1 – Pretty Little Liars

The universe is completely unfair.

For four long, luxurious days this Southampton mansion had been my personal paradise. Here, my body had been adored. My skin stroked. My blood had burned with a passion that had been building over seventeen long years. I’d been touched and kissed and worshipped by the man I’ve loved my entire life, and I’d relished the freedom to explore every inch of him in return. My lips on his strong jaw, his tight abs. My tongue tasting the sweetness of his skin and the saltiness of his cock.

We made love tenderly, then violently, then tenderly once more. We curled together in each other’s arms. We watched late night television with our legs twined, until the sensation of skin against skin overwhelmed us and we muted the drone of talk show hosts, and explored each other again in the flickering light of the television.

We swam naked in the pool during the day, then walked along the beach in the moonlight.

Those days had been a gift. A reward.

A decadent, sensual heaven.

But all that changed this morning, and now this mansion that I love has transformed into hell. A luxurious hell with cool ocean breezes, a wet bar, liveried waiters offering sushi and canapés, and the man I love fondling the ass of a pert blonde with tits that are going to pop right out of that barely there dress if she so much as sneezes.

Bitch.

And I’m not the only one mentally plotting Blondie Bitch’s demise. On the contrary, I’m certain that every female in the vicinity would take her down in a heartbeat in order to take the twit’s place at his side. Dallas Sykes. The infamous billionaire bad boy. The man known publicly as one of the two heirs to the Sykes family fortune, and who women all over the country reverently refer to as the King of Fuck.

The man I love.

The man I can have in private, but never in public.

The man who is my brother.

Well, fuck.

The bitch leans closer to him, and as her teeth tug at his earlobe, I turn away—there’s only so much torment I can take—and make a beeline for the bar.

“Woodford Reserve,” I say to the bartender. “Two ice cubes.” I recall the way his hand cupped her rear. “Actually, let’s make that a double.”

“Sure thing, miss.”

Beside me, a runway-thin model-type with at least four inches on me takes a sip of red wine. “The hard stuff, huh? Guess you’re singing the same song I am.”

I glance at her, confused. “I’m sorry?”

Her mouth curves up in a way that makes her cheekbones even more prominent. She looks like a fairy with her pale skin and short dark hair. A devious fairy, I amend, seeing the glint in her pale blue eyes. “The Ode to Dallas,” she clarifies. “The siren’s song to make him ditch the bimbo and come straight to you. Or, in my case, me.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” My cheeks burn, and right then I’d totally welcome a natural disaster. A sinkhole, perhaps. Or a tsunami blowing in off Shinnecock Bay. “Me? With Dallas? That’s not even—”

I clamp my mouth shut before I get in a serious the lady doth protest too much situation. How the hell could I have been so obvious? Could she really see the lust in my eyes? Surely not? Surely I was more careful. Because I have to be careful. I’ve been careful my whole damn life.

Yes, but before you two weren’t together. Now you are. At least when you’re alone. But not here. Not in the world. Not where it matters.

Her smile is knowing. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me that you don’t—wait.” She tilts her head, studying me, and as I watch, her eyes go wide, and she presses four long fingers over her blood-red lips. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t recognize you. You’re Jane, right? You’re his sister. God, that was totally lame of me.” She drags her perfectly manicured fingers through her pixie-style hair. “I just saw you looking at him, and I assumed that you—anyway, never mind.” She draws a deep breath and extends her hand. “I’m Fiona. Did I mention I’m an idiot?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Honest mistake. Really. I was looking at him. But that was irritation you were seeing. Not lust.” That, at least, is half true, and I allow myself one deep breath in relief. Crisis averted. Bullet dodged.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that some tiny, screwed up part of me wishes that she’d called my bluff. That she’d felt the heat that burns in my veins for him—and that she’d figured it out.

Because as much as I love Dallas, I hate that we have to hide. And some rebellious, hidden, bold, stupid part of me wishes that we could be open and out there and real.

We can’t, though. I know we can’t. The law and our parents and the threat of public humiliation keep us trapped firmly in the shadows. And, honestly, I’ve never been too fond of the spotlight, so the idea of having tabloid attention focused on me because I’m sleeping with my brother really doesn’t sit well.

But it’s not just family and privacy and social mores that are keeping us apart. There’s Deliverance, too. Because as long as Dallas is Top Secret Vigilante Guy, everything in his life is going to remain hidden, including the man he truly is. A man so very different from the one he shows the public. A man that even I don’t fully know or understand, because we haven’t yet talked about how Deliverance operates or about its core mission to track—and presumably kill—the miserable excuses for human beings who kidnapped us both seventeen years ago. We need to, of course, but neither of us wanted that conversation to intrude on our four days of bliss. We only wanted each other.

“Hey,” Fiona says, her forehead creasing as she peers at me. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I force a smile, even though I feel like crying. Because for the first time it’s fully hit me. He’s mine. Dallas Sykes is absolutely, one hundred percent, totally mine.

And yet I can never truly have him.

Not in the way that counts. Not in the way that matters.

We’re living a lie that is shiny and perfect and wonderful in the shadows, but that shrivels and dies in the harsh light of day.

I love him. I do.

And even though we promised each other that we would make this work, I can’t help but fear that’s a promise we never should have made. Because it’s a promise that is impossible to keep.

2 – Rear Window

An hour later I’m finally alone and on my third bourbon. Fiona has overcompensated for her faux pas by prattling on about nothing and everything, which was good in that her constant attention kept my eyes from drifting to Dallas.

And bad, in that her constant attention kept my eyes from drifting to Dallas.

Even knowing I shouldn’t, all I want to do is watch him. And imagine him touching me. And seethe about the fact that he is spending the party touching everyone but me.

Apparently, he’s even touched Fiona.

“We went out a couple of times,” she told me, eyes sparkling. “Everyone knows he hardly ever sees the same woman twice, but, well, he saw me three times.” Her lips curved wickedly. “He saw all of me.”

My stomach twisted as I smiled politely and said something about my brother’s reputation and how I really needed to go take care of something with the staff. I escaped inside, hid out for half an hour, and when I returned, I didn’t see her at all.

Dallas, however, caught my attention right away.

Now, I’m leaning against the corner post of one of the pool cabanas trying not to watch him. Or, at least, trying not to be obvious about the fact that I’m watching him.

He’s moved on from the blonde. Now he stands next to a brunette with streaks of neon blue. Her long hair falls in loose curls over her back, bare in the designer halter she wears. She sports a tattoo on her shoulder—not a feminine one, but a skull against a blood-red background.

She wears a black leather miniskirt and five-inch heels, and I have no doubt that this is a woman who takes what she wants. I can tell simply from looking at her. I can also tell from the way she keeps leaning toward Dallas and running her tongue over the edge of his ear.

I’ve never met the woman, but I’m going out on a limb and saying that I don’t like her. Not at all. Not even one little bit.

I realize I’m staring again, and so I pull out my phone and make an effort to go through my emails. The attempt is futile—I see words, but they make no sense to me at the moment.

At least not until a text message flashes across my screen.

Watch.

It’s from Dallas, of course, and my body tightens merely from seeing his name. I react on instinct—my head lifting, my eyes going straight to where he stands with Skull Girl. He’s not looking in my direction, but I know that he is aware of me. He always is. Just as I’m always aware of him.

I stand, my feet like weights holding me in place as I watch the scene unfolding in front of me. Dallas and the woman standing near the pool, chatting casually with a few of the guests. Dallas’s hand, brushing lightly against her bare back. His fingers trailing down her spine, then over the halter’s tie at her waist.

I expect his hand to stroke the soft leather and cup her ass, but that isn’t what happens. Instead, his nimble fingers unfasten the button of her waistband, loosening it just enough so that he can slip his hand inside her skirt and slide it down over her ass. For just a fraction of an instant, he looks up, his eyes finding mine. Heat pours through me, turning me liquid, making me wet.

I know what he is doing—we’ve done this before. Him touching another woman. Me watching. And both of us pretending that he is touching me.

The first time, it was hotter than sin. I’d been alone in a bathroom, watching the scenario play out on video. We weren’t together yet—in fact we were doing everything to stay apart—and that moment had been a turning point for both of us. A bold—albeit completely fucked up—statement of just how badly we wanted each other. Of what we were willing to do.

Of how far we were willing to go.

I bite my lower lip and swallow, wanting to take what I know he is giving, but also wanting to run far and fast. My reaction surprises me—but at the same time it doesn’t. I don’t want this. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, it’s exciting.

But I really, really don’t want it.

Before, it had been my only option. Vicarious lust. Fantasy fucking. I’d allowed myself to get lost in a sensual haze while I watched him with another woman. I’d touched myself and come violently, over and over again, pretending that it was Dallas stroking me. Knowing it was me that he wanted, and that the woman with her mouth on his cock was nothing more than a poor substitute.

But back then, I wasn’t his. Not yet. Not really.

Now I am.

Now he can have me whenever and however he wants.

Except that’s not really true. Because he can’t have me now. He can’t touch me here in his own backyard. Not with all these people around.

He and I have to stay in the shadows. But he can fondle Skull Girl whenever the hell he wants to.

God. Fucking. Dammit.

I turn away, my skin still tingling. My breasts still tight. I want to watch—so help me, I do.

But I really, really don’t want to want to.

The door to the cabana is now right in front of me—our cabana. Where it all began between us, and where we finally, fully committed to each other, promising that we would somehow, someway, make this impossible situation work.

Memories flood over me as I move toward the door. I want to lose myself in them even if I can’t lose myself in the man.

I push the curtain aside, then stop dead. I don’t know the people on the daybed, but I know only too well what they’re doing. I watch, transfixed, as a fully clothed man with his fly down thrusts his cock into a very naked, very willing woman.

I make a small noise, my hand going immediately over my mouth to stifle it, but I make no move to leave. I’m hidden from their view, I think. From where I stand, I am mostly behind the man, at an angle to the daybed. There is the curtain behind me that leads to the pool deck, and also a solid sliding pocket door that I’m surprised they didn’t close and lock. Maybe they didn’t know it was there.

In front of me are two more layers of gauzy curtains, designed both for privacy and to repel bugs in the evening. The lighting is dim, and although I’m sure they would realize I was there if they looked closely, I know from experience that they would see only shadows. And that so long as I don’t move, they probably won’t even notice me.

I don’t move a muscle.

Instead, I stand perfectly still, lost in the hot, decadent scene that is playing out in front of me. I don’t care about these people, and I don’t want to. Instead, I’m imagining that it’s me on the bed, my body stripped bare. That it’s Dallas behind me, still dressed for the party, his fly down, his cock hard and thick and thrusting inside me.

He bends over, his hands cupping my hips, then my waist, then sliding up to grab my tits. He squeezes hard, the pain shooting all the way down to my cunt, making me even wetter, making my muscles clench ever tighter around him as he pounds inside me.

His cock fills me, his balls slapping hard against my ass as he fucks me from behind, harder and harder, riding me until I want to scream from pain and pleasure and the wild, frantic need for release.

I taste blood and realize that I’m biting my lower lip in an effort to stay quiet. I haven’t made a sound, but I have moved. My hand has slid down, brushing the thin cotton of my floral print skirt, easing it up slowly until I have to clutch tight to the material in defense against the overpowering urge to ease the garment all the way up.

I’m breathing hard, lost in my fantasies. I’m so wet now, and all I can think about is sliding my fingers under my panties and fingering myself.

I want to imagine it’s Dallas touching me. Dallas wanting me.

Me, goddammit. Not some tattooed bitch he grabbed as a prop and who now thinks she’s got a claim on him.

A warm hand falls on my shoulder and I jump, my cry stifled by the hand that is suddenly pressed over my mouth.

“Don’t startle them.” It’s Dallas, of course. His voice low, his lips so close to my ear that his breath makes me shiver. “They haven’t seen you. We wouldn’t want to interrupt the moment.”

I swallow, understanding that he doesn’t mean their moment, but ours.

His hand slides over my rear, cupping my ass through my thin skirt. Slowly, he starts to inch the material up, mimicking what I’d been on the verge of doing only moments before.

“Dallas,” I murmur, my voice whisper-soft. “The door—”

“Is closed.” He fists his hand around the thin strap of my thong panties, then yanks them off, forcing me to swallow a gasp in order to keep our secret. “Do you think I want anyone else to see this?” He lifts the back of my skirt up all the way and tucks it into the waistband, completely exposing my ass. “Do you think I want to share such an incredible view?”

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the rough passion in his voice. In front of us, the couple has shifted. Now she is on her back and he is on his knees beside the bed. He’s removed his shirt, and her legs are over his shoulders. Her thighs are pressed to either side of his head, and her hips are writhing as he eats her out. No way can this guy hear a thing that we do. And the woman is too lost in the sound of her own moans to notice us at all.

“Does it turn you on to watch?” Dallas slides one hand between my legs as he asks the question. “I guess it does,” he continues, slipping a finger inside me. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“That’s not from them,” I protest. “It’s from you.”

He bites the edge of my ear. “Bullshit,” he says, adding another finger and thrusting hard. “It’s all of it. Watching them. Me touching you. Knowing that at any moment we might be discovered. I closed the door, Jane. But did I lock it?”

“Dallas…” His name is a moan, because he’s right. I’m completely and totally turned on by everything. Excitement. Fear. Danger. And, yes, I know that he locked the door—I trust him too much to believe otherwise—but that doesn’t mean that the fantasy of getting caught doesn’t excite me more than it should.

“Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me how fucked up this is.”

“You know it is.”

“Tell me you like it.”

My body shudders as he teases my clit. “You know I do.” And so help me, it’s true. Being like this with him sets me on fire. I don’t know why—as a rule, I’m all about control, and right now I’m most definitely not in control of anything, myself included.

Maybe that should bother me, but it doesn’t. Right now my mind is too sex-blurred to even try to think analytically. I only know need. I only understand want.

I only crave him.

“Dallas,” I murmur, grateful that I have at least enough self-awareness left to keep my voice down. “Please.”

“Jane.” His voice beside my ear is an incantation, taking all of my senses to the next level. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve craved you tonight? How much I’ve wanted you?”

“Have you?” I retort, and though I’d meant for the words to be soft—a tease—I know that he has heard the hint of genuine uncertainty in my voice. I can feel the way his body tightens, and he hesitates, the gap in motion almost imperceptible. But not to me; I know him too well.

“Oh, baby. Don’t you know that I have?”

“Dallas, I—”

“Shhh. Let me show you. Let me prove it to you. Let me make you explode.” He slides his fingers back, stroking my perineum until he reaches my ass. His hand is slick with me, and I gasp as he slides his thumb deep inside me, then eases his fingers forward again until he slips his forefinger in my vagina, effectively finger-fucking me both ways.

I close my eyes, lost in pleasure, then reach out with my left hand and grab the wall to support myself as I push back against his hand, forcing him in harder. Deeper. Wanting everything he is willing to give, and then more.

“That’s it, baby. God, that’s so fucking hot.”

In front of us, the couple has shifted again. He’s fully naked on the bed now, and she’s riding him. His cock is deep inside her, and as she grinds against him, I mimic her motions. My hips gyrating. My stomach tight. My back arched.

“All of it,” Dallas whispers. He obviously understands exactly what I’m doing—including the fact that I’m imagining that his fingers are his cock. Something I want so desperately, but know that I can’t have. Not now. Maybe not ever. I feel my cheeks heat, because that’s not something I wanted to reveal, but he is unperturbed. “Touch yourself,” he whispers as he closes his free hand over my breast, pinching my nipple so that threads of pleasure zing from my breast to my core. “Stroke your clit and ride me.”

I don’t hesitate. How can I when I belong so fully to him? When I will do whatever he demands because it is Dallas asking, and because I don’t want this feeling to end.

My clit is hard and swollen and incredibly sensitive. But I’m so wet and slippery I can barely get enough friction. Even so the sensation is incredible, and as he thrusts his fingers deep inside me, I feel my body shudder. My muscles tighten to draw him in further, and my fingers play wildly over my clit, bringing me closer and closer.

He tweaks my nipple hard, then releases my breast and slides his hand down to press over mine. Now he is both guiding and following my actions, teasing my clit with me as his other hand fucks me so very, very thoroughly. He’s hard, pressed close so that I can feel his erection against my hip.

I draw in a breath and pull my hand off my clit so that I can twine my fingers with his. Then I move his hand to his cock. “With me,” I say, the words little more than a groan.

He understands, then strokes his cock with one hand while he fucks me with the other, and I take care of my clit myself.

It’s wild and wicked and crazy and it feels so right and perfect to be in his arms. Even like this. Even hidden. Even watching other people fuck from this place in the shadows and—

“Come for me, baby,” he says, thrusting hard and deep inside me. “Christ, sweetheart, come with me now.” He is pressed up against me, and I feel his body tremble as he explodes, and that sensation pushes me over the cliff as well.

“Oh, god.” The cry is ripped from me as I shatter, riding his fingers hard as my body buckles and breaks.

“Is someone there?” The girl lifts her head from where she’d been sucking her partner’s cock, our roommates having shifted into a sixty-nine.

“Just a noise,” the guy says, his back to us. “Forget about it.”

But she’s staring right at us. I know she can’t possibly recognize us from the shadows, but I duck my head anyway and start to smooth my skirt, tugging it down from where it’s hiked up in my waistband. I’m not about to say anything of course. On the contrary. I’m going to get my clothes straight and follow Dallas through the door before either of them decides to investigate.

“Who is that?” she asks. “Who’s there?”

I motion to Dallas that we should go.

Dallas, however, has a different idea. “It’s just me,” he says, and I immediately want to sink into the floor. First in embarrassment, then in horror. What if this girl asks who he’s with? What if she gets a good look at me?

I glare at him, but he just shakes it off, as if I’m the one being insane and unreasonable.

“Dallas?”

“Sorry to intrude, Christine. My friend’s a little shy, but she likes to watch.”

“Oh, really?” I can hear the lilt of excitement rising in her voice. “Billy likes to watch, too. Don’t you, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” Billy lifts his head long enough to bite Christine’s hip, then dives back down to her pussy.

I just stand there, not sure if I’m turned on or scared or confused or what.

“Well, since they both like to watch,” Christine purrs, “why don’t you come join me?” She pats the daybed mattress.

“Tempting,” Dallas says, and my gut twists a little because I honestly can’t tell if he means it. “But maybe some other time.”

“Suit yourself. Stay and watch some more if you want.” She strokes Billy’s hip as she aims a smile toward us. “I promise it’ll be quite the show.”

“We’ll catch the rest of the act some other time. But stay in here as long as you like. I’ll have someone bring you champagne.”

“Thanks, man,” Billy says, his voice muffled.

Dallas starts to turn, and I feel his hand at my back, ready to guide me out.

I’m breathing hard, shaking a little. And I don’t wait for him to take the lead. Instead, I walk past him, slide open the door, and escape into the night.

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