Page 61 of Paper Roses

He chuckles and it’s a beautiful sound in the darkness. “And for lending me your family tonight. I know it was fake, but it was awfully nice to be with a family who really love each other. Nice,” he repeats.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper.

What is it about Artie that arouses this odd dichotomy within me? I want to shag him senseless, but also encase him in bubble wrap to keep him safe.

I lie listening to his soft breathing and fall asleep before I can decipher the mystery.

I come awake from a dream, feeling tight and hot, my body strumming with need. The alcohol buzz is gone, and a hangover is on my horizon, but I’m still wrapped in the remains of my dream. All I can recall of it is a body against mine, the sound of groans in my ear, and the tight grip around my cock as I pushed my way into the man’s body.

I palm my cock, unsurprised to find it hard and aching. My boxers are wet from precome, and I arch into my grip, giving a choked grunt as my dick slides through my fingers.

A breathy sigh sounds next to my ear, and I nearly levitate off the bed.

I look around frantically but then relax when I see Artie and remember where I am. As my heart rate subsides, I observe him curiously. He sleeps very tidily on his side, his head pillowed onone arm, while the other arm stretches towards me, palm up. The neatness of the pose is so very him, and I fight a smile at the thought.

The smile dies as I study his beautiful, sharp-boned face. Moonlight streams through the thin curtains and makes his brown hair look pale in places. His usual neat style is a messy tumble over his forehead. His full lips part slightly, and I have a sudden flash from my dream of the man closing his mouth over the head of my cock and sucking. He’d looked up, his blue eyes glinting and?—

I stiffen. It had beenhim. Artie. I just had a sex dream about my fake husband.

Guilt doesn’t come. Perhaps it’s crowded out by the images in my head. Bodies fucking hard, the slap of flesh and his throaty groans in my ear. Without thinking, I reach down and take my cock out of my boxers. It’s rock hard, the head slick with seed. I sneak a glance at Artie, who’s still sleeping the slumber of the innocent.

This is so wrong, but I need it. I need to come so badly, and I can be quiet. I’ve always been quiet during sex much to the dismay of some partners. I bite my lip. He doesn’t have to know.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I lick my palm, getting it nice and wet. When I slide it back over my cock, relief makes me arch, and I start the quick, familiar motions, the wetness of my precome slicking the way.

I bite my lip, but I can’t suppress the slick sound of my cock against my palm. I raise my other hand to tweak my nipple. The pain is sharp, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

They fly open when I hear a throaty moan and Artie rolls into me.

“What the—?” I groan loudly as his hand slides over mine, his long fingers cool against my hot skin. “What are youdoing?”

“Let me,” he whispers. “Please.”

“This is not—” I grunt as his fingers squeeze, the sublime pressure making my eyes cross. My hand falls away, and I arch into his touch. “God, that’s so fuckinggood,” I grit out.

His grip is perfect—tight and hot—and I arch my back, trying to get closer. The noise is obscene in the quiet room with theschlick-schlickslap of flesh. He pushes his fist down to the root, sliding back my foreskin, allowing the head to pulse in the cold air.

I shiver and open my eyes. His gaze is slumberous and silver in the dim light. His cheeks are flushed, his cock hard against my thigh. Our gazes hold as he pushes his hips into me, daubing my skin with wetness.

“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes. Rub off on me. Use me, Artie.” I cup his arse cheek, applying pressure. He groans, his eyes sliding shut and his hand pausing on my cock as he rubs against me.

“Ungh, that’s so good,” he moans.

I grunt as his hand tightens on my dick. “Easy, sweetheart,” I whisper, not even pausing to marvel at the endearment.

He opens his eyes. “Sorry.”

“You don’teverhave to be sorry,” I say fervently.

Then my eyes slam shut as his left hand gets into the game, cupping my balls with a gentle grip.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

He moans in approval, lowering his mouth to my chest to find my nipple. As he sucks, it’s like someone attached a hotwire from his mouth to my balls. My spine tingles and I open my legs, lifting up so his finger can trace my hole.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He gives an accompanying groan, rutting against my thigh as he pets my entrance. “Can I?”

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