Read Online Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One) by Rachel Dunning - Free Book Online Page A

It was my fault. I was just catching up with Clarissa on some
old high school friends.”
    “ OK, Deck. But she’s got work to
do.”
    “ I understand, sir.” Then, to Clarissa:
“Look, I hear you. I gotta think on it.”
    “ Think fast. Because time’s running
out.”
    He exhales, exasperated. When he turns and
sees me, his eyes are a raging red. He catches himself short, as if
realizing where he is, and forces a smile at me. As if he’d been
dragged into the past by the conversation and was stuck there a
second.
    I know the feeling.
    Outside, I say to him, “Everything
OK?”
    He runs a hand through his hair. “Uhm,
yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. Old ghosts, you know?”
    “ Yeah, I know about old ghosts.”
    That gets a smile out of him. He eases his
left hand to my shaved hair, rubs it once, then moves it down to my
cheek. Instant heat slams me. “I like your hair.”
    “The lack of it? Or the hair itself.”
    As if checking, his right hand slides
under my full-length side. His hand is warm, and my eyelids wanna
close. He eases my head back. My chin moves up, my eyes close, then
open, my lips part...
    I breath in expectantly. With half-closed
eyes, I see his own head move down to mine.
    “ Both,” he says. And then he kisses me.
    I almost choke on some of my spit! I start
coughing, and he laughs, but he doesn’t let go of the back of my
head. My arms start moving on their own, my hands start wrapping
around his hard waist. He moves down again, lips and tongue to
mine, quietly, gently.
    My nipples tighten. But then a gust of
cold air gets the better of us—and my whole body breaks into a
shiver.
    I grab his wrists and pull away, because not only do I want to
kiss him more. I want to lose myself completely in him.
    And that can’t happen here...
-8-
    It’s clear he wants to take me somewhere
quiet, but I can’t wait anymore. I want to feel that toxic blanket
again. That... bastid . I wanna
be wrapped up and sleep in it. But whatever else, I need his tongue
on mine.
    We get to his truck and I push him against its door. And I do lose
myself in him. When he pushes me away and says, “We need to get out
of here,” I don’t listen. My lips hunt for his, and he gives
in.
    Together, our body heat increases. When
his hand slides under my sweater, on the back, and he pushes me firmly against his
solid manhood, I say, “I think you’re right.”
    Letting him go feels like stopping a train on a track.

FOUR
DELICIOUS HOOK-UP
-1-
    Declan Cox
    Her hand’s on my thigh as I drive. We share nothing but
silence as I make my way from Prospect Park over to Bogart Street
in Bushwick. Her loft, she said.
    There’s nothing but velvety quiet between us. Until she says:
“You read much?” At my hesitation, she clarifies. “I think I saw an
e-reader in your glove compart—”
    “ Oh, yeah, when I can.”
    “ Mind if I look at it?”
    I get a sudden insecure
feeling— crazy, I know! —like letting someone look at the literature I peruse would
be like letting them look deep into my soul. And is that safe? “S—sure, go ahead.”
    I reach over to open the glove
compartment. “That’s cool. I got it.” She smiles while she says
that, and it breaks me apart.
    She fiddles with the reader. “Stephen King fan?”
    Looking deep in the
soul... “Uhm,
yeah.”
    After a pause. “Does it sing to
you?”
    “ Wh—what?”
    “ King’s work. It sings, doesn’t
it?”
    “ Like a screeching banshee.”
    “ To the soul,” she murmurs. Then puts the
reader away.
    A demented and troubled
soul . “You read much as
well?”
    She smiles demurely. “Wait till you see my
place.”
-2-
    I have to be careful with her, because
I did put her on a pedestal. And I
have to make sure I don’t treat this as some novelty—“screwing the
DJ” kind of thing. Because it isn’t. It so isn’t. I don’t know what
it is—some force or something; the alligator in the sewers,
maybe—that’s boggling my mind and turning my thoughts to