Page 32 of Cinderella Is Faking It

By the time I got out, Del had formed a nest of blankets and pillows around her, eyes trained on a pastel-colored movie full of ruffled gowns. “Marie Antoinette?”

“Emma,” she whispered, nuzzled into the fluffy blanket, and wiggled a few inches over when I climbed into bed.

“You’re not one of those girls waiting for Mr. Darcy, are you?”

“No,” she snorted and waved the remote at the TV, “Mr. Knightley is right there.”

Mr. Knightley was, in fact, right there, flashing his ass on screen. Del neither audibly nor visibly reacted despite having just professed her preference for the man.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What good does a spreader bar do? Like, sexually, what do you get out of it?”

I almost choked on the air in my lungs. Okay, ifthatwas where her mind went at the sight of Knightley’s ass, I’d have that movie play on every screen in the house. “You could obviously tie someone’s ankles to bed posts if you just wanted their legs spread, but this way, my partner stays mobile enough to try a few different positions and actively participate,” I replied matter-of-factly without taking my eyes off the movie.

“Okay but I mean, wouldn’t they spread their legs anyway? Why force them apart?”

“They’re notforcedapart,” I said. “Consent and communication are key to any sexual practice, especially in BDSM.” When she didn’t react to those four intimidating letters either, I continued: “It’s a form of submission. When used, the woman has to give up control to me. I decide what I want, how I want her, when, how and how often she gets to climax.”

That last word finally made her flinch. Right. That. The reason she showed up here tonight in the first place. “Got it. Thanks,” she said, sounding a lot more clipped.

“What’s Parker doing to help you with that?”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Does he know?”

A beat of silence passed. “No,” she admitted quietly, eyes locked to the screen. “I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it over the years.”

“How many?”

“How many orgasms I’ve faked?”

“How many men have you slept with, without them doing anything aboutyourpleasure?”

“It’s not like that. I do find it quite pleasurable. It’s nice.”

“Number.”

“I feel like the first boy I slept with doesn’t count. We were both fifteen and didn’t know what we were doing, so embarrassed we didn’t speak again afterwards. But I told both my exes after a while. The first one got so in his head about it, he couldn’t get it up anymore. And the second one tried so hard, he had stress dreams about it, so I just ended up faking it again for his benefit. When I met Parker, I figured he was better off ignorant.”

Four. I did count the first one because I had a feelinghedid get off. Four assholes too consumed by their own dicks to make their girlfriend come.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” She pushed herself up from the pillows, clutching her blanket cape around her shoulders, hair standing off around her head.

“What am I thinking?”

“That they’re all idiots and you could definitely make me orgasm if you had the chance.”

I smirked and smoothed out the knot above her ear. “Something like that.”

“I’ve heard all that before. My sexual inexperience is not a challenge for you to prove your manliness through. It’s not a competition.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because sleeping with someone is about connecting with a person I care about, not about getting pounded into oblivion by whoever fucks the hardest.”

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