Was I Ever Real (Was I Ever #2)

by Naomi Loud

“I’m the party and you’re the planning. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I can’t help my shit-eating grin, a sick thrill traveling through me, knowing full well why she hates me, and fuck does it turn me the fuck on.

Feeling. Such an innocuous word for something that makes me feel like I don’t deserve anything good.

But my secrets are not so little. And one day I’ll burn in hell for them.

Today, she’s wearing gold—and I’m like every other fool who can’t stop staring.

If a look could kill, I’d be in hell. But I’d do it again and again just to see her like this. Pure fire. And I’m the gasoline.

I’ll make deals with the husbands over a thousand dollar bottle of brandy before fucking their wives and making their daughters cry. And I hate brandy.

“Maybe I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she mumbles with her arms crossed. “See if that deters you some.” “Sounds hot,” I drawl, pushing my hair back into place. “But you’d have to be in my bed for that.”

But these secrets are different. I’m the only one who needs to bear the memories of what I’ve done.

I’ve managed to regain some kind of composure and wrestle my persona back into place. Lenix does not do morose. Lenix is fun, flirty and casual.

“I don’t know Connor, maybe just be decent for once?” His grin grows even wider as he stares me down, leaning forward, his arms on his knees, hands loose in front of him. “I’m anything but decent, darling.”

I wish I was smoke. In the same way that I wish I wasn’t bound to any one thing. Incorporeal. Free to just… be.

Watching Connor drive manual does things to me that I would rather die than to admit out loud.

“This gentleman act doesn’t suit you,” I tell him while he gently pulls me out of my seat. “Don’t worry darling,” he says while dropping my hand and fixing his tie. “I can be your favorite asshole behind closed doors.”

It’s almost as if playing a different person is second nature to her.

He could almost seem innocently normal if it wasn’t for his dark aura pulsing with every breath he takes. It’s hard to avert my gaze for long.

My rational brain is mortified, but my body responds to his touch like a kindling flame.

“Darling—I’m the devil you know,” I respond while casually strolling right behind her. “Yeah, and look where that has gotten me.” She turns on her heels and glares at me, crossing her arms in defiance. “In fucking hell.” “At least hell has a pool,” I quip as she tries to open the door.

“I need a key to this place. I’m not your prisoner.” “But you would be so pretty wrapped in chains,”

I don’t think Connor understands how similar in our lies we are. He might think he’s good at hiding it. But a fake can always spot another fake and his entire personality is as perfectly constructed as mine.

“I’ll be controlling your orgasms even when I’m not in the room.” The God complex on this guy.

“Why don’t I finish what you started, darling? We can both pretend you didn’t want it afterwards. What do you say?”

Luckily, I’m not on friendly terms with sanity.

Speak of the devil… or in this case, speak of Lilith and she appears.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my goddamn life. Should it be slightly alarming that what got me here was Lenix threatening to kill me? Not really.

“I’m not fucking you, Connor,” she says flatly. “Darling — you’re currently sitting on my dick.”

Connor disheveled is a masterpiece, a perfect rendition of what it means to sell my soul to the devil. I’m drinking at the well of depravity, and it only leaves me wanting more.

No, not feelings, just an uncomfortable tightness in my chest that I can’t seem to shake.

There’s an eerie calm attached to the waiting like water slowly receding far out from the shore, only to come back as a hundred foot wave destroying everything in its path. What will I do when it comes for me? Will I fight? Or simply drown.

Never in my life have I misconstrued sex with emotional connection. And I’m not about to start now.

Although I can’t deny our sexual chemistry, I would rather swallow glass than to think this is more than what it is.

“It was just a dream, I’m fine.” My voice cracks and I flinch at my tone. “Didn’t sound like just a dream to me,” he says darkly. “I’ve heard screams like yours before. And I’ve usually been the cause of it.”

His touch is surprisingly gentle and it rattles me almost as much as the nightmare I just crawled out of.

She’s irritated. Good. This was getting uncomfortable anyway. At least this Lenix, I can handle.

I’ve been unsettled. Not feeling like myself. Well, not feeling like Lenix Taylor that is. Who knows if that’s even who I am.

As if I have a giant invisible countdown over my head, I can hear the ticking of the seconds but I can’t see how long I have—and it’s driving me nuts. It makes me wonder if I’ll survive any of it

“Spend my money all you want, darling. It turns me on.”

“A coincidence? Or synchronicity?”

The low growl rumbling through his chest tells me he’s as equally affected while he pulls out another hundred dollar bill, his eyes still locked in and burning, placing it into my hand. Then another. And another.

My heart stutters and heat envelops me so absolutely that I find myself wanting to burn at the stake if it means feeling the high of having Connor between my thighs like this forever.

“Do you still hate me now, darling?”

She glints, glitters and glistens with every step she takes around this wretched place, even the light can’t help but be pulled into her orbit.

“You’re going to hate me,” she whispers. I smile, gently kissing her forehead before fixing my gaze back on hers. “My darling, I already do.”

“He was a dead man walking the moment he touched my fucking wife,” he rasps.

“You’re psychotic, you know that?” I say while pushing off of him, heading to the bedroom. “And what does that make you, darling?”

“Let go,” he says softly. Like an incantation. And again, I’m lost in all the different meanings these two words can mean. Let go of this memory haunting you. Let go of this piece of you. Let go of your control.

The part of me that would usually balk at his order is quiet today. Instead, I’m aflame.

But one thing did change. She’s mine now. And I’ll burn the whole fucking city down in my wife’s name.

She can act like she’s mad, fuck me like she hates me, and pretend she’s not as obsessed with me as I am with her. I don’t care.

Your soul doesn’t belong to God.” The urge to tell her it belongs to me burns my tongue but instead I say, “It belongs to you. No one else.”