Devious Lies: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Cruel Crown Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  He left without a word. I waited until the double doors shut and jabbed the button for level sixteen, hoping to drop my bags off in the closet before work. Except the doors opened on level two. Nash stood in front of the elevator, so fucking smug, I couldn’t take it much longer.

  He must have run up here in order to press the button on time. What kind of person did that?

  Devious intent glinted off his eyes. Trouble had found me, disguised as a gentleman in a Westmancott suit and Brioni loafers. He was a gentleman like I was a fairy tale. As in, not at all.

  I couldn’t shake Ben’s texts.

  Hate-fuck him out of your system.

  Could I?

  Did it work like that?

  A little Vitamin D, and I was suddenly cured of my Nash fixation?

  No. Even I didn’t buy my bullshit. It felt like an excuse to scratch the permanent itch that was Nash Prescott.

  “See, the thing I can’t quite shake is why you’re even working here,” Nash drawled, blocking the elevator doors from closing with his body. “You’re filthy rich. You were born with a spoon in your mouth, and it fed you opportunity after opportunity. It’s almost as if you have an ulterior motive for working here. Maybe someone asked you to?” He cocked a brow, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’re working here to get close to me?”

  Confusion tipped my brows together. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was high if he thought I would admit how far I had fallen.

  Needing a job didn’t shame me.

  Needing one from Nash?

  That was a knife in my gut.

  One I couldn’t pull out.

  It kept twisting, the wound festering with each passing second.

  I stepped closer to him, forcing him out of the elevator’s trajectory with my movements. The doors began to shut behind me, but I ignored them. “Is this the part of the day where we make up conspiracy theories and accuse each other of ridiculous things? Fun. I would grade yours a D at best.”

  My sweats slipped lower, showcasing the top of my panties. I didn’t move to lift them.

  He took a step toward me, but I met him head-on. We stood foot-to-foot. Nose-to-chest. I could feel his breaths on me. Could smell him all over me.

  It was like that night in the shower, except no glass separated us.

  And I wasn’t naked.

  But fuck, I wanted to be.

  Do it, Emery.

  Hate-fuck him out of your system.

  He’s a poison, and the only cure is to suck him out.

  “Don't stare at me like that.” Nash’s voice caressed my face and lured me in like a fishing reel.

  “Like what?” Somehow, we had reached an unspoken agreement to speak softer, cocooned in the privacy of this unfinished floor.

  No doors on the frames.

  No paint on the walls.

  No furniture on the carpet.

  No witnesses.

  “You’re staring at me like you want to get fucked. It’s not happening.” He edged closer, and it was just enough to make contact. My chest pressed against hard abs. Despite my height, he towered over me. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jailbait, I don’t like you. I don’t even hate you. You are as insignificant as your teenybopper friends.”

  “Hide behind your words, Nash. Use them to feel good about denying you want me, but this is happening.” I inched closer, a tiger tracking her next meal. “You look like you want to touch me, Nash. Do it,” I dared him. Let me ruin your reputation. “Take off that leash.”

  Inside, I shook.

  I hadn’t considered the consequences of an unleashed Nash. Ire darkened the moss-colored flecks in his eyes. Two storm-struck irises punctured my sanity. If he wanted, he could snap me in two and leave my body for the construction team to discard.

  They wouldn’t say a thing because fear and power are conjoined twins—unable to travel without the other.

  Nash didn’t move.

  Didn’t blink.

  Didn’t breathe.

  I needed to him to fuck me.

  I needed to ruin him back.

  My bags slipped from my fingers, and I jumped on him before he could respond.

  He caught me. Probably on instinct. Two large palms gripped my waist. I wrapped my legs around his back before he could second guess this. I needed him out of my system. I needed to scratch this itch until it bled and bruised and scarred.

  Until I had something inside me that matched the battle scars on his torso.

  Nash could say I didn’t matter to him, that he hated me, or even that I wasn’t important enough to hate, but it didn’t change the pesky little fact that he wanted me.

  His erection hit me through my clothes, proving my point.

  Had he been hard this whole time?

  I rubbed against it, my fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck as I panted against his lips.

  “Fuck.” He pushed me down harder on him, grinding his cock between my thighs. “I can’t figure out what’s worse—that you’re twenty-fucking-two, that you’re my brother’s best friend, or that my mouth has never touched your pussy.”

  I leaned forward for a kiss, but he pulled his head back, eyes hard.

  He enunciated his words. “I. Don’t. Kiss.”

  It occurred to me that he hadn’t kissed me that night in Reed’s room either. Suddenly, all I wanted from Nash was a kiss, but it couldn’t happen.

  He towered over me like a villain. Scathing eyes. Midnight hair. Locked jaw.

  I hated him for being right. Kissing him would be too intimate for what we were. I needed a dirty fuck. Filthy. Raw. Something I could remember ten years from now as I laid beside a man I loved.

  My lips tingled with need, lusting to be traced by his tongue, but he never would.

  Didn’t mean I had to take it lying down.

  “You also said you won’t fuck me, but here we are.” I jutted my chin up, refusing to show him he had dug beneath my skin and affected me. “Our second time.”

  “I’m not fucking you.” He palmed my ass, gripping it tight. His nails dug into it. “I’m about to ruin you. If you know what’s best for you, you’d take your vanilla ass to the elevator and go to work like a good girl. If you stay, you will never recover.”

  “Ruin me, Nash. Do your best.”

  I’ll ruin you back, and you won't see it coming.

  I bit my lip until it bled, holding back a whine as he set me down. When I looked around, I realized he had walked us past a doorless threshold and into an unfinished suite. Construction materials bunched on a table in the corner, fresh low-pile carpet covered the floor, and unassembled cabinets laid stacked in the far corner.

  Nash slipped his suit jacket off, tossed it onto the carpet, and slid off his belt. “In ten years, when you’re laying in bed next to your boring husband with the cookie-cutter day job, fingering yourself to the memory of how fucking hard I made you come, remember you begged for it.”

  He stalked toward me with the long strap of leather between two tightened fists.

  Nash was the sky moments before a storm.

  Daunting.

  Dark.

  Beautiful.

  I backed up until my butt hit the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind me, dozens of people lounged on the beach—laughing, reading, unaware. If they looked up a level, they’d see our dance, a princess and her dragon. The idea of getting caught left me soaking wet. I wanted to dance in Nash’s fire until I burned as hot as he did.

  My fingers fumbled against the window, remembering the privacy coating still sat in the warehouse. “They can see us.”

  He didn’t budge. “Nice view.”

  “Nash.”

  “Strip and hold out your arms… or we can leave.”

  Heat pricked my cheeks. I kicked my shoes off. They flung across the room, clattering against the table of tools. My socks went next, followed by my sweats. I stood in front of Nash in my panties and t-shirt.

  No bra.

 
; Just false bravado and my selcouth shirt as my armor.

  It wasn’t desire that led me to obey him. It was defiance. I refused to back down, refused to show him I feared the reaction he garnered from me. That this would be done, and I would still want him.

  Nash cupped his erection through his pants, rubbing at it as he nodded at my panties. “Those, too.”

  I slid them down my legs until all I had on was my shirt. The breeze felt cold against the lips of my sex. I crossed my legs but stopped when he tutted.

  “You go first,” I managed. My voice sounded hoarse. Unused.

  He laughed at me. Actually laughed. “You’re not in a position to bargain for what you want.”

  He was right.

  I had initiated this, and if I wanted it to continue, I needed to hand him control and suffer the consequences.

  Why do you want this, Emery?

  Morbid curiosity.

  The type that kills.

  I needed to confirm our connection the first time was a fluke. Then, I could move on with my life in peace.

  Itch scratched.

  Problem solved.

  Nash undid his tie and loosened his collar. “Part your pussy lips and ask me if I like what I see.”

  Jesus.

  I knew immediately this was a bad idea. There was no purging Nash out of my system. I was an addict being given her next fix.

  I did as he asked, my insides clenching as my nails brushed against my clit. “Do you like what you see?”

  His eyes fixated on my slit. Taking his time, he approached me, reached a finger out, and traced the lettering on my shirt. “Selcouth. Do you think you are wondrous, Emery?”

  I didn’t answer, but my hips jerked forward at his words. He knew what selcouth meant, and I didn’t think I could be more turned on.

  “Or,” he continued, his fingers brushing my nipple over my shirt, “perhaps you think you’re rare.”

  “I think no one is rare.” I shook my head, unable to focus on my response. He took turns teasing my nipples. “No one is special. Everyone just wants to be.”

  It was perhaps the realest thing I had ever said to anyone but Ben in a while. Too real for this moment. This was supposed to be raw, ugly, filthy, fuck-it-out-of-my-system sex. This was not supposed to be an interview with Oprah.

  Part of me wanted to demand that he fuck me already, but I wouldn’t. I refused to play into his hand.

  He wanted to draw this out.

  Tease me.

  Make me beg.

  Prove to me I wanted him and not the other way around.

  And at the end of the day, after we finished worshipping each other’s bodies, both equally panting, both sweaty, both spent—he would somehow come out the victor. I knew this, but I wanted him anyway.

  “Tell that to the millions of dollars in revenue Prescott Hotels brings in annually from birthday events alone.” Nash’s fingers drew mine back to my pussy when I tried to remove them. Together, we trailed a path down the slit. “Open them. Hold your fingers still. Beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass.”

  “Birthdays are a lie,” I said, ignoring half of his orders. I held myself open for him, feeling too naked in front of his perusal, but I refused to beg. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The room had no door. Anyone could walk in and see Nash fully clothed as I spread my lips for him. “Society gives you this day to celebrate, and you’re supposed to feel special and unique on it, but the truth is, statistically, you share your birthday with twenty-one million other people, and that is what’s special. The threads that tie people together are what should be celebrated.”

  He agreed with me. I saw it in his ticked jaw and the way his fingers paused at my hipbones, skimming just beneath my shirt. They dug into my skin for a second before releasing. Tiny indents marked the flesh.

  “Selcouth…” He tore my shirt down the middle until the two halves hung loosely on my frame. “Your shirt is a lie, and I hate lies.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond.

  He whipped me around, pressed my front against the window, and bound my wrists behind my back with his belt. My breasts were on display for everyone at the beach.

  I prayed no one would see.

  I prayed everyone would see.

  Desire played tricks on my mind. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I would go crazy if he didn’t make me come now.

  His palm landed on my ass. Twice. Not giving me a second to collect myself. “I told you to beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass, Emery.”

  He was a storm, chaotic and volatile.

  But I never ran from storms.

  I chased them.

  “Stop pretending I’m the only one who wants this,” I ground out, hating myself for arching my back, giving more of my ass to him. “I won’t beg.”

  “Fine. Then, you won’t come.”

  My wetness trickled a path down my thigh. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he saw it. The awareness pricked at my cheeks, coloring them. He dipped a finger between my legs from behind, ran my wetness up and down my slit, and dragged it to the hole no one had ever touched before.

  I instinctively clenched at the contact. “What are you doing?”

  Nash stepped back, not answering. I turned my head, tracking his path to the unfinished cabinets in the corner. He picked up the cabinet knob, the one Ida Marie and I had insisted resembled a butt plug.

  Anticipation filled my stomach, but I felt compelled to refuse for my dignity’s sake. “No. Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that, no.”

  Would he really slide a cabinet knob up my ass? The prospect drew deep breaths from me until they fogged the glass.

  “Are you telling me you don’t want this?” He approached me from behind, tilted my chin until I stared out at the crowd on the beach, and traced the knob’s cold metal down my slit. It slid across my skin easily, so wet and smooth and cold.

  Goosebumps peppered my arms. My heavy pants pressed my nipples harder against the glass. I needed to slip my fingers between my legs and relieve the ache, but my bound hands refused to budge.

  “This isn’t a boardroom, Emery. You’re in no position to negotiate. You either want me as I am or you don’t. Make your choice, because I won’t offer you a second chance.”

  I swayed a little, running my nipples along the glass as I considered this. He stepped closer to me, his breath fanning my neck.

  “Now or never, Jailbait.” Nash pressed the pad of his thumb on one of my asscheeks and pushed, inviting air against my hole.

  I knew the moment the game ended.

  He won.

  I lost.

  Tale as old as time.

  Nash didn’t play fair.

  Never had.

  Never would.

  “Now,” I whispered, but it felt like a death sentence.

  My body didn’t get the memo.

  I tingled in anticipation, every nerve ending alert. Like most things involving Nash, I expected to hate it as much as I loved it. I expected to toss and turn over it at night. To recall every touch, every moment, every breath.

  I expected to obsess.

  “Good girl.” He palmed my ass. “Arch your back and give me your ass.”

  I pushed it out, pressing my breasts so hard against the glass that my nipples stung. The heat of the sun warmed my skin, yet my nipples formed pebbles against the window. I startled as he trailed the knob up and down my slit again.

  Nash bent behind me, not giving me a second to recover before he ran his tongue from one entrance to the other.

  “I wonder how all your lies will taste,” he whispered against my slit before burying his tongue inside me.

  I fought against the belt and screamed out his name. “Nash!” I was moaning. Shaking. Coming apart for a villain who had buried his soul in my past. “Oh, God. I’m so close.”

  We had barely begun, yet I was near completion.

  So needy.

  So innocent.<
br />
  So inexperienced.

  His jailbait.

  Nash tsked. “You don’t get to come on my tongue.”

  I almost whimpered when he pulled back, but he replaced his tongue with the knob, using my wetness to coat it before he slid it slowly into my backside. My breath sucked in at the intrusion.

  It felt cold.

  Full.

  Tight.

  He eased it out a little before sliding it back in, a little further this time. Again, and again, and again, until he filled me up, a devil fixated on ruining me.

  “Straighten up,” he ordered.

  I released a breath and obeyed, gasping at how full my ass felt. His palm landed on my ass with a smack.

  “Nash,” I managed, clenching around the knob, panting for him.

  “Turn around.” He stepped back from me, waiting as I obeyed.

  My movements dragged. I took my time turning. Nash’s fingers dipped between my folds again, brushing against my nub before he slid three fingers inside me at once. My head sloped down to rest on his chest, finding refuge against an immovable mountain.

  He surrounded me.

  His body.

  His scent.

  His lust.

  Just pure him.

  And I was close as he slid in and out of me, curling his fingers at a spot I could never find myself. “Please, Nash.”

  He halted at the sound of my pleas, ignoring my desperate whimper. “Tell me what you say when you mutter under your breath.”

  Lust fogged my thoughts, or I would have marveled over him noticing my quirks. Noticing me.

  “Nash, I need to come. Please.” I wasn’t here for a heart-to-heart. I was here to purge him from my soul.

  Nash slid his hand in and out, so slow, occasionally pressing against that spot. “Tell me.”

  He was ruthless, and I was silent.

  Then his palm pressed against my clit, and I’d had enough. “I don’t know! Okay?!” I shouted, wishing I could grip his shirt and beg him to end my suffering. “It’s different each time. Magic words. Words that make me happy. Words on my shirts. Words on my mind. Words that matter. Words that don’t. Satisfied? Make me come, please.”

  He did, lowering his mouth to my neck and sucking so hard I knew he would leave a mark. His fingers went crazy inside my pussy. They twisted against my walls, thrusting in and out. He curled them into a hook and pressed exactly where I needed him.