Page 32 of The Lies That Shatter
No problem. Is eleven okay?
FINN
Yes, that would be fine.
MAC
Good. I can fall asleep dreaming about you then.
Fuck, now my cock will never go down. What the hell am I doing?!
Sending the text earlier today had been a moment of weakness. I know I told him I’d be happy just being friends—for now—but I lied. Knowing he reciprocates the feelings I have, I don’t understand how the hell he expects me to go back to how things were before.
Since he came back into my life, we’ve not been able to go back to how things were, back when we were best friends. When we were kids, the relationship we had was so easy and natural. He was the only person I’d ever trusted—though it took me a while to realise that—and when I finally let him in and showed him the real me, our friendship went from strength to strength.
Despite a lot of differences, we had so much in common, and hanging out with him was easy. Even when I knew I wasdeveloping feelings for him, it never became awkward. I guess we both saw it as the natural next step, even if we never really talked about it.
Then Finn took the job with his father and everything changed. He did the one thing he promised me he’d never do—hurt me. He ripped my heart out and left me a shell of my former self. I tried to move on. I tried to forget about him. I tried to push past the lingering feelings, despite my heart being shattered into tiny pieces. But the same thoughts and feelings remained… I wanted Finn Doughty.
I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to go back home to Limerick, to search him out. When I moved away to nursing school, I said I’d never return. I told myself a million times that I’d never forgive him, that I wouldn’t give him the power to hurt me again. I made it clear at the time that he’d never get a second chance with me. But that was all bullshit. He had all the power because he still had my heart. Even after all the years apart, he was still the guy I fell asleep dreaming about, and the one I woke up wishing was next to me each morning.
So I did something really fucking stupid, and I returned to the place I used to call home. I went back to look for him. And despite then following him from Ireland to London, and finding myself in the most awful, dangerous fucking situation, I don’t care about any of that because I finally have him back in my life. Knowing he still has feelings for me, after all this time, puts me on cloud fucking nine. And all I keep thinking about is the life we can have together when all this shit is over.
I don’t care if he continues working for his Family, doing illegal shit, as long as he doesn’t use his body anymore. Once Finn is truly mine, there’s no way on this fucking earth I’m sharing him.
I think back to the way he kissed me in the car, the feel of his hard body beneath mine as I rolled my hips over his cock,grinding into him as he held me close. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since.
Why the hell did I agree we could be just friends while doing the job?I don’t want to be just his friend. I want to feel his hands on me, while he claims my body with his tongue. I want him to own me completely, while I claim him in return.
I understand why he doesn’t want us to go that far. If he has to do anything with Melanie while he’s undercover, he thinks it’s like he’s cheating on me.Is that what I think?
I try telling myself that it’s no different than an actor working on a film. When he kisses his leading lady, there’s nothing to it. He doesn’t see it as cheating on the girl waiting for him at home, because there’s nothing to the kiss. It’s simply a job to him. Even if his body reacts instinctively, it doesn’t mean he’s enjoying what he’s doing, or that it’s something he’d be doing by choice. It’s not the same as if he were to go out, pick a woman up in a bar, and willingly have an affair.
My mind knows this, and to a certain degree, I completely fucking agree. But the ugly green side of me isn’t listening. She’s a petty, jealous bitch who wants to rip the eyes out of anyone who even looks at her man. And I’m not lying when I say I’ve dreamt up many different, creative ways to make Mel suffer. Most of which involve removing her fingers, one by one, so she can never touch him again.
While that possessive, obsessive side of my brain exists, I know Finn’s right when he says we can’t let anything more happen between us. I know how dangerous Mortimer Whitlock is, and how important it is that the Doughtys put an end to the evil, sick schemes he’s involved in. I don’t want to blow the operation, or put both of our lives at risk, just because I can’t keep my jealousy intact.
Though now Finn’s back in my life, the short time I’ve spent with him have been nowhere near enough. I need more. I’m theaddict, he’s my drug, and I’m desperate for my next fix—which is how I found myself sending that text in a moment of weakness.
I don’t know what I expected his reply to be. I wasn’t sure if he’d agree to call me or not. When he did, panic started to set in.What the hell am I going to say to him?
That’s how I spent the rest of the afternoon, thoughts running through my brain as I try to think of logical conversations that we might have. Anything that distracts from what I really want to say and do with him.
Looking at the clock, I curse to myself when I notice that the hand has only moved on by a couple of minutes, when I was sure at least half an hour had passed. Still, it’s almost eleven now, so I won’t have to wait too much longer.
As I stand in front of the mirror, trying not to look at the clock again too soon, I take in my appearance.It’s only a telephone call, I remind myself, so I don’t need to get dressed up. It’s a fucking conversation, not a date. He can’t even see what I’m wearing, but that doesn’t stop me from wearing some pyjamas I’m sure he’d approve of.
A black vest top that clings to my curves, scooping enough to show off a healthy dose of cleavage, whilst still covering my nipples. The top stops just slightly above my belly button, showing off the patch of skin beneath the hem, before the waistband of the matching black shorts. The shorts ride up high, showing off the swell of my ass cheeks, and I know they make my ass look amazing.
What the hell are you getting dressed up for when he can’t bloody see you?
At least I wasn’t crazy enough to put make-up on and do my hair. Instead, I just pulled it up into a messy bun.
I did shower and shave my legs, but we will say I did that because it’s nighttime and my legs just needed doing.Yes, that makes me look just the slightest bit less nutty.
I flop onto the bed, letting out a loud groan as I drag my hand over my face in frustration. Why the hell am I letting one little phone call get me so wound up?
Pulling myself into a sitting position with my back against the headboard, I chance another look over at the clock, and my breath hitches when I see there’s only five more minutes to go.
