Page 64 of Fake To Forever

"I can tell.” He chuckles, taking my hand into his. “Did you have a good time?"

"The best," I assure him, squeezing his hand. "But I’m glad you’re here now. I’ve been thinking about you all evening."

As we pull away from the curb, I scoot closer to him, my head resting on his shoulder. The drive home is quiet, the streets of Blue Ridge passing by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. I feel the buzz of the night still coursing through me, the laughter, the dancing, the freedom of it all, and now, the warmth of Christian beside me.

When we reach the house, Christian parks the car and comes around to open my door. I take his hand, using his strength to steady myself as I stand. Once we're at the front door, I turn to face him, the porch light casting a soft glow around us.

"Thank you for tonight," I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick peck, but the warmth of his lips, the solid feel of him under my hands, it pulls me in, and I deepen the kiss, my body pressing closer to his.

Christian responds with equal intensity, his hands finding my waist, pulling me tightly against him. When we finally break apart, there’s a heated glow in his eyes that matches how I feel.

"Let’s get you inside," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

Once inside, my hands roam over his chest as he shuts the door behind us, the click of the lock sounding like a starting gun.

"I don’t want the night to end yet," I whisper against his neck, feeling his pulse quicken under my lips.

"Neither do I," he replies, his hands sliding down to lift me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, the world narrowing down to just the two of us, here in the dark, quiet house.

Christian carries me upstairs with careful, determined steps. Each movement is charged with anticipation, building the heat between us until it’s the only thing I can think about. We reach our bedroom, and Christian places me down on the bed and palms my sex, pushing aside my panties to slide two fingers in and out of me slowly. I draw in a deep, shaking breath as pleasure rushes through me, heating up my skin and giving me goosebumps.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he praises, looking down at me. He pumps his fingers in and out of me faster, watching my face, my body. I bite my lip, looking up at him, and he groans as I make eye contact.

“You are,” I say, nearly delirious, and he chuckles.

“Am I?” He tugs off his t-shirt with one hand, throwing it on the floor then works his pants down his legs. He’s naked now, and his erection is hard, the tip already dripping.

“Christian, please,” I whimper.

“Please what, baby? Use your words,” he orders, grasping my chin in his hand and forcing me to look at him.

“Please fuck me,” I say quietly, feeling shy, but he just grins.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he mutters, removing his fingers and looping my knees over his biceps. He guides himself into me and fucks me hard and fast and I’m mewling.

I drag my nails down his back and I can’t breathe with all the pleasure heating me up from the inside out. Christian growls low in his throat when I orgasm, pulsing around him.

After a few more hard thrusts, he’s coming too and he leans down to kiss my throat and shoulder.

“I think my shoulders are bleeding,” he says, chuckling, and I try to catch my breath.

“Fuck,” I curse. “I’m sorry, Christian?—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he murmurs. “It just means I’ll remember you every time I shower. Remember this.”

Suddenly, words come up my throat, needing to get out.

I want you all the time. I think I’m in love with you. How do you feel about me?

The thought startles me and I press my mouth shut so that the words don’t accidentally slip out. I must be drunker than I thought. Love? I’m not in love with Christian, am I?

The question zooms back and forth in my mind as he carefully pulls out of me and then helps me to my feet. Leading me to the bathroom, he undresses me, washes my face, and brushes out my hair. These are not things people typically do who aren’t in love, right?

When I’m cleaned up and dressed in an oversized t-shirt, he picks me up and carries me back to bed. I curl into him, resting my head on his chest and I can hear his heart beating. It’s strong and steady, and I can’t help but wonder if it could possibly be beating for me.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wedding

Christian

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