It All Started with a Lie

Chapter 13

Sex is the consolation you have
when you can't have love.
~ Gabriel García Márquez

A/N
So I know not everyone is into the more spicy scenes, so I am going to separate any sex scenes with ****** so that anyone who wants to skip it can.

Chapter 13
Her POV
I swing my bag over my shoulder to dig my keys out of. I am standing outside Richard's house holding a crate of books she left at my apartment for when she needed to find a new read. She has finished every one in the crate and now needs to switch them out for new ones.

I pull out my keys, looking for Richard's spare. I have only gotten to use it once, because it is a rare occasion that we go to Richard's house over my apartment. And when we did, she was always with me. However, today, my classes got out before hers, so I get to use the key, and wait for her, and probably do a load of dishes. I swear their sink is always towering with dirty plates and cups. Asking her to do the dishes is like trying to get a child to put on a coat on Halloween.

I find the key, unlock the door, and kick it open. The crate of books feels like it weighs a few tons and I let out a huff as I drop them on the ground by the shoe rack.

There is no time to adjust to the temperature change of the warm house in comparison to the cold outdoors or the bergamot smell that wafts over me before a ball of fur comes running from the couch to hiss at me and attempt to persuade me back out the door. I groan, trying to shoo the hellhound away. She responds to my efforts by clawing at my foot and barely misses. The remnants of her latest attack have only just healed. "Estrella, quítate!" Klaus calls from the couch.

The only part of him I can see is his arm, hanging off the back of the couch lazily. Estrella continues to growl at me but backs off, retreating to the couch. I follow her with an uneasy discomfort settling in my stomach.

We have not talked about that night in the store, and I do not want to. Estrella leaps onto the couch and out of my view. From this angle, I can see his legs, dangling off the edge of the loveseat that he hardly fits on. I glance over the back of the couch and his eyes, his icy blue eyes, meet mine. Estrella is cuddled against his side, yawning as she paws for his attention.

It is always so different to see him in this light, in his own home. He dresses differently, in only a pair of jeans, and his hair is a tousled mess, falling softly over his eyes. His features are gentle, relaxed, like there is not a single thing to worry about. He looks almost innocent, nothing like the man who shamelessly fucked me on the patio of a frat house, at least until he smiles. "Darling," he greets me as his lips curve in that delicious, devilish smile that tempts me to do terrible, terrible things to him.

I start to say his name but the word gets caught in my throat, choking me, like a sin that I cannot bear to admit to. Instead, I nod in response. That damn smile. How am I supposed to stay away when he looks at me like that? With that face, with those eyes, with that smile. "Is Sonny here?" I have no reason to ask, I know the answer. He is still at school.

"No, he doesn't get home until 3:30."

Neither does Richard. It is just me and him, alone. "Right."

He looks at me, arm perched beneath his head for support, his sculpted and bare chest stretched, the band of his Tommy John boxers peeking out ever so slightly. He is waiting for me to say more but I have nothing more to say. I have heard everything I need to know. When I remain speechless and draw away my gaze, desperate for a temporary relief from the intensity of his stare, he speaks. "Do you need something? If so, help yourself, this house is as much yours as it is mine." He acknowledges my relationship to his sister, and it is like ice water on a snowy night.