Page 128 of Filthy Lies


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I felt good. Better than I had in…years?

The thought made me realize it had been that long since another had granted me release, and when I did it on my own, it was like a sneeze in comparison to the Niagara Falls effect Conor had just had on my weary body.

“Remember when you asked me if I believed in kismet?”

The question was unexpected, and still faintly dazed by the aftermath of his ministrations, it took me longer than it should to figure out what he was talking about.

“Vaguely,” I settled on, lying because I didn’t remember at all, face burrowing into his side so he wouldn’t know I was out for the count.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. “That just proved it’s real.”

28

CONOR

I usedher shower instead of going back to my room.

I didn’t know if it was an invasion of privacy, but by the time it occurred to me that it might have been, I was already soaping up with her shower gel.

So, I got myself clean, pulled on my jeans without my now-wet boxer briefs, dragged on my tee, and strode out after I selected one of three girly deodorants she had on her vanity—who needed so many?—and aimed a double pump of the spray at my pits.

As I walked into the living room and spied her chewing one of the candies I’d given her earlier, I declared, “Now, I smell of fruit.”

I figured she’d be distant, the stirrings of dissociation coming to life, but as I’d intended, my statement disarmed her. “What changed?”

“Your deodorant.”

“You used my deodorant?”

I smirked at her. “It’s a spray. No cross-hygiene issues. Does it matter?”

“No. But it doesn’t smell of fruit. What the hell’s wrong with your nose?”

I wrinkled said appendage. “Nothing. It said ‘lychee’ on it.”

“It also says white blossom.” She hid a smile. “Come here.” Not about to argue, I obeyed for once, and she yanked my arm down then, surprising the fuck out of me, shoved her nose under my arm. “Oranges.”

“You’re doing it on purpose,” I accused. “I don’t smell of oranges.”

“I’m not saying you smell of shit,” she countered as I raised my forearm and smelled the skin. I could only scent soap.Hersoap, at that. “Maybe if you scratch it, it’ll be like a ‘scratch and sniff’ sticker.”

Huffing, I flung myself on a seat beside her. “What are you doing?”

“Edgar came with a tray of cinnamon rolls and a package.” She pointed to the tray that I hadn’t spotted and I leaned over to grab a bun. “We should have waited. I’d have tasted like cinnamon for real.”

“If we waited much longer, my dick would have exploded.”

“I thought it did,” she said smugly.

“We’re talking annihilation.” I made a motion with my hands. “Boom.”

“Melodramatic.”

I heaved a melancholic sigh. “You just don’t care.”

She snorted then snagged the bun from my hand and took a massive bite out of it. I groused under my breath, but I was quietly content with how at ease she was around me, especially after anticipating the opposite.

As I reached for another one and began eating, she stated, “The package Kuznetsov sent was a phone.”

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