first time in years that I’ve spoken my full birth name. It does not roll easily off the tongue. Be professional about this! Speak his language so he understands. “Now,” I say in what I believe is the nasal diction of the 1 percent, “I’m hoping you can reacquaint me with my sister, Kasie. Will you do that, Mr. Dade?”

  Again he just stares at me. I don’t know this guy, but he doesn’t seem like the type to ever be at a loss for words. Under other circumstances I’d be proud of myself for getting someone like him off balance. But the circumstances aren’t different and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Should I keep talking? Should I wait for it all to sink in? If this were a soap we’d stare at each other meaningfully for another few seconds and then they’d cut to commercial. But I don’t think Procter & Gamble is going to save me from this.