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

small dance floor made up where my family’s overly-priced couches usually are.

When he finds a spot he likes, Bishop mindlessly wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his hard body so that I can’t escape the smell of nutmeg and leather on his skin.

“I’m surprised you came home,” he says as we begin to move. My Prada heels give me the perfect view of his neck and the dark beard that blankets his jaw.

My mouth practically waters because I, on an annoying instinct, want to wrap my lips around that sensitive part of his body. To hear his deep growl in my ear when I lick and tease with his hard cock into my stomach.

My pussy clenches at how bottomless and husky his voice would get when he’s turned on. How he permits every animalistic sound to escape his throat, alluding to how turned on he is.That he’s going to break through at any given moment to fuck me into the nearest surface.

Yeah, I’m the Usher remix of You Got It Bad.

“I am too,” I reply. “I wish I hadn’t.” I steal a quick glance up at him, finding him already looking down at me. “I’m surprised you came.”

“Not yet,” he deadpans, his blue eyes commencing a path down my pink dress.

My cheeks flush the same color for the second time as I steel my body against the warmth in his attention. “You could’ve brought me a drink if you were going to stress me out.”

“I stress you out?” He tips his eyes to align with mine. “How’s that?”

“This isn’t… your scene.”

“What gave that away, Ems?”

You’ll Never Know by Bing Crosby plays off the speakers of the party, and Bishop begins swaying side to side to the baritone and vibrato voice of the world’s most recognizable singer.

This is like a scene in one of the old movies that I love to watch. The simplicity of love and way of life. Where there were no cell phones or men being complete douchebags day in and out. When men wanted you to know if they cared instead of hiding behind shit.

“When was the last time you danced in middle school?”

“Junior prom,” he replies.

My brows immediately knit. “With Camilla.”

“I’m full of surprises, Emmy Lou Rhodes.” He tightens his hold on me, his thumb lightly brushing my back in slow and soothing strokes. “I was actually able to get a girl to like me.”

“No, the shocker is that someone was able to get you to actually go. I couldn’t even get you to agree to go to the zoo with me.

“You wanted to steal the new baby panda. And with your connections and skills, I was afraid you’d actually pull it off.” He shrugs. “Besides, going to the dance was to pass the time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And for the afterparty.”

“And I’m sure the sex.” I don’t bother to hide the displeasure of that aspect in my tone because I knew who he’d be having sex with.

A random bitch from high school, I wouldn’t give a shit. But the woman he fought for, who he tried to support and possibly loved—yeah, no.

Maybe I’ll go back and kill Camilla my damn self. Just make her ass disappear. The boys do dumb ass stuff all the time.

“I didn’t need a dance for that.” His hands slide down the sides of my back and halt right above my ass. “Although, I never dated a Varsity cheerleader.”

No, you married one. 

I snort. “Trust me, you didn’t want to.”

“You were a bitch, Ems?” His voice is incredulous but fake because I’ve told him some stories before about my squad days. Like how I dropped Brittany Lilly on her ass when I was supposed to spot her for running her mouth. Then I delivered Stacy Kumar a fat lip for messing with some of the freshmen girls.

“I wasn’t, but I was surrounded by them twenty-four seven. Private school and all that.”

“Couldn’t have been all that bad.”

“Not if you were the only daughter and your mom wanted to marry you off to the first eligible ass clown with a Fortune 500 company.”

“Your mom wanted to put you in an arranged marriage?”

“If you count the one time she tried to lock me in a room with Baron McAllister to talk.”

Bishop’s face screws up. “Who?”

“Baron McAllister. Shit, by this time, I could be on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills or some crap if I would’ve ended up with him.”

“I heard what you said.” His tone dips to a dangerous level. “I meant, who the fuck is he?”

I glance around my mother’s party because none of my alleged friends are here.

This is for her, always is and was.

She invited all her botox bunnies with fake tits and blonde hair for my Sweet Sixteen while they got plastered on martinis. By six ‘o clock, while my girlfriends and I were playing truth or dare, two young men showed up. The adults went into a locked room. Wild shouts and “take it off” were coming from underneath the gape of the door.

My mom or her friends hired strippers for themselves for my underaged party.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a list of men she wanted me to meet tonight.

“He should be around here somewhere,” I surmise as Bishop’s head snaps to the side, searching for a faceless man. “He’s married, Bish.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls. “Tell me she sealed you up in a room with him to study, and I won’t kill him.”

“She locked us in a room to study,” I strum. His blues trail back to me, unamused by how insincere I sound because they constrict. “My daddy saved the day, don’t worry.”

Bishop scans the place again, and I squeeze his hand to reclaim his eyes on me. I receive them immediately, and they soften a little as he takes me in.

“Are you jealous, Bish?” I give him a tiny grin, telling him he has nothing to worry about with the boy who couldn’t make a pass at me over two decades ago if he tried.

“Were you jealous when