side. Figuring out how difficult it would be to carry on with her, since I was so suspicious. Deciding how and when and where he would lie.
I don't understand why men do these things. Do they get off on the secrecy? The lies? He could've just had a life with Jessica if he wanted, if they weren't both too cowardly to pursue it. I guess it's easier to keep things casual. No question of going too far or moving too fast if at least one of you stays in another relationship. No moving in together, no dealing with broken dishwashers and sick pets - just sexy, stolen out-of-town weekends. No long-term commitments, only wishes and promises hanging on "wouldn't it be nice."
What's not to like? It's low stakes. You never get sick of each other, always longing to be together.
It's a honeymoon that never ends.
I guess I do understand it. Dean, unlike Andrew, actually does try a little bit. He keeps trying to convince me that he's telling me the truth, but there's no emotion behind his words. He tells me he'll introduce me to her, as if that would help. As if that would somehow indicate that his penis has never been inside her. As if that's even what matters. Whatever they've done, he feels something for her that he tried to keep a secret from me. That means something. It means more than anything he could tell me in words.
Over the next few weeks I watch him fade away. Everything we had between us, everything we did, the promises he made, all of it dissipates like nothing. His feelings for me aren't strong enough. Most likely, they never were. He says he's sorry but his voice is flat, emotionless, like he's already given up. The man who once said he'd fight for me, take a bullet for me - now he won't even look me in the eye.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darts
I've made a resolution not to sleep with Dean again.
It's not going well so far.
"If this is what you wanted, you should've told me," he growls in my ear. I gasp as he yanks my arms behind my back, his hands grasping so tightly around my wrists that it aches.
It started with a conversation in the kitchen. How it ended up in the bedroom is not exactly clear, but I can't argue with the results.
"I didn't think -"
" You thought wrong ." His teeth sink into my neck and I moan, shuddering, knees weakening, melting at his touch. It was never like this before. I never knew it could be like this. I thought it was all fantasies, in those books - but right now, I feel like I really am Lana.
"Say it," he rumbles in my ear. "Tell me you love being my whore."
I asked for this, by the way. That's the effect he has on me.
"I love it," I pant, because...well.
"I'm going to fuck you," he whispers. "Until you scream. Don't try to fake it - I'll know. I want you shattering to pieces. I want your throat so raw you won't recognize your own voice."
What the hell's gotten into him? Who made him this way? As conflicted as I feel about it, I kind of want to find the person and kiss them on the mouth.
Or maybe punch them in the stomach. At this point, it's not entirely clear.
By the way - yes. I do scream.
More than once.
When he catches me making some special sore-throat tea afterwards, he can't stop smiling.
***
Dean
I can't believe the mess I've gotten myself into.
Tonight, Lissy's family is split down gender lines. The girls are seeing a Broadway show, and the guys are all trying to kill each other with paintballs. I begged off, saying I had to work late. Yeah, I know. After all the trouble that got me into, you'd think I would've given up the lie. But it works so well.
The Wardens always seem so friendly and accommodating, until you realize they have you in sheer numbers and they'll just steamroll over anyone and anything that doesn't fit their plans. But at least the Warden men appreciate a good solid work ethic, so they only called me "chicken" five or six times. I don't really dislike paintball, but I do dislike the idea of being repeatedly shot in the balls by my fake
I don't understand why men do these things. Do they get off on the secrecy? The lies? He could've just had a life with Jessica if he wanted, if they weren't both too cowardly to pursue it. I guess it's easier to keep things casual. No question of going too far or moving too fast if at least one of you stays in another relationship. No moving in together, no dealing with broken dishwashers and sick pets - just sexy, stolen out-of-town weekends. No long-term commitments, only wishes and promises hanging on "wouldn't it be nice."
What's not to like? It's low stakes. You never get sick of each other, always longing to be together.
It's a honeymoon that never ends.
I guess I do understand it. Dean, unlike Andrew, actually does try a little bit. He keeps trying to convince me that he's telling me the truth, but there's no emotion behind his words. He tells me he'll introduce me to her, as if that would help. As if that would somehow indicate that his penis has never been inside her. As if that's even what matters. Whatever they've done, he feels something for her that he tried to keep a secret from me. That means something. It means more than anything he could tell me in words.
Over the next few weeks I watch him fade away. Everything we had between us, everything we did, the promises he made, all of it dissipates like nothing. His feelings for me aren't strong enough. Most likely, they never were. He says he's sorry but his voice is flat, emotionless, like he's already given up. The man who once said he'd fight for me, take a bullet for me - now he won't even look me in the eye.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darts
I've made a resolution not to sleep with Dean again.
It's not going well so far.
"If this is what you wanted, you should've told me," he growls in my ear. I gasp as he yanks my arms behind my back, his hands grasping so tightly around my wrists that it aches.
It started with a conversation in the kitchen. How it ended up in the bedroom is not exactly clear, but I can't argue with the results.
"I didn't think -"
" You thought wrong ." His teeth sink into my neck and I moan, shuddering, knees weakening, melting at his touch. It was never like this before. I never knew it could be like this. I thought it was all fantasies, in those books - but right now, I feel like I really am Lana.
"Say it," he rumbles in my ear. "Tell me you love being my whore."
I asked for this, by the way. That's the effect he has on me.
"I love it," I pant, because...well.
"I'm going to fuck you," he whispers. "Until you scream. Don't try to fake it - I'll know. I want you shattering to pieces. I want your throat so raw you won't recognize your own voice."
What the hell's gotten into him? Who made him this way? As conflicted as I feel about it, I kind of want to find the person and kiss them on the mouth.
Or maybe punch them in the stomach. At this point, it's not entirely clear.
By the way - yes. I do scream.
More than once.
When he catches me making some special sore-throat tea afterwards, he can't stop smiling.
***
Dean
I can't believe the mess I've gotten myself into.
Tonight, Lissy's family is split down gender lines. The girls are seeing a Broadway show, and the guys are all trying to kill each other with paintballs. I begged off, saying I had to work late. Yeah, I know. After all the trouble that got me into, you'd think I would've given up the lie. But it works so well.
The Wardens always seem so friendly and accommodating, until you realize they have you in sheer numbers and they'll just steamroll over anyone and anything that doesn't fit their plans. But at least the Warden men appreciate a good solid work ethic, so they only called me "chicken" five or six times. I don't really dislike paintball, but I do dislike the idea of being repeatedly shot in the balls by my fake
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