DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

lips part, and I trail a pair of fingers over one leg towards the center of her warmth. “And I haven’t had you in a while.”

“Bishop…”

“Not yet. I’m not inside you.”

Her expression hardens. “You’re not—“

“Is he your boyfriend, Ems?”

“No—“ She shakes her head. “—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be your booty call whenever you want me.”

“I always want you.” I feel the stiffness from her body begin to soften, and I lean in. “No matter who you try to replace me with.”

My lips don’t collide with hers because I want her to feel everything. Me losing my own control over keeping us standing in one spot, her being the only rational reason why I’m in her bedroom in the first place. My worst distraction and my beautiful dream.

Emmy doesn’t hesitate with opening her lips wider, inviting me in without my asking. Showing herself to me like I haven’t done to her.

I envy her bravery. I want it to seep into my pores so I can express everything that simmers in my brain.

“Someone might love me one day,” she mutters against my mouth. “And you want me to remain this way. Do you believe it’s that hard for someone to?”

I mindlessly shake my head because it’s not even a question. It’s effortless when you get to know her. It seeps and stays there and never fades.

I love Emmy Lou Rhodes with every molecule that makes me up. I should’ve told her the first time, but it always seemed to be lodged deep in the back of my throat, and I feel like I’m always choking on it.

“Not at all,” I tell her, brushing a piece of hair away from her face.

Her hand finds the top of mine as my thumb brushes through her thick locks. “But not yours.”

Our eyes meet and just like always, I’m a moth to the flame. I’m hooked and I want to be. There is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be than with Emmy Lou Rhodes.

Her words sound like a conviction, but she’s wrong. The adage that actions speak louder than words doesn’t hold true for Emmy because she needed those too. And the more we talk about us, the more I understand how she felt.

Except my brain won’t form the idea that we’d survive the day when she’d shatter my heart if she ever did. So it keeps all warm and fuzzy feelings at bay.

“You’ll always be mine,” I declare with a slight shake to my voice. “It doesn’t matter who you're with.”

“That’s not how this works. Just because you have some male ego that—“ My lips collide with hers, and I don’t waste a second with double-guessing myself or us reaping the consequences once again from my actions, I just do.

My tongue sweeps across the seam of her lips, seeking entrance to her sweet mouth and taste.

It’s a brain-numbing high to kiss Emmy, and I didn’t think I’d endure it at times but, after what seems like a lifetime of waiting, I have her again and plan to make her mine with everyone knowing.

Emmy slowly opens for me, and my hands take on a mind of their own. Exploring her body and the thin material of her bottoms. The feel of her soft skin against my callous hands is a contrast that sends a thrill of lust straight to every nerve ending in my body.

Finding the waistband of her lace panties, I smile at the remembrance. Emmy would rock a pair of sweats and a knock-around tee, but she always had on the best panties underneath.

And I loved the sound of the material ripping with the soft gasp off Emmy’s lips.

Delving underneath the fabric, Emmy’s hand shoots down to my invasion and grips mine tightly. “No, we can’t.”

Oh, but we fucking can. 

I don’t give a fuck what title, creed, paparazzi, or social standing Alexander holds, she was mine way before he set his sights on her and we’ve both made mistakes.

“I can’t let you go, Ems. And you can’t either. You beat Camilla’s ass out of jealousy and justice for what she did to me. I’d kill this Alexander prick without blinking if he ever hurt you.”

“But?”

I release a heavy and silent sigh, honestly not knowing what to do. “But we’re both fucked, baby. I’m the way I am, and you’re you. Absolutely and utterly devastating to my whole existence.”

I don’t miss this life.

I don’t feel a loss for the lavish parties that my mom used to throw and the endless people who sauntered around, talking shit about others who are just as crooked and big-mouthed. I definitely don’t feel a hole in my life from missing the fake pleasantries, and how no one really cared how you were, they were just asking to be polite.

It’s one of the many reasons why I took off.

Why I left my real family, the one that shared some of the same DNA, and ran off to California for college as soon as I could.

“You might want to fix your shade of lipstick, darling,” my mother coos lightly, sneaking into my room like she always used to do. Even as a grown adult, she can’t respect my privacy or give me space.

“I like it,” I deadpan, examining the matte color of deep pink tinted with red. It’s called Killer Instincts. Fitting because I should’ve never come home. I could have kept ignoring and pushing off Mom’s calls and text messages with bullshit excuses about how work was busy.

“Are you ready?”

No. 

How do you prepare yourself for hell?

“I’ll be down in a minute.” I watch her eye my dress, looking for any imperfections that might embarrass her. Her little princess—me—was bartered and strolled around like bait to any eligible and illegible male. Married? Not an issue if you had money, people get divorced after all, right? “Problem?”

Mom links matching eyes with mine through my mirror and smiles, a weak and unimpressed grin illuminating her features.

I don’t miss her.

I know that sounds awful, but my mother is