Page 43 of Faking with Three

“Fuck, Liv, you feel so good,” I rasp, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and it only makes me want her more.

I set a hard, punishing rhythm, watching her face as I fuck her. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open, and she’smaking these desperate little sounds that drive me wild. I reach down, rubbing her clit with my thumb, and she shatters again, screaming my name as she clenches around me.

I can’t hold back anymore. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as I come, spilling into her with a guttural groan. I collapse on top of her, both of us panting, slick with sweat.

We lie there for a moment, just catching our breath. Eventually, I roll off her, pulling her into my arms. She’s still trembling, her face buried against my chest, and I stroke her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. “More than okay,” she whispers.

I pull her down into a kiss, flipping us over so she’s beneath me again. Her breathless laughter turns to a gasp as I thrust into her once more, my movements slower this time, more deliberate. I want to take my time, to feel every inch of her, to make her understand how much I want her.

We shift again, her legs wrapping around my waist as I lift her off the bed, pressing her against the wall. Her fingers tangle in my hair, her moans muffled against my lips as I drive into her, my grip on her hips tightening.

Then we’re back on the bed, her hands gripping the headboard as I move behind her, my lips trailing down her spine. Her soft cries fill the room, and I can feel her unraveling beneath me, her body trembling with every thrust.

I don’t stop until we’re both completely spent, our bodies tangled together, our breaths mingling in the silence. As I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her temple, I realize this wasn’t just about the physical. It was something deeper, something that scares the hell out of me.

But right now, with Olivia in my arms, I don’t care.

The first thing I notice when I wake is the quiet. The room is bathed in the soft gray light of early morning, and for a moment, everything feels… perfect. My body aches pleasantly, a reminder of the night before, and my hand instinctively reaches for Olivia.

But it meets nothing but cold sheets.

My eyes snap open, and I turn my head toward the empty space beside me. The bed is rumpled, her scent lingering faintly in the air, but she’s gone.

CHAPTER 13

OLIVIA

What am I even doing?

The question loops in my head as I drive, the early morning sun barely cutting through the haze in my mind. First Jax, now Marcus. I‘m supposed to like Ethan. Ethan, who’s kind and funny and everything I thought I wanted. Instead, I’ve gotten tangled up with his best friends. What would he even say if he found out? And what the hell kind of future could I have with him now?

I grip the steering wheel tighter, the road blurring slightly as I blink back the heat in my eyes. My car bumps over the familiar driveway of my childhood home, a quaint two-story with white shutters and a wraparound porch. It’s the kind of house that belongs in a small-town painting, complete with flower boxes under the windows and a creaky porch swing.

Coming back here always feels like stepping into a memory. The hydrangeas by the front walk are still wild and overgrown, a stubborn reminder of my dad, who planted them years ago and never pruned them once. Even in daylight, the porch light’s still on—my mom always forgets to turn it off.

I park and sit in the car for a moment, staring at the chipped front door painted robin’s-egg blue. The weight in my chesttightens. I came here for some clarity. But I feel like a bigger mess than I did when I left Austin with no money to myself despite my parents’ caution.

The door swings open before I even knock, and there she is—Mom. She’s wearing her usual floral apron, her gray-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun, and there’s flour smudged on her cheek. Her hands go to her hips as she gives me a look.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up and see her mother,” she says, her tone sharp but warm, the way it’s always been.

I don’t reply. I just step forward and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. For a moment, she stiffens, but then her arms come around me, just as strong.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice softer now. She smells like cinnamon and lavender, and I bury my face into her shoulder, letting myself breathe for what feels like the first time all morning.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. I hold on a little longer than necessary, soaking in the quiet strength she’s always given me. If anyone can help me sort through the mess I’ve made, it’s her.

When I finally pull away, she studies me carefully. “You look tired,” she says, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “And... frazzled. What’s going on, Liv?”

“Can I come in first?” I ask, forcing a small smile. “I need coffee before we dive into my existential crisis.”

She steps aside, waving me in with a knowing smirk. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

The house smells exactly as I remember it—freshly baked cookies, lavender, and a hint of pine cleaner. The living room is cozy, with its overstuffed sofa, faded area rug, and walls lined with family photos. I pause, my eyes landing on a picture of me as a kid, grinning proudly with a missing front tooth.

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