Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  Fisting his cock, his hand moved up and down. “Araneae, I meant what I said. I’ll fucking kill for you. I’d do it again. That pussy—all of you—belongs to me.”

  Kill?

  “Oh!” I didn’t have time to think about what Sterling said because before I could even consider the ramifications, in one savage thrust he pulled me forward, stretched me, and filled me completely. With his hands on my ass, he continued to pull me close until my backside was on the edge of the counter and my legs surrounded him. Reaching for his shoulders, my nails clawed for leverage, for stability, for anything.

  Sterling Sparrow was a force of nature, a category five hurricane, and all I could do was hold on. As a casualty of those hurricane-force winds—simply someone in the path of destruction—I fought to maintain a facade of balance where there was none.

  His rhythm was erratic, his pace excessive. His focus wasn’t on me but on his own satisfaction. And yet the pressure within me began to build, finally growing. Closing my eyes and holding tightly to his shoulders, I sensed the pending orgasm as I lifted myself, trying to get the friction I needed.

  “Oh,” I called, “it’s almost...”

  All at once Sterling slammed his hips at the same time he pulled me down. The friction was gone as his roar filled the kitchen. Unrelenting, he held me in place as his cock throbbed within me.

  “Fuuck,” he growled as his hands released me and he pulled out, leaving me teetering on the edge of the breakfast bar.

  “What the...?” I asked as I scooted back to safety.

  Taking a step back, Sterling’s dark gaze scanned from my now-tangled hair to the tips of my toes.

  My skin prickled as I realized that I was completely nude while minus his open fly, Sterling was still fully clothed.

  Shaking his head, he reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, further messing his hair and revealing his broad chest. With a grunt, he threw the soft shirt my direction. “Put this on.”

  The indignation within me bubbled over. “What the hell? You came. You couldn’t let me go a little longer?”

  His grin wasn’t welcoming but sinister. “You know the rule: good girls get to come.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole. You know that?” I fumbled with the inside-out shirt. “Why do I need this? You said no one would bother us.”

  “Just put on the damn shirt. We’re going upstairs and discussing your ability to follow rules.”

  My bare feet landed on the floor with a thud. Despite Sterling’s shirt hanging to my thighs and surrounding me in the amazing aroma of him, I put my fist on my hip and stared at the man who after tucking himself back in his jeans had leaned down to pick up my clothes.

  “Really? You’re going from that...” I pointed to the counter behind me. “...to a discussion of rules.”

  He stood straight. “Yes. And since you walked down the damn stairs, disobeying my request, I’m going to assume you can make it back up. If not, I’ll pick up your fine ass and put you over my shoulder. While I might like that, once we’re upstairs, I guarantee you won’t.”

  Both of my hands slapped my t-shirt-covered thighs. “What you said in that note wasn’t a request. I don’t know if you realize it, but you, Sterling Sparrow, don’t make requests. You make demands and issue fucking summonses and punishments for no fucking reason. A request begins with the word will or would. You should try it sometime.”

  Sterling’s jaw clenched as a vein came to life in his forehead. “You have five seconds before I take matters into my own hands. Will you be walking or would you prefer that I carry you?”

  Biting my tongue, I shook my head. “You’re insane. Fine, asshole, I’ll go upstairs with you—and walk on my own, thank you very much—not because you suddenly learned how to make a request but because I have things I too want to discuss.”

  “Then get your ass up there and we’ll decide whose matter is more pressing. I’m going to put my money on mine.”

  Turning my back on him, I lifted my chin, straightened my neck, and walked barefoot in his damn t-shirt with all the dignity I could muster. Reaching for the carry-on at the foot of the stairs I lifted it in one hand while I took the steps one by one, walking like a fucking queen to where I’d been summoned like a child to my room to learn whatever it was that Sterling Sparrow had in store.

  Well, Sparrow, you’re going to explain my memories too.

  Araneae

  With each step toward the bedroom, my ire grew.

  “Good girls get to come.”

  Asshole.

  Son of a bitch.

  Jerk.

  I was running out of names to call Sterling Sparrow. Maybe there was an online thesaurus for insulting personal pronouns. I would add checking on that to my list of things to do.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Never in my entire life had I met anyone as exasperating, infuriating, or as maddening as Sterling Sparrow. He set off my last nerve, pushing me like I’d never been pushed. The way he’d stared at me when he’d first entered the kitchen made me feel as though he needed me. He’d done something—something I would probably never know—and I was his relief or maybe reward. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was, other than in that moment I believed that he saw me in the way a person saw the one he cared about.

  He needed what I could give.

  I was wrong. That was not what had just happened. I didn’t give myself to him—he took.

  No matter how upsetting he was, the man could practically induce an orgasm with his eyes and words, without a physical touch. As my mind went over what just happened, I realized that throughout the entire copulation, he had no intention of letting me come. It was all about him and his fucking punishments.

  Dropping my carry-on onto the bedroom floor, I went into the closet and found a new pair of underwear and a pajama short set. Yes, it had lace around the boy shorts and camisole top, but no, it didn’t scream sexy. Because at this moment, the last thing I wanted was for him to think I still wanted what he didn’t provide.

  Thankfully, as I reentered the bedroom, I was still alone.

  My next move was to take the new clothes to the bathroom. As I shut the door, I realized the damn door didn’t lock. Of course, it didn’t. Sterling lived alone, according to Lorna. Why would a man who lived alone need a lock to a bathroom only accessible from his bedroom?

  As the thought hit me, a smile came to my lips.

  The bathroom didn’t have a lock, but the bedroom did.

  Sterling wanted to treat me like a child. I’d act like one.

  It may be petty, but I wasn’t the one who denied him an orgasm—not this time but maybe the next.

  Pulling the door inward, I peeked back inside the bedroom and quickly scanned the room.

  Still no Sterling.

  I rushed to the double doors. Flipping the same lock I had in order to leave the room earlier in the day, I secured the outer entrance and turned my back to the door. My return walk to the bathroom was slower as the indignation within me morphed to a new level of satisfaction.

  There you go, Sparrow.

  Fuck yourself. Just don’t use me to do it.

  I had planned to rush my shower and ready myself for sleep, but with my newfound safety bubble, I changed my mind.

  Hot water spilled from dual faucets, filling the large sunken tub as humidity and steam floated in the air. A handful of bath beads added the sweet aroma of lavender. Lifting Sterling’s t-shirt over my head, I dropped it to the floor and stared at my own reflection. The bruise of my arm wasn’t my only marking. While it was more distinct, both of my hips and—I could see as I turned—my buttocks were spotted with different degrees of discolorations.

  I wanted to be mad, to have those additional bruises amplify my anger. The arm, yes, I could be upset about, but the hips I couldn’t. I recalled times when Sterling’s hold had been so firm that I’d imagined my skin was bruising, and during those moments, I didn’t care. I wasn’t troubled. No,
in those situations, I was hot, bothered, and needy.

  My breasts heaved with the memories. I’d never had a man take me, want me, possess me the way Sterling could. Unlike my arm, those markings weren’t given in anger. They were given and received in passion. I’d noticed a few scratches on his shoulders, too. When it came to the zeal of our connection, I wasn’t an innocent bystander, nor did I want to be.

  Resecuring my blonde hair on top of my head, I repaired the bun he’d dislodged and waited for the tub to fill. Five minutes later, I eased into the tepid water, my skin turning pink as I settled to the depth, and water overflowed into the channel surrounding the mini-pool.

  My solitude was short-lived. The bathroom door opened inward.

  Sterling didn’t speak.

  My heartbeat quickened with each second of silence, yet I couldn’t look away from his dark stare.

  His gaze devoured me, penetrating the silky water as he stepped closer, towering over the sunken tub. Without a word, he shed his jeans—the only clothing he wore—and gracefully stepped down into the tub. Like Poseidon, the Greek god of water, his defined body was enveloped by the lavender liquid. Wave after wave rose, filling the channel as he lowered to the depth at the other end of the tub, and his feet came to the sides of my legs.

  Never once did his dark eyes leave mine.

  My neck straightened and lips thinned. Our stares were a battle of wills, both declaring our righteous anger. Neither one of us was issuing a plea for forgiveness—not him for his selfishness nor me for my pettiness.

  In hindsight, I should have realized that a lock wouldn’t stop Sterling Sparrow. He’d been the one to lock the door from the outside while I was sleeping. It made sense that he could also open it.

  As he was about to speak, I found my voice.

  “Sterling, I remember last night. I remember everything.”

  The darkness of his gaze eased a bit as he sat forward, causing the water to slosh. “I was going to tell you.”

  “Were you?”

  Nodding, he asked, “What does everything mean?”

  I gazed down at my arm and back to him. “I know this didn’t happen when I was falling. I remember sitting at the bar in the club. You were upset. I told you that what you were doing hurt and you didn’t stop.”

  His eyes closed and opened as he swallowed. “Araneae, I could say that I was trying to avoid what happened next. I could tell you that I was livid when I saw that you’d disobeyed my simple directions by ordering a drink, leaving the barstool, and especially leaving the fucking room.” His tone grew deeper as his words came faster. “I had specifically forbade you from moving or speaking to anyone.” His head shook. “You aren’t stupid and they weren’t fucking complicated commands.” His fingers flexed beneath the water. “I could say other things.” His broad chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “I’m not a man who apologizes for—anything. I don’t always do what’s best—sometimes it’s downright wrong. But I do what I believe is right for the sake of those involved. That includes you.”

  Even in the warm, scented water, my skin became coated with goose bumps as a lump formed in my throat. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—be with a man who despite the way he made me feel sexually, would see me as inferior, as unworthy of an apology, who believed he had the unilateral right to make every decision without discussion.

  Blinking, I broke our connected gaze. Looking down at the water, I fought the release of the tears now prickling the back of my eyes.

  Water sloshed again as Sterling moved closer and reached for my hand. “Araneae, I’m sorry.”

  The tears won their battle, overspilling my lids as I looked up toward his softening gaze. “You just said—”

  “That I’m sorry. And for the record, I did catch you when you fell, but no, it wasn’t by your arm. I’ll tell Renita the truth or you can.”

  I shook my head. “What good will that do?”

  He pulled my hand toward his lips until I was no longer sitting, but kneeling in the tub in front of him. After kissing my knuckles, he said, “Legally, none. Personally, it may once and for all show her the true asshole I am.”

  He tugged me closer, until I settled with my back against his chest, surrounded by his long legs and the lavender-scented warm water.

  “You can be one,” I said, “but not always.”

  Sterling kissed the top of my head and lifted my arm. His strong fingers gently skirted over the bruised skin. “It’s not an excuse. I was wrong; that’s not debatable. It’s that you amaze me. You’re so fucking strong, a spitfire full of sunshine. In the world I live in—where I brought you—I sometimes forget that you’re also fragile.”

  My day, despite the naps, was exhausting. Tears silently descended my cheeks as I ran one hand over his leg, up and down, and he did the same over my arms. It wasn’t sexual; it was more...personal, familiar, even soothing.

  “Thank you for the apology,” I finally said, swallowing the rest of the tears.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  Letting go of his leg, I spun until we were eye-to-eye. “Are you asking me to?”

  Sterling nodded.

  “Why do I get the feeling that you ask for forgiveness as often as you apologize?” Yes, I knew technically they were the same thing, yet his request—wanting to hear the words from me—hit me in a way that I never expected.

  Sterling cupped my cheeks. “Because that would be a very accurate assumption. I don’t recall the last time I did.” His eyes closed before they opened. “No, there was once, but that time it was too late.” Letting go of my cheeks, Sterling softly kissed my lips. “Will you tell me it’s not too late?”

  My cheeks rose as a smile curled my lips. “Will I? Yes, Sterling, I can and will forgive you. I’m not fragile. As a matter of fact, I’m strong. You push me in ways I...” I searched for the right words. “...in ways I find exasperating and also energizing. I have no idea nor could I try to explain the changes that have occurred over the last few weeks, not only in my external world, but inside me—my thoughts, my concerns, my everything.

  “That said, I have lines that can’t be crossed. If I say stop, you have to stop. I need to know in my mind and in my heart that you will.”

  “Your safety—”

  I lifted my finger to his lips. “I get that this world is dangerous and it’s new to me. I’ll try to listen and do my best to follow your requests. Please listen to me when I say that the way to make your point with me is not by manhandling. It’s by talking and explaining things to me. I will listen. I am listening.” I laid my palm against his cheek. “Sterling Sparrow, you have my full attention.” You have since the first time I saw you.

  I didn’t say that last part though it was true.

  “You’ll work on following requests,” he emphasized the word. “I’ll work on talking.” His lips quirked upward. “And no manhandling.”

  My head tilted. “We can work on the definition of that word. There may be some room for negotiation.”

  His smile faded. “I’m also capable of listening. Your no will be respected.” He shook his head. “The thing is that I despised my father for violating that same line with my mother.” The vein I’d seen earlier in his forehead was back. “I swore that I’d never...”

  I flexed my fingers on his cheek. “Sterling, I believe you. I forgive you.”

  After a kiss, I turned, settling back between his legs with my back on his chest. “Now, while we’re in this sharing conversation, tell me about that woman—my mother.”

  Saying those words aloud should give me hope and excitement for the possibility of a family; however, every time she entered my mind it seemed as though I was dishonoring Josey. The two didn’t go together. A mother was more than the woman who gave me life because from all that I could assess, that woman who looked alarmingly like me had abandoned me.

  I laid back my head onto Sterling’s shoulder. His chest rose and fell a few times.

  “Part of me hoped you wouldn’
t remember her.”

  Reaching for his hand, I intertwined our fingers. “From what you know, was she telling the truth?”

  “Yes, Araneae. Annabelle Landers is your biological mother.”

  I gripped his hand tighter. “My father—McCrie.”

  “Is gone.”

  I nodded. “I think I knew that. Weren’t they married? Or did she change her name?”

  “Yes, they were married. She never changed her name. They were both attorneys and later she became a judge.”

  “A judge?”

  “Circuit court...when you were born. Today she’s a federal judge.”

  That should impress me. It made me wonder if part of the reason she didn’t want me was because of her career. I loved Sinful Threads. So did Louisa, yet I’d never give up a child for it. I’d make it work. At least, I thought I would. “She’s the one who gave me to the Marshes. Do you know why?” I believe I wanted confirmation that it was altruistic and not selfish.

  “I’ll be honest,” Sterling replied, “we’ve been working on this puzzle for years, and we don’t know.”

  “Josey told me that she and my biological mother were friends a long time ago. My biological—Annabelle.” I shook my head. “It’s strange to have a name. Anyway, she told Josey that I’d be safe with her. It had to do with my father—McCrie.”

  “This all happened when I was young, too. Many of the original players are gone. We can explain more of what happened in time. From what is believed, your father had some incriminating evidence. McCrie tried to leverage that evidence to gain power that didn’t belong to him. It backfired. As for a connection between Annabelle and the Marshes, we’ve found none.”

  My mind spun. “I think they went to school together...I can’t recall. Why doesn’t she—Annabelle—want me with you?” And why did Josey warn me against you?

  “Wait,” Sterling said, before I could add the second part, “I just remembered what Annabelle said before we entered the elevator. She asked why you were marrying me. Why would she say that? I’d told the men in that room you were mine. I never mentioned marriage, not since the helicopter.”