Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  His head tilted. “I’m sure the good doctor would have done as well. With the exception of emergencies, only I get access to that pussy.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “Sterling, I’m not sure of much, but I am sure I want to trust you.”

  His forehead dropped to mine. “There’s still more that happened.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  He’d repeated his mantra about a man’s word multiple times. If Sterling told me yes, he would do it.

  “Can we get out of here first? I believe you that the water will stay warm, but in the meantime, we’ll shrivel into prunes.”

  Araneae

  Sterling turned off the water and helped me from the shower. After drying ourselves with thick, plush towels, we’d wrapped them around our bodies when he again swept me off my feet.

  I slapped at his shoulder. “Stop doing that, I can walk to the bed.”

  “You’re not going to that bed.” He tilted his head toward the bed where I’d awakened. “You’re coming to ours.”

  Ours?

  Out the door and down a hallway, we turned at what I recognized as the landing above the stairway to the foyer. “Aren’t you worried about someone seeing us...um, not quite dressed?”

  “No, sunshine. Strict orders: the upstairs is only ours, off-limits to others unless given the clear.”

  My lips curled upward. There was something reassuring about knowing we had that layer of privacy. Sterling continued walking until we entered another hallway, one with a set of double doors at the end. With a twist of the knob and a kick of his foot, one door opened. The room within was significantly larger than the one we’d just left. On what appeared to be a corner of the building, windows filled two of the walls, saturating the room in sunlight. I looked out beyond the uncovered panes. In the not-too-far distance was the glistening expanse of Lake Michigan. Closer, the majority of the buildings were lower than we were. It was stunning to see the city of Chicago sprawled out at our feet.

  “The city is gorgeous,” I said, taking in the scene.

  “It’s deceiving...” His gaze darkened. “There are multitudes of things happening all the time, things that go unnoticed, that occur right under people’s noses and yet remain invisible. That’s part of what I do—make certain that it stays that way. Underground is named that for a reason.

  “Average people need a sense of security to go on with their everyday average lives. They crave it and will give up anything for it, even believing what they see and hear.” He stiffened his neck, looking out to the city beyond me—beyond us. “That sense of well-being they desire isn’t real. It’s a combination of their imagination and belief systems. They can’t comprehend that the darkness where I brought you exists. So even when it’s laid out in front of them, their minds see something else. It’s the only way a city such as Chicago can exist. It’s the only way it can thrive. It’s the only reason tourists still come and millennials snatch up overpriced apartment space in the city when on any given weekend during the summer, there can be forty to fifty reported shootings.” He turned back to me, still holding me in his arms. “That doesn’t include what goes unreported. And yet people continue to visit and to live here. They support the arts, sports, and higher education because those are what they want to see. The universities, museums, and aquarium, the NFL, NBA, MLB, or NHL franchises are what people want to associate with Chicago.

  “It’s my job to make sure that when people look out at a view like this, they only see the shiny buildings and blue lake.”

  In his hold I could feel the tension his words evoked. Sterling Sparrow took whatever he did seriously.

  I was certain it was more than real estate.

  Turning my head, I looked suspiciously from the view of the city toward the large four-poster king-sized bed. The bed on the plane had been similar.

  My change of focus lightened his mood as he took in my expression and his lips quirked.

  “What’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours? I think it’s more than the city. I see the wheels turning.”

  Warmth filled my cheeks. “The bed.”

  “The posts or the height?”

  “Sterling...” I tried for my most admonishing tone, but it came out somewhere between anxious and enthusiastic.

  Gently sitting me near the foot of the bed, he pulled back the covers. Coming back to me, his smile grew as he tugged at the place where I’d tucked the towel, loosening its hold around me. “I believe I’ve mentioned that you’re mine.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I seem to recall hearing that a time or two.” I shrugged. “For the record, your saying it doesn’t make it true.”

  The towel was now open and lying upon the bed.

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes following the trail his finger left behind as it skirted from my collarbone to my breasts. “I have done and will do more than say it. I’ll prove it. And besides that, I also told you that I’m going to have you in every way possible.” He shrugged, bringing his gaze back to mine. “I’m tall.”

  “I’ve noticed that, too.” My grin grew as my heart rate accelerated.

  “I knew you could be observant. While I’m sure you can figure out good uses for the posts, as for the height, it’s perfect for taking your ass.”

  My eyes widened as I swallowed. “You mean spanking?”

  Offering me his hand, Sterling helped me stand and move to where he’d pulled back the covers. With a gesture, he encouraged me to step onto the platform, sit, and turn.

  “If that explanation helps you sleep, sunshine, by all means, go ahead and tell yourself that’s what I meant.”

  I lay back, my damp hair falling to the pillow. “I-I...don’t think...I’ve never—”

  Bending closer, his finger came to my lips. “You need rest. Dr. Dixon’s orders.”

  I reached for his hand. “I need to call Louisa and Winnie.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  That was never a good opening line. Letting go of the connection, I propped myself forward on my elbows. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I’ve been mostly preoccupied with you. Patrick, on the other hand, contacted both of them—on your phone, by text. He pretended to be you and told them that you weren’t feeling well. You hope to be better tomorrow.”

  Sighing, I lay back again. “I should be mad, but I’m not. I’m tired.”

  Sterling leaned down, giving me a chaste kiss, a mere brush over my lips. Such as his touch earlier, the kiss was light, yet the effect was exactly the opposite, making me want more. As he began to stand, I reached for his neck. With my free hand, I did as he had done and untucked his towel, now falling from his waist.

  “Araneae, you said you’re tired. Dr. Dixon said—”

  Pulling myself upward, it was my turn to quiet him with my kiss. When our lips parted, I scooted over and sat up; lifting the sheet I stared into his gaze. “I know there’s more to last night than you’ve told me.”

  He nodded.

  “I know I was mad at you before we left the plane. I think you were upset with me, and I have the feeling that even though I recall making up, there’s more to that, too.”

  Sterling didn’t answer, yet if this were a poker game, his body was betraying him. His breathing had deepened and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “There’s a lot I don’t know,” I went on. “What I do know for sure is that since I’ve met you, my world has gone crazy.” I tilted my head. The sunlight behind him shadowed his features, making them darker and more intense. His body was responding to my invitation, though his expression was unsure. I sweetened my tone. “When we were at the cabin, you introduced me to a great nap-inducer. Think of this as a therapeutic request, to get my mind off what else happened and aid in my sleep.” I sat taller and dropped the sweetness. “However, no utilization of bedposts or...” I shook my head. “...anything else...that...just no. Think of this as you and me—us together behind the infrared force fiel
d, helping me sleep and follow Dr. Dixon’s orders.”

  “Who told you about the force field?” Sterling asked as the bed dipped and he joined me on the incredible mattress covered by the most luxurious sheets.

  I shook my head. “I made it up.”

  He nodded.

  Seriously?

  Turning his way, my palm went back to his scratchy cheek. “I believe what you said the other day, that what we’re about to do is a workout.”

  Sterling smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, sunshine. It is and I’m up for it.”

  Lying back, I returned his grin, knowing that he was—up.

  Though we were both ready, we didn’t start there. Unlike our first time, I was about to learn that this was to be a marathon, not a sprint. The fact that I’d initiated what was about to happen didn’t sideline Sterling’s control when it came to orchestration.

  Kiss by kiss, he inched down my exposed skin, toward my toes, parting my legs as he progressed. My pleas for more invasive techniques went verbally unanswered as each lick to the inside of my ankles and nip of my calves worked in tandem to revive the senses that had been quelled by the poison.

  By the time he made it to my inner thighs, my entire being quaked with anticipation.

  Though earlier I’d been lethargic, similar to the story of Frankenstein’s monster, the shock of Sterling’s power brought me back to life. His touch was the conductor, allowing his own electrical current to flow between us, infusing and radiating, as my hands gripped the soft sheets and my spine arched. Like a bolt of lightning to the monster, his tongue struck my core. Whimpers and moans multiplied, growing in intensity, filling the large bedroom and possibly echoing to the streets below.

  Sterling wasn’t satisfied with merely bringing me back to life. He wanted more. Holding my hips in place, he teased and taunted. His unimaginable technique was beyond my scope of understanding. I couldn’t try to conceive of what he was doing as the ministrations of his fingers joined the torment.

  My thoughts were too focused on his next move and the way I’d react—neither seeming to be under my control. The pressure he elicited as my body wound tighter moved beyond pleasure, teetering on the verge of pain, when with my orgasm within grasp, everything stopped.

  And all at once, as his warmth covered me, we became one.

  “Sterling.” His name flew from my lips as my core held tight.

  “You’re mine.”

  The words reverberated through me.

  I couldn’t be sure he’d said them aloud through the fog of my current mental state. However, I was certain that despite my repeated protests, I was—his.

  The muscles of his back flexed under my touch as more slowly than ever before, he eased in and out, each meticulous thrust moving deeper yet not quite to where I needed him. My hands roamed downward, gripping his tight ass as, unimaginably, the desire within me amplified.

  “More, please,” I whispered, shocked at the depth of my own wanton need.

  “We’re not rushing.” Kisses to my lips, neck, and collarbone abraded my skin with his overgrown beard. His teeth and tongue besieged my breasts and inundated my pebble-like nipples. With agonizing slowness, he continued the torture.

  When the time came that he finally filled me completely, there was nothing else on my mind but him. What happened last night or even the last couple of weeks was outside my grasp. Every nerve in my body, every synapse in my brain, was focused on the one man who did things to me I’d only read about.

  My legs wrapped around Sterling, needing to be closer, as he figuratively lifted me upward.

  Though the soft sheets were literally beneath me, I had the sensation of my body on the edge of a cliff. While the view was spectacular, my toes were curled over the ledge and I was primed to jump, to plunge into the relief of my pending orgasm. That wasn’t Sterling’s plan. Instead of experiencing the release of climax, his proficiency took me still higher. Controlled and rhythmic, he elevated me beyond the cliff to the sky and beyond.

  The electricity he’d shared grew and multiplied until it was too much for me to bear. The stars behind my closed eyes grew bigger and brighter until the supernovas exploded, sending shock waves throughout my universe.

  Somewhere I’d heard that noise didn’t travel in space. Yet the room around us filled with sounds as words I failed to articulate came streaming out and the contractions within me continued. With my nails gripping his shoulders, Sterling’s sounds joined mine to become a symphony of pleasure.

  The muscles under my grasp tightened, and his baritone roar overtook our melody as my undoing became his too.

  Slowly, reality seeped back into my consciousness as our breathing evened and hearts slowed to resume their cadence.

  Even though there were probably fires that Sterling needed to tend, he didn’t. Instead, he gently rolled beside me, wrapped me in his arms, and held me against his chest.

  “You are safe.”

  It was the last thing I heard as my eyes closed against his skin. Within a cloud of our union and the rhythm of his heart, the sunlit room beyond disappeared.

  Sterling

  While I handled things on Michigan Avenue, Reid and Patrick and their teams worked on leads from the party at the club. There was no stone they’d leave unturned. Reid and some of his team worked cyberspace while others hit the pavement. At the same time, Patrick and his team visited people who had been in attendance.

  After what happened to Araneae, Sparrow had a statement to be made. It wouldn’t go without bloodshed and we all knew it. No one fucked with the Sparrow outfit—no one. In reality, everyone in that damn club, guest or staff, was a suspect. In my mind, it wasn’t adding up with McFadden. The fire in her apartment and the plane going down were associated with her name—he had the power to make those things happen. Nevertheless, I took responsibility. I was the one who brought her to light—or the dark more aptly.

  It was after she came to Chicago two weeks ago that the rumors again flew.

  The stopped plane in Wichita could fit into the equation. While McFadden didn’t recognize Kennedy as Araneae at the party at Riverwalk, it was his guy on the plane—Walsh. Facial recognition didn’t lie. The fact that Walsh hadn’t been seen since the incident could mean one of two things: McFadden eliminated him or Walsh went into hiding for screwing up.

  We weren’t exactly certain of what happened last night; however, we now had the results of Dr. Dixon’s tests. The toxin Araneae ingested was GHB, a rather well-known and easily accessible club drug. Usually, it renders a person weak and confused. In some cases—such as with Araneae—the victim loses consciousness. Amnesia was common; however, what usually didn’t happen was death.

  The natural assumption associated with this knowledge was that death wasn’t the perpetrator’s goal.

  Though I hated to admit it, that realization took McFadden off the list of conspiring suspects. He’d risked a fucking plane with hundreds of passengers and had her apartment torched to stop her from revealing what I didn’t think she knew. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with simply rendering her unconscious. Besides, he was fucking shocked to see her there with me.

  The guilty party was someone who wanted her compromised.

  The questions were who and why?

  Midafternoon, Reid called with some answers.

  “Our crew went to Urbana and paid Amanda Smith a visit. They arrived three hours ago.”

  Amanda Smith—the bartender.

  “Why are you just telling me now?”

  “Listen. I wanted answers to bring you, not more questions.”

  “Fine. What did she know?” I asked.

  “Our men were too late. She was dead on her kitchen floor, throat slashed from ear to ear, probably bled out in seconds. Her fucking dog was dead beside her. It was a hit and a statement.”

  “Fuck, just not one made by Sparrow,” I growled.

  “That’s the thing. It was.”

  Standing from my desk, I walked to the door of my off
ice and closed it to the hallway and Stephanie’s outer office. Pacing toward the windows, I said, “Explain.”

  “It’s fucked up, Sparrow.”

  The view of Millennium Park and of Lake Michigan beyond was gone, covered in the crimson of the blood I planned to spill.

  Who went rogue?

  What was happening?

  My neck straightened as I fought to maintain a semblance of rational thinking. “Give it to me straight.”

  “The contact from the club—remember, the guy who gave us Amanda’s name—he became more forthcoming upon further persuasion. He’s the one who told Patrick that Amanda did more than bartend. Her side job of screwing or sucking off important men included other shit—she didn’t mind combining work with pleasure. That included drugs supplied by some of her customers. There was another couple at the bar.”

  Was there?

  I tried to think back. I was concentrating on Araneae as well as Hillman, McFadden, and the rest of the men in my discussion. “I can’t recall.”

  Fuck! I can’t allow her to take me off my game like that.

  “Praxton McBride.” Reid left the name hanging in the air.

  My free hand twitched. I knew that fucking name. “He’s one of ours, on Hanson’s crew, been around for a couple of years. Hanson told me once that the kid’s coming along. I’ve only seen him maybe once.”

  “Twice, then,” Reid corrected. “He was one half of the couple at the end of the bar, sitting there with his girlfriend. Hanson got McBride into the club about six months ago as a reward for a big score. McBride likes the atmosphere, likes showing off like he’s rich. He and his girlfriend have a thing with Amanda. Apparently, McBride and his whore of a girlfriend like three-ways.”

  My stomach knotted. “What the fuck would that have to do with Araneae?”

  “He swears he didn’t see you bring her in...too caught up in his own bitch—his words not mine. They thought she was alone. When they noticed her down the bar, he and his woman talked about the possibility of inviting her to their private party in one of the rooms upstairs from the club. Looking for something more exciting, they decided it would be more fun if she didn’t remember.