Lie to Him, Moan for Me!

The kind of want that bruised +18

MAYA — POV

I woke in ruins.

My cheek pressed to the warm curve of his chest, breath caught in the space between heartbeats. His arm was slung around my waist like a promise he never made. Like it belonged there. Like it hadn't already set everything inside me ablaze.

I should've moved.

But my body didn't listen. It curled closer—out of instinct, out of weakness, out of some desperate craving I didn't know how to kill.

The sheets tangled between our legs, the scent of sweat and skin still thick in the air. Last night clung to me, sharp and heavy, in flashes.

The fight.

The way he looked at me like I was the only thing left worth breaking.

My hands in his hair, nails in his back, our mouths crashing like we wanted to disappear inside each other.

It wasn't passion. It wasn't love.

It was grief. Guilt. Rage. Heat.

Everything we weren't saying. Everything we couldn't undo.

I blinked up at the ceiling, throat raw, my chest hollowed out. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

And he—Nathan—slept like nothing had happened. Like he wasn't the fire still burning under my skin. His face was too calm. Too quiet. That mouth, the one that had wrecked me hours ago, looked soft now. Innocent.

A lie.

I hated him for it.

For making me feel safe in the middle of the disaster. For making my body answer him even when my heart screamed no.

My thighs ached. My soul did too.

Liam.

His name sliced through me like a blade. I bit down hard, hoping the taste of regret would keep me from drowning.

It didn't.

I started to shift, needing distance—space—anything. But Nathan's arm tightened. His body dragged mine back like gravity.

"Maya..." His voice cracked against my shoulder, hoarse and half-asleep. "Don't."

Two syllables. And I broke open again.

Because he didn't say please.

Because he didn't have to.

Because the second he said my name, everything inside me betrayed me.

I didn't move. Didn't speak.

I just let the silence fill the space between us—hot and unbearable.

I turned, slowly, facing him in the half-light. He looked ruined now. The edges of his hair messy, his chest rising with slow, deep breaths. The marks I'd left on him darkened along his collarbone. I touched them before I could stop myself.

He flinched. Eyes opening, sharp and suddenly awake.

We stared at each other.

The silence cracked.

"You were supposed to be a mistake," I said, voice rough. "Just once. Just something I'd forget."

He didn't answer.

I sat up, dragging the sheet with me, suddenly cold. "But I keep coming back. Why?"

He rose slowly too, muscles shifting, unbothered by the morning light hitting every inch of his bare skin. "Because you're not pretending with me."