Crown of Lies
“Anything at all.”
“Nothing.”
“But the sex was good.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to see me again?” I hated that I had to ask; that I cared about the answer. He’d turned into a bastard who terrified me. He’d hurt that thief with such ease.
But with him emotionally withdrawn and icy, it helped remind me what we had was purely physical. I didn’t like him. Not in the slightest. I didn’t even feel some resemblance of gratitude-induced affection from him rescuing me. He turned everything that could be good and exciting into bad and unwanted.
But I’d tasted what sex could be like. And I wanted more. I wanted to be selfish for me. So, for now, I’d accept his asshole persona and ignore my questions.
“I don’t know.” His confession wasn’t what I expected.
“You don’t know if you want to sleep with me again?”
He half-smirked. “We didn’t sleep together, Elle. We fucked.”
“Thanks for the clarification.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Forgive me; do you want to fuck me again?”
His fingers latched tighter around the wheel, the leather creaking. For a moment, his head shook with a silent no. Then a cocky smirk stole the truth with yet another lie. “Yes, I want to fuck you again.”
Why the hesitation?
Why say we are engaged if he only intended to sleep with me once?
Why the cold shoulder and strict boundaries?
Why, why, why?
“Good.” I sat prim, reveling how the ache in my womb turned liquid again. “Me too.” Testing my innocent mouth with erotic commands, I added, “I liked fucking you. I want more.”
His gaze shot from the road to mine. “More?”
I swallowed, fighting back my embarrassment. “I want your uh...cock. I want you inside me again.”
He groaned and focused on the road, the speed we traveled far too fast. “Fuck you for saying that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I had no come-back for being cursed at.
How rude.
What an ass!
I sat silent, stewing as the neighborhood switched to one I knew and my penthouse on top of the white sparkling building up ahead beckoned me home.
Home.
Where Sage would be waiting and Penn could fuck off with his secrets, curses, and lies.
Pulling to a stop, he turned off the car and climbed out.
I didn’t wait for him to get my door. Cracking it open, I jumped out only to wince and hobble as the cuts from running tormented me.
“Fuck, look at your feet.” Before I could reply, he scooped me into his arms and carried me toward my building.
The doorman nodded and opened the large entryway without showing any signs of shock. Penn left his black Mercedes coupe parked haphazardly on the street and marched me through the foyer of my building.
“Everything okay, Ms. Charlston?” Danny, the night manager, called. His lined face worried beneath the navy cap of his uniform. He eyed Penn with wariness.
Preventing me from yelling for help or for Danny to call security, Penn growled, “I’m taking my fiancée to her apartment. She’s fine.”
I squirmed in his arms. “You are not my fiancé. Stop telling everyone that.” Waving at Danny, doing my best to keep up appearances rather than panic the neighborhood, I said, “Everything's fine. Sorry for the odd entry.”
Danny waved back, frowning and unsure but polite enough not to intrude.
The moment we left the foyer and entered the bank of elevators, I hissed, “Put me down.” I pushed at Penn’s chest. “I can walk.”
“Your feet are bleeding.”
“I don’t care. I want you gone.”
He looked down, his brown eyes bordering oak-black. “That wasn’t what you said a few moments ago.”
“That was before you told me to fuck off.”
“I didn’t tell you to fuck off. I said fuck you. There’s a difference.”
“There's no difference.”
He punched the elevator button and strode into it as the doors opened instantly. “Press your floor.”
I did so then froze as the doors whispered shut, imprisoning us. “Wait, how the hell do you know where I live?”
“I researched.”
“You stalked, you mean.”
Once again, he didn’t reply. The ride upward was awkward and strange and loaded with every foreign sensation imaginable. I hated him holding me, but I liked his protection at the same time. I hated the way he took control but liked his need to make sure I was safe.
Ugh, I just hate him.
I don’t like any of the other stuff.
The elevator stopped, and Penn stepped off, pausing in the middle of the fancy wide hallway. Two doors—left and right. Two penthouses taking up one-half of the entire floor each.
He glanced at me. “Which one?”
I crossed my arms—or the best I could while reclining in his embrace. “Don’t you already know?”
His gaze tangled with mine, deliberating to show me a truth or lie.
He chose the truth.
Striding toward the left door—the correct door—he waited while I inputted the nine-digit code rather than a simple key then leaned on the door handle to enter.
I made a mental note to change the sequence tomorrow, seeing as his eagle eyes had watched the nine digits with quick intelligence.
His attention swooped over my foyer where a chandelier hung from the ceiling in crystal glitter before pooling onto the floor with a glass table imprisoning it. For a statement piece, it had oodles of wow factor.