“I… I still feel dirty,” I profess, and I have no idea why the fuck I just said that, but it’s enough to send liquid heat straight up to my cheeks. I can feel how hot my face burns from the confession, but I only rub my clit faster. Determined to run away from what I said and hide from the way he seems to stare right through me.
“T-tell me a truth,” I stutter, hoping he'll relieve me from that painful confession.
“I lie to myself every day. I tell myself that I'm so fucking addicted to you because of how sweet your pussy tastes or how it cries so easily for me. But I know it's only because of you.”
I bite my lip, my face crumpling from how raw and exposed I feel, and for the first time, I don't feel like running. I feel like staying and letting him watch me unravel.
“Now tell me a lie,” he demands, his voice gravelly, deepening his accent just the slightest.
I shake my head, my brow pinching with concentration as the coil tightens.
“I hate you,” I whisper, spreading my legs wider so the pleasure sharpens.
Enzo’s face contorts, and once more, he appears angry as he stares down at me. Despite the severity of his features, he groans, stroking himself faster and tugging harder.
“Fuck, I hate you, too, baby.”
My hips jerk while my heart seizes, a maelstrom of pain and pleasure circulating throughout my body. I gasp as the coil tightens, then snaps, my orgasm ripping through me and tearing me to shreds.
“Yes, yes, that's so good,” I chant breathlessly, bucking uncontrollably against my hand.
Enzo follows a moment later, streams of cum jetting from his cock and leaking down his hand. Every vein in his body is strung tight, pulsing against his flesh as he seems to come and come, curses spilling from his mouth.
“Fuck,Sawyer,” he groans, and hearing my name—myrealname—fall from his tongue is my undoing.
“Oh my God, Enzo,” I cry, my orgasm spiking to an almost violent level before finally waning.
While I work to catch my breath, Enzo rips his t-shirt over his head and cleans himself up, the silence pressing in.
My head is fucking pounding, and I’m pretty sure there’s some rule that says you shouldn’t orgasm with a concussion, but the only thing I can focus on is what he said.
I hate you, too, baby.
He asked me for a lie. But I never asked him for one.
“Was… was that a truth or a lie?” I ask quietly, my voice still hoarse.
He glances at me, tossing his t-shirt to the side and standing. Still, he stays quiet as he pulls his shorts back on, prompting me to now suddenly feel exposed. I wrap the towel back around me while he straightens.
“Enzo?” I push.
When his eyes meet mine, my chest caves. There’s no emotion on his face, as if what we just did meant nothing.
It didn't mean anything.
With one last lingering look, he turns away, walking out of the room without a word and shutting the door softly behind him.
My lip trembles, but I clamp it between my teeth, refusing to cry over him.
We built our tower to Heaven, but God is angry again, and once more, we’re speaking different languages.
Chapter 22
Sawyer
Nothing makes you feel more alive than being imprisoned within the ocean’s cold embrace.
My teeth chatter as I sit on the sandy bottom floor, tipping my chin up to the moon and allowing the ends of my hair to be tossed in the waves.