Page 44 of Strictly Pretend

“With clothes on?”

I smile. “Yes. I’m talking about touching, not fucking.”

Her cheeks pink up. “Okay, I’m just making sure.”

“This is just about when we’re in public. And I’m not planning on bending you over and taking you in front of the whole wedding party.”

“You’d be surprised what people do at weddings,” she says wryly, and I realize I’ve touched the one nerve I should have avoided.

I wince. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you think of that. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Not really.”

She smiles and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

“Good. I like it when you’re being an asshole,” she says. She looks more relaxed now. Like we’re equals. “And by the way, if we’re doing this, it goes both ways.”

“What does?” I ask her, but before I can even think a clear thought she’s unbuckling her seatbelt and clambering over me in that pretty dress like I’m a climbing frame.

“Emma?” The last syllable is swallowed. Not by me. Her mouth lands on mine as her hands cup my jaw, her lips so damn soft it feels like I’m kissing a cloud. I can feel her warm breath, the soft pressure of her small hands, the even softer pressure of her breasts as they press against my chest.

She feels primal, like she’s howling at the moon again. And I’m instantly hard as steel.

My mind is hazy as her tongue slides along the seam of my lips, and I part them, until it slides against mine. I can feel the throb of my dick as it fights against my zipper. It matches the racing of my heart as she reaches over me and pulls a lever.

The driver’s seat slides backward enough that she can properly slide between my body and the steering wheel. She hitches her dress up and slides her knees down on either side of my thighs until she’s straddling me. Sitting on me.

And I know for certain she can feel the thickness of me against her. Because I can feel the heat of her as she moves against me.

I rarely get taken by surprise. I’m a man who likes to be in charge. But it takes me a moment to get my brain – the one in my head – working at normal speed. And then I slide my hands down her sides, our mouths still connected, and cup her hips with my firm palms, mostly to stop her moving against my dick because it’s both enticing and incredibly embarrassing how turned on I am right now.

Once I regain control of my reactions, I take over the kiss. Reaching up to cup her face, to angle it so that I can deepen the kiss. My thumb slides along her jaw, my other hand moves to her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine as I lose myself in her.

I reach the bottom of her spine and she makes a little mewing sound against my mouth. I stroke that spot again and she purrs. The tiger turns into a kitten and I’m so here for it.

So is my dick as I imagine pulling her clothes off and making her lie face front on my bed, as I kiss my way down her spine to that exact spot.

I’ve never needed to be inside anybody more in my life. If I wasn’t over thirty years old and completely in control of my impulses – well mostly – I’d be touching her all over right now.

In the best of places.

Finally the need for oxygen gets the better of us and she pulls away, her eyes wide. Her skin is so pink it looks like she’s on the verge of a fever. She touches her lips with her fingertips, her long eyelashes sweeping down as she looks at me.

“When we do that in public, try not to get so hard,” she tells me, climbing off my lap and getting back into the passenger seat. “I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

I look down at my pants. Yes, the thick line of my aching dick is still visible.

“Good night, Brooks,” she says, pulling the passenger door open and climbing out. “Thanks for dinner.”

She walks toward the entrance of her apartment and I can’t take my eyes off her. Even from behind she looks like temptation in high heels. There’s a lamp above the doorway and as she steps into the pool of light it makes her hair shimmer like there’s gold laced through it.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell’s wrong with me? Gold? Am I a toddler, readingCinderella?

No, I’m not. I’m a man. A man who is here for one thing. To sort out the mess that’s the building and her lease. Kissing Emma is a means to an end, that’s all.

Once she’s made it safely through the door I start the car engine up and adjust myself, because driving home with an aching erection doesn’t exactly sound like my kind of fun.

---