Page 159 of The Next Lie

He leans close, mouth at my ear. “Tell me you want it.”

“I refuse.”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you on his desk, Daddy Nash’s. Is that what you call him?”

“No!” I grip the edge hard enough that my fingers ache. “Can’t you guys just fucking get along?”

He drives in hard enough to make me utter a short, gasping scream. “Little ghost, if we didn’t get along, one of us would surely be dead.”

He eases back out and then presses back in, just barely. Just the tip.

A threat.

A promise.

Not enough.

I hate him.

I want him so badly my eyes sting.

“Please,” I breathe.

His hand tightens in my hair. “Try again.”

“Please fuck me.”

He drives into me in one brutal thrust. The cry that leaves me does not sound human.

He covers my mouth with his, swallowing the rest while my body stretches around him and the piercing settles deep enough that I see white at the edges of my vision. His hand braces at my lower back, holding me in place. He stays still for one second, forehead against mine, breath hot and uneven.

“Still hate me?” he asks.

I dig my nails into his shoulder. “More.”

“Good.”

Then he fucks me. Hard.

Fast.

No slow build. No gentle easing into what we both know has been circling since Noir. The desk jolts beneath us with every thrust. Papers scatter. Something heavier hits the floor. My hands slide, and he catches both wrists, slamming them above my head against the metal as he bends me back.

“Keep them there.”

I do because I need my balance.

I do because he told me to.

I do because every drive of his hips sends that piercing against places I have thought about against my will since the bathroom.

He looks down at me, jaw tight, eyes wild. Control cracking. Storm breaking. The letters, the lies, the kitchen, the garden, every wrong thing between us burns down to his body inside mine and my name in his mouth like a curse.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says.

The words shiver through me.

“You said that before.”