Page 108 of The Fake Husband Play
I hope Schwartz delivers.
But I hope Makena gives me the chance to deliver even more.
So far, we haven’t said a word after those first two sentences. Not a single word. Not with our lips, anyway. But her eyes on mine, her head on my chest, her fingers gripping my hand tight as she pulls me through the kitchen after the last dance is through…they’ve all told me I’m not crazy.
There’s something here between us.
Something undeniable.
We slip out through the double doors at the back of the kitchen, and the night hits us like a slap in the face. It’s pouring rain, fuckingpouring, the kind of hot and heavy drops that only come from a Louisiana summer sky. The alley is empty, surprisingly clean, and lit only by a single flickering lamp by the back door.
But there’s plenty of light to see the way the rain plasters Makena’s dress to her skin as shesteps out into the downpour. The way it makes that peach silk so transparent, I can instantly make out the outline of her nipples beneath the fabric.
Christ, she’s sexy as fuck, so hot I have to work to rip my gaze back to her face when she finally speaks.
“I’m so mad at you,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the rain slapping at the pavement.
I blink. “Wait, what? Why?”
“Because you live rent-free in my head, road meat,” she says, the longing in her eyes taking the sting out of the words. “Seven and a half months, Parker. Seven and a half months and I still can’t stop thinking about your stupid lips and your stupid face and the way you looked at me like I’ve always wanted someone to look at me and?—”
I cut her off with a kiss.
Hey, it worked the first time, and I can’t fucking help it. She’s wet and wants me, and is so sexy I can hardly stand it. When my mouth finds hers, she makes a sound—half shocked gasp, half groan of relief—that shoots straight through me. Because I feel the same fucking way.
There’s never been a connection like this for me.
No woman has ever made me rock hard with a single touch, made me dream about her for months, made me ache for her like I ache for simpler times and easier roads and a point in my life when my family resembled a sitcom more than a late-night drama.
And no, looking back, I never had that. My parents’ love was always a lie, but this isn’t. This is real, the first completely real thing I’ve ever felt with a woman.
I want her so fucking bad it’s almost scary.
We stumble backward, her hands fisting in mysoaked dress shirt, clawing for my skin. My back hits the stone wall of the hotel hard enough to knock the breath from me, but we don’t stop kissing.
I stroke my tongue harder, deeper, as she matches me, challenges me, dances with me.
Fuck, we’re good at dancing.
We’re going to be good at fucking, too, no doubt in my mind.
My hand finds her thigh through the slit in her dress, her bare skin hot despite the rain. I grip her there, jerking her leg up around my hip, and we groan.
She rocks against my thigh, both of us shuddering as her pussy grinds into my erection, and I wish for the superpower to make fabric evaporate with everything in me.
“I hate this,” she says, but her lips are already on mine again, desperate, hungry.
“No, you don’t.” I slide my hand higher on her thigh, fingers creeping beneath the elastic of her panties. “You need this. You need it as much as I do.”
She bites my bottom lip hard enough to sting, then soothes it with her tongue. I tangle my other hand in her soaked curls, but fuck, they’re still so soft. As soft as her lips and her tits against my chest.
She’s going to be so soft and slick and hot around me.
Just thinking about it has me so hard it hurts.
“We should stop,” she gasps, even as she opens the buttons of my shirt like she can’t get to my skin fast enough.
“Probably,” I agree, kissing down her throat, tasting rain and salt and need.
