The Lie by Natalie Wrye (most inspirational books of all time .txt) 📗

and bar room chatter and glasses and drinks and pours rolls around us like white noise and I still can’t hear a damn thing over the beating of my own heart.

It’s hammering, every inch of my body on fire, as Nancy holds still, letting me cup her jaw with my palm, my hand swallowing the tiny side of her face as I pull her towards me.

Fuck, she smells like honey-tinged lemonade—a sun-soaked smell that reminds me of hot sticky summers and a cool breeze.

And she tastes even sweeter, the flavor of lime and liquor still on her tongue, remnants of some sweet-flavored whiskey.

And it’s still no competition for her natural essence.

I’m drunk—high off my ass, just from the taste of her.

And I savor each centimeter of her hot pink mouth just to get my fill.

Slanting my lips against hers, I tease the cavern of her mouth with my tongue until she moans, a sensuous tiny sound that makes me as hard as New York skyscraper stone.

I tighten my grip against her, my fingers finding their way into her hair where I hold on tight, pressing her body into mine.

She groans. “Andrew…”

I can hardly stop. I pull back an inch, watching her—examining her closed eyes, mouth parted in slight ecstasy. I kiss her chin.

“What…? Too much?”

“You mean you?”

“Yeah…” I stroke along her scalp, wanting to taste her again. “Am I doing too much? Say the word. I’ll try to do less… Maybe.” I grin, finding it hard to keep my hands off her. “What do you need?”

“I need…” She moans, and I almost lose it—almost pressing her little lithe body against my lengthening erection. I grit my teeth.

“Yeah, sweetness. What do you need?”

“I need…” Her voice is a whimper, a small whine as she wavers on her feet, eyes still closed. “I need us to…”

“Need us to what?”

“Get out of here,” she says, at last. And the words are like cold water, bringing me back to my senses.

It’s so bold. So, unlike her.

So unfiltered and naked in a way she’s never been.

And I’ve never felt more victorious in my life.

I smile, knowing that running away from her—from this—is the last idea on my mind.

I take her hand in my mine, feeling proud of my beautiful fake fiancée. Of her new forwardness.

And I can’t wait to reward her with my mouth.

I don’t even put up a fight. “Let’s go.”

NANCY

Andrew and I are actually going home together.

And in the span of three whiskeys and one hour, I’ve almost forgotten whoever the Nancy I was before this…

Before him.

The city outside is blurry as we cross the sidewalk. I barely see it.

All I see is Andrew. Walking beside me.

All I feel is the warmth of his large, towering body, brushing against mine, and even though the cold late-winter wind whips at my ankles as we near the limousine waiting for us, I barely feel a thing.

But for some reason it doesn’t bother me.

Nothing bothers me when he’s hovering this close, his body heat near mine.

If I’d done this differently—said no to his offer, I know where I’d be.

I’d be back in another part of Manhattan, talking to Alchemist customers and probably smiling at people I couldn’t stand, Eric among them…

I’d be pretending everything was fine.

Instead, I’m here with Andrew, relishing the feel of my hand in his.

And for once in my security obsessed life, I don’t care about anybody’s sensibilities but my own, and I fight the urge to rush.

Fight the urge to slide in on the seat beside the man I’m beginning to care for most and tell him that I’m absolutely on fire.

My skin burns. My flesh nearly boils.

I have no idea what is happening to me, and happily, I don’t care.

I want Andrew…

I can, at last, admit that to myself.

And I’m going to do something about it.

One strap of my silver dress slides down my shoulder, but I barely notice. Barely see anything but him.

We’ve only left the party a few minutes ago, but I reach for him, needing to feel his skin. Needing him to know how he makes me feel.

I’m just about to tell him when his long hand—large and warm, wraps around my knee, squeezing. Freezing right where I sit on the black leather seat, I gaze up at him—the Andrew that is uncustomary calm and steadfast, acting as the lighthouse in my frenzied storm.

His voice is serious. His scowl is even more so, as his dark brows furrow down at me, pulling together on his handsome face.

His voice is low. “Listen to me…” he whispers, his words a hiss across my skin. “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, Anne. I’m serious. We don’t have to do any of this.”

He looks at me. And I know what he’s thinking.

That he doesn’t recognize this new woman. The woman who has slipped inside of my skin tonight, replacing the repressed one that existed before.

This new woman is one without restraint.

I smile, the expression full and warm on my face because I realize, more than ever before…that he’s right.

He was always right.

I close my eyes, letting myself commit an act I’ve never allowed for myself…

I let myself just feel.

Andrew’s right. Sophia was right. And I’m right.

And this is right.

Everything is right.

And I’ve missed out on so much.

So much living.

I’ve been a caretaker. The responsible one. Carrying the load for everyone around me.

A surrogate mother for my drinking and gambling father at the tender age of seven.

Never again.

I’ve been wrong about everything all my life.

I’ve been so wrong about everything that I’ve been a disaster.

And now I don’t care.

I don’t even want to care.

I just want to be right.

And I am.

Right now.

Right now, right here, with him.

I repeat his words back to him. “We have to do this.” Even louder. “We don’t have to do this? I’m sorry. But don’t we…? You were right, Mister Fletcher. You were always right. And God, you know how much I hate that.”

He grins, and I keep going. “I talk