When We Lied Read Online Claire Contreras

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Sports, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 140742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
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“Fuck.” He squeezes one of my breasts and runs that same finger over my sensitive nipple.

I shiver hard at the motion and yelp when he pinches it. He doesn’t let me get a word out, because his mouth is back on me, sucking my abdomen and biting me right underneath my breasts. My eyes fly to the window, at the people slightly beneath us who are all over the couches, chairs, floor, and chaises fucking and doing other things. I look away quickly before my eyes find Tate. Finn pulls back, looks at the window, and then at me.

He starts turning his chair so he’s facing the window, and I walk with him as he does, still between his legs.

“Turn around.”

My breath falters. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Anything,” he reminds me.

“But not … I don’t want to see…”

“Turn around, Josslyn.” He slaps my left ass cheek, making me jolt up. “Now.”

Oh, fuck. I turn around slowly. I could just close my eyes and not look at the people. I could pretend no one I know is down there.

“Put your hands on the glass.”

I do.

“Spread your legs.”

I do, holding my breath when his lips meet my right ass cheek, then the other. He spreads them apart, and I shiver at the feel of his breath between my legs.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I want to fucking ruin you.”

My arms shake a little as he slides his fingers up and down my folds. I bite my lip and close my eyes, throwing my head back as he continues his slow torture. His hand disappears and he starts to gather my hair, wrapping it around his fingers tugging lightly. My arms shake again.

“Do I need a safe word?”

He lets go of my hair. “Do you want one?”

“I don’t know.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “I’m not sure what you’re going to do to me.”

“Have you ever used a ‘safe word?’” he asks, not bothering to hide his mocking tone.

“No.” I swallow. “But I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“Now you want to know what I’m going to do with you? After you crawled to me? After you showed me this glistening pussy?” he asks. My breath catches at the things he’s saying, at the way he watches me. His mouth tugs slowly into a smile. It’s not kind. It’s cocky and filled with filthy promises. I gasp when he runs the back of his finger up and down my inner thigh. “Did you forget that you gave me permission to do whatever the fuck I want to you?”

“Except…”

“Except fucking.” He squeezes my ass cheeks with both hands. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that stupid fucking rule. If you don’t like something, tell me to stop and I will.” He holds my gaze for a moment to make sure I trust his word, and I don’t know why, but I do. I nod. He slaps my ass hard. “I want you to look out there and find your little boyfriend, so you can remember how it feels to have a real man eat this pussy.”

At the feel of his tongue swiping from my clit to my ass, I already know he’s going to make good on his promise.

7

FINN

1 year ago

“Can someone explain what I’m looking at?!” My mom’s voice is shrill, as she continues to toss papers at us like they’re bills for a stripper.

“We don’t know, Eliza.” My father sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes before putting on his reading glasses and picking up one of the pages.

His lawyer just went home.

Growing up, I never wondered whether or not these two were good parents. Maybe I would’ve questioned it if I’d had other kids’ parents to compare them to, but I didn’t. It wasn’t until I left Fairview for good and unwillingly met other people, that I came to the realization that holy shit, my parents sucked. Or maybe it was the parents who were overly involved in their kids’ lives that sucked. I couldn’t say. Nevertheless, I was eighteen years old when I realized my parents and everyone in their social circle only had kids, not because they wanted them, but to continue their legacy.

“You.” Mom points at me, her normally composed expression cracking with anger, with grief. “You knew about this place.”

I shut my eyes and focus on breathing. I’ve had a brick sitting on my chest for the past week, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. When I open my eyes again, I do as my father did and pick up one of the pages she’s thrown at us. They’re all photocopies of the evidence the police took with them. They’re already calling it a tragedy, but all I see is wrongdoing. My molars grind as I look down the list of times she’d been there.

Not only did I know about this place, I stupidly let her join—though “let her” is a stretch. I couldn’t dictate anything Mallory did. My parents adopted her when I was just shy of six years old. She’d been born into an abusive household and had seen things that my worst nightmares couldn’t conjure. When she moved in with us, her wires were already crossed, and no amount of recircuiting could reset those fuses. She went from that hellhole to high society, where she was expected to look, breathe, talk, and act a certain way.



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