CHAPTER 0019- Don't lie to me

I stayed locked in the room until the house went completely quiet.

No more footsteps. No more low voice on the other side of the door. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of my own pulse in my ears. Every time I closed my eyes I saw it again — my mom bent over the kitchen island, Elias behind her, the same hands that had been on me that morning gripping her hips instead.

I hated how much it still turned me on.

That was the worst part.

When I finally unlocked the door it was past midnight. The hallway was dark. His bedroom door was half open, light spilling out in a thin line. I stood there for a long time before I pushed it open.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed in just his sweatpants, elbows on his knees, head down. He looked up when I stepped inside. His face was unreadable, but his eyes weren’t.

“Riley—”

“Don’t.” My voice came out flat. “Don’t say it didn’t mean anything. I watched you.”

He exhaled slowly and sat up straighter. “She came onto me.”

“And you just went with it.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hit harder than a lie would have. I laughed once, sharp and ugly, and crossed my arms like it might hold the anger in.

“You fucked my mother on the same counter you fucked me on. And now you’re sitting here like we’re going to talk it out.”

He stood up. Slow. Careful. Like I might bolt. “You want me to lie and say I regret it?”

“I want you to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still want me.”

He closed the distance between us in two steps. I didn’t move back. His hand came up like he was going to touch my face and then stopped short, hovering.

“I do still want you,” he said quietly. “That didn’t change.”

“It should have.”

“It didn’t.”

The silence stretched. My chest felt too tight. I could smell his skin — soap and the faint trace of whatever cologne he’d worn earlier. The same scent that had been on my mom when she left.

“You’re disgusting,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“So am I.”

Something dark moved behind his eyes. He finally touched me — just his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. I should have slapped his hand away. Instead I leaned into it like a traitor.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“No shit.”

“Then use it.”

He kissed me before I could answer. It wasn’t soft. It was messy and teeth and the kind of heat that came from wanting to hurt each other a little. I shoved at his chest and he caught my wrists, pinning them against the door. His mouth moved to my neck, biting hard enough to sting.

“Hate me if you want,” he muttered against my skin. “But you’re still wet for me. I can smell it.”

I hated that he was right.

He spun me around, pushed my chest against the door, and yanked my sleep shorts down. Two fingers shoved inside me without warning — rough, deep, curling immediately. I choked on a sound and he clapped his other hand over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he said against my ear. “Chloe’s still in this house.”

He fucked me with his fingers hard and fast, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet room. I came quick and angry, shaking against the door, eyes burning. He pulled his fingers out, spun me back around, and shoved them into my mouth.

“Taste what I do to you,” he said. “Even when you hate me.”

I bit down. He didn’t flinch.

Then he stepped back, chest rising hard, and just looked at me — shorts around my thighs, face flushed, fury and want all tangled up.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he said. His voice was rough. “Not like this. Not when you’re still seeing her every time you look at me.”

I stared at him, breathing hard.

“Get out,” I said.

He didn’t argue. Just watched me pull my shorts back up with shaking hands, then stepped aside so I could leave.

I walked back to the guest room on unsteady legs and locked the door again.

This time he didn’t follow.

I sat on the edge of the bed with the taste of myself still on my tongue and the image of my mother burned behind my eyes, angrier and wetter than I’d ever been in my life.