Page 70 of Iris' Lying Eyes
How far can I go with B? Will he accept half-truths?
He seems to know more than I thought, which means if I do, I have to be careful.
“Why the fuck am I staring at a pink fucking bed?” Bastion says, and I snort.
Turning on his side, he raises a brow, and I say with a smirk, “What, you don’t like it?”
“Like it? It looks like a fucking pussy exploded in the room.”
“B!” I shriek, slapping his shoulder. He turns into me, and I suck in a breath when his erection brushes against my leg.
“What are you doing?” I breathe, and he grunts. “If you want me to think about pussy, then you’re gonna deal with the fallout.”
∞∞∞
Later, I emerge from the bathroom to find Bastion sitting on the bed. He looks at me with a cool gaze, and I silently sigh. The fun time is over.
All through my shower, I couldn’t help but think about the shit storm brewing.
Will I ever get to a place where I’m not dreading my fucking world? I sure hope so.
“We need to talk,” he says, and I set the brush down on the nightstand.
When I don’t respond, he tips his chin, and I sigh. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” I whisper, swallowing. My throat feels thick. Even if I wanted to speak about these things, knowing they’re out in the world creates a level of danger that Bastion doesn’t understand.
And I can’t explain it without saying too much. The big bastard doesn’t get it, but I’m protecting him too. Dammit.
“Iris, you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
His dark eyes probe, and I can’t stand the heat. His words, though, create a burn in my chest that festers. How dare he do this? How dare he create hope when he’s damn well going to kill it later?
Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “This isn’t about us doing anything together. You want answers. I get it, but don’t blow smoke up my ass.”
His brows drop over his eyes, and he grunts, “Fine. Whatever. Tell me what I want to know.”
“Which is what? Can you be more specific?”
“No, because I know you’re going to leave shit out if I do. Start with John. I want to know everything you know.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
Gazing at the wall, I narrow my eyes. Such a loaded damn question.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
His dark stare doesn’t waver. “At the beginning.”
Wow. Okay. “Um, like the very beginning?”
Slowly, he nods and I grab my brush, running it through my hair. “Mom met him when I was ten. They dated for a while. He was nice enough, but I didn’t like him. You know, I was a little jerk. I didn’t want him around. I wanted my mom to myself.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “Well, they married and blah, blah, blah. I think the first time I realized John wasn’t a distributor of cleaning supplies, I was fifteen.”
I’ve glossed over our personal history because I can’t look into his eyes and share the worst moments of my life. His knowing eyes tell me he’s not fooled, but he doesn’t push it.