Page 21 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Couldn’t he at least pretend he enjoyed it?
Because I did.
I’d come.
I never came.
I’d spent the past two years filling out my body, my full chest the one thing about me that didn’t scream runway model. Riding Nash made me feel like a goddess. As if my body possessed magic, I controlled my pleasure, and something that had always worried me didn’t need to be anything but bliss.
Yet, I obviously did nothing for Nash. He stared at me like he wanted nothing more than to forget this had ever happened. Like he disgusted himself for screwing somebody so young.
It wasn’t as if either of us intended this to happen, and I didn’t have the guts to ask him why he looked slightly sickened and a hundred percent scornful.
Pulling the sheets had left him bare, but Nash didn’t bother covering himself as he ran a hand through his hair again. Maybe if I were a guy and I was as big as Nash, I wouldn’t cover up either. Still, you’d think he’d at least have the decency.
Then, I remembered there was nothing decent inside this man.
Reed had warned me.
“Careful, Em.” Reed glowered at his brother’s retreating Honda the weekend after the cotillion. “Nash does unforgivable things without bothering to ask for forgiveness.”
I dug my nails into my thigh, hating this cycle of hurt. “Can’t you two talk it out?”
“What would be the point in that? He’s a devious liar. I can’t trust anything he says.”
I’d never been able to reconcile Reed’s version of Nash with the one who saved me too many times to count. Even if three years passed since he flipped a switch, I’d still hoped Nash hadn’t become as bad as Reed accused him of being.
Until tonight.
That hope died a painful death.
Rocking back on my heels, I faltered for something to say before settling on, “Who did you think I was?”
“Katrina.” The words were blunt, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d been waiting for a married woman to have sex with him.
Worse—he’d mentioned a boyfriend, which meant she was cheating on Basil’s dad and another man with Nash.
What happened to you, Nash?
He had gone from Knight in Shining Armor to a version of Maleficent that was so indifferent toward me, he didn’t even bother extending a poisoned apple.
Until now.
Only the apple was a rock-hard penis, and I imagined it felt much better than a poisoned apple tasted.
I whisper-shouted, conscious of Betty and Hank one door down, “You fucked me thinking I was someone else?!”
My hypocrisy wasn’t lost on me. So what if I thought he was his brother? It was different. I was in love. He thought I was a married woman. Okay, we both mistook one another for other people, but for my sanity’s sake, I needed to believe we were different.
You are not as bad as Nash Prescott, Emery. This is his fault.
Nope.
Even I didn’t believe my bullshit.
I’d been the one to climb onto him, not bothering to confirm his identity.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
