Page 12 of Fake Out Hearts

“You’re driving me crazy,” I groan as I push her legs farther apart and pull out until only my head is still inside her.

After working her over as much as I have, and seeing the way she’s responding to my cock inside her, I’m so turned on that I could come at any second. But I’m determined not to go until she does again. Her needs and pleasure will always come first for me.

Becca whimpers in response, a sound that turns into a scream as I drive in again and start to thrust in a steady rhythm. Her hand drops to her clit, and she works circles across it with her fingertips. I want—no,need—to get closer, so I lock my hands under her knees and push them to her chest, making it even easier to bury myself inside her. She’s so wet that I can feel it coating my cock as I pick up the pace, pistoning my hips.

“Yes,” Becca breathes, begging and urging me on at the same time.

We settle into a fast but steady rhythm, in and out, and her moaning fills the room. The whole floor can probably hear us, but I don’t give a fuck. The only thing that matters to me is the beautiful woman in front of me and the way I’m making her feel.

It takes less than a minute of this for her fingers to start moving faster against her clit. And when her legs start trembling in my hands, I know she’s getting close again, but she’s not the only one. It’s taking every ounce of concentration and grit I’ve honed after years on the ice not to erupt, especially when her eyes flutter open and lock on mine. She chews her lip and nods eagerly at me. That’s good because I feel myself racing toward orgasm too and I don’t think I can hold it back anymore.

This is the best sex I’ve ever had.

It’s not the first time I’ve thought it, but it’s not just about the physicality. Of course her soft skin feels amazing, and ofcourse I’m losing it to the wet, slippery grip of her pussy, but it’s the connection between us that’s really pushing things to a new level.

She’s been so vulnerable tonight, both by choice and by circumstance. After what she went through with Kaplan, she would’ve had every right to tell me to fuck off when I followed her outside, but she didn’t. Maybe it’s jumping the gun, but that makes me feel like Becca trusts me in a way that no other woman has before. Why else would she be here with me right now if she didn’t? This isn’t just a rebound thing, I know it isn’t. I’ve had more than enough of those to know the difference.

But even with my ex, who I really thought I loved, I’ve never felt this bonded during sex. That has to mean something. It just has to.

Becca’s latest whimper slams me back into my body, where the pleasure building is becoming unbearable. I match my thrusting to the speed of her hand and after a few more deep pumps, Becca’s breath catches in her throat, and she goes rigid under me until a scream builds in her stomach and erupts out of her with her orgasm. She bucks up against and grips me, sending me right over the edge with her. My eyes squeeze shut, and I lose all sense of time and place as I come so hard with her that I stop breathing.

When it’s over, I slump over her with my forehead against hers, heaving. I don’t want to crush her, so I hold myself up by my hands, and it takes all my strength. Becca looks up at me, flushed and breathless and beautiful.

“Wow,” she whispers, barely able to get the words out. “That was incredible.”

“You’re damn right it was, princess,” I say and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. I’m in no hurry for this to be over, so I hold myself in place above her, staring into her beautiful eyes and trying to memorize the moment. I hope not, but I know there’s achance I might never see her again after tonight, so I don’t want to forget this.

She smiles up at me as her hand reaches up to the tiger tattoo on my pec. She drags a nail around its outline, summoning goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

“You said earlier that each tattoo you have commemorates a moment in your life,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“What was this one for?” she asks, and I have to laugh. “What? What’s funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just… the story behind that one is kind of stupid.”

“I love it. Tell me,” she insists, tracing the tattoo again. The story really is stupid, but after what we just shared, how can I say no to anything this woman wants? She doesn’t even know how much she’s gotten to me.

“It commemorates me being a teenage idiot,” I say as I lie down facing her without pulling out and hug her into me. She rests her head on my shoulder and keeps tracing the tattoo. “But in all seriousness, it was the first tattoo I ever got. One of my buddies in high school dared me to do it. He thought I was too chicken shit to go through with it, so of course I had to prove him wrong.”

Becca lifts her head and smirks at me. “Typical teenage boy behavior.”

“Exactly.”

“What about this one?” she asks, moving her finger over to a tattoo of a flame-tipped arrow wrapped in a parchment banner on my other pec. “Is that Latin?”

“Yeah. ‘Audaces fortuna iuvat.’ It means ‘fortune favors the bold.’”

“What’s the story behind that?”

“A hockey coach of mine in high school inspired that one. I think he was probably the only person who ever believed in me when I was a kid. He really pushed me because he saw my potential. Playing on his team, the Archers, made me realize I could really make something of myself if I wanted to. He passed away about a year after I graduated, so I got that tattoo to remember him by. And to remind myself to keep shooting for my goals.”

Becca beams at me. “That’s really sweet. But I’m sorry to hear he passed.”

“I was too. Crushed, actually.”

Her fingers drift up to the base of my collarbone where she stops on yet another tattoo that runs along it, a string of numbers in a loopy, script font. “What about this one? Is it a date?” she asks, thankfully changing the subject.

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