Page 50 of Cinderella Is Faking It

Bed… but don’t worry I put down a large towel and took it with me to wash. You’ll get it back spotless.

Spotless. Fuck. Had she been wet enough to spot the towel? Drenching it with her sweet juice before she got all in her head again?

I dropped into my bed, which had started smelling like jasmine and amber after the first day she’d claimed my pillows, but I swore the scent was stronger now. And as I curled my hand around my cock, imagining her face pressed into my pillows, her hips arching off my mattress, I typed out one last text.

Beck:

Next time I’ll help.

TWENTY

On Thursday morning at 3am,I got another glimpse at why Cordelia Montgomery hadn’t been seen outside her house in 15 years. Or rather, I got an audible reminder. The screams had me shooting out of bed and into the hallway, swinging the first vase I could grab. I followed the sound upstairs, where Victor stopped me with one hand raised to his lips to motion for me to stay quiet, the other hand outstretched for the vase. He was clad in a simple black shirt and a pair of loose gray sweatpants, ready to spring into action even in his sleep.

I handed the vase over, my eyes fixed on the door behind him. Cordelia’s screams raised the hairs on my neck, but they died down after a minute or so.

“Waking her during a nightmare would just cause a panic attack,” he spoke in a low voice, shelving the vase in a nearby bookcase. “And please, Delilah, don’t hit intruders with 200-year-old delicate antiques. I can arm you with an adequate golf club.”

“I…” I was too stunned to form a coherent sentence, still watching the door, as if the screams might start again. “Does that happen a lot?”

“No,” Victor sighed, “not anymore. This was the first one in over a year.”

The handle of the bedroom door turned, lock clicking open, and Cordelia stepped out, hair rustled, nightshirt twisted around her waist, a soft smile forming on her lips when she spotted Victor. Her shoulders stiffened when her eyes fell on me. “Did I wake you?”

I waved her off. “I was barely sleeping.” At least that was true. I’d stared at Beck’s last text until the phone fell out of my hands, and even then, I was still tossing and turning, dreaming up snippets of his hands on me mixed with the pictures from his books. Stress dreams, not wet dreams.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, shoulders falling inwards, “I promise this won’t happen again.”

“For what it’s worth, Delilah was ready to defend your honor with the Fontainebleau vase,” Victor said, a chuckle lilting his words. It was the closest I’d ever seen him come to joking.

Cordelia only needed a split second to locate the vase, the smile from before returning to her lips. “I never much liked that thing anyway.”

Victor clicked his tongue in disapproval. Who knew he was the one appreciating all the floral European decor?

“Anyone else feel like ice cream?” Cordelia asked and leaned back into her room, grabbing a silky robe that billowed out behind her when she slid past me down the stairs.

Victor made anafter yougesture, and I wordlessly followed my hostess. “I’ll be there in a second,” I said and dipped into my own suite. I grabbed a wooly knit cardigan and my phone. Ice cream at 3am meant I was definitely not going to be ready for another study session at 8 o’clock. I unlocked my phone and hesitated. Beck’s last message was only four words but to me, it took up the entire screen.

Beck:

Next time I’ll help.

I was fully aware of how stupid it had been to take that damn vibrator to his bedroom, but it had also been… strangely erotic. To be engulfed in his scent, knowing I was doing something taboo, spurred on by the breathing exercise I had just read about. At least right up until I started worrying about potential housekeepers and security cameras, and my risqué bubble had burst.

I sighed and shoved the memory down.

Del:

Something came up. Won’t be able to make it today. Sorry <3

The message looked like a lame follow-up to his offer of help. If you could call it that. It felt more like a promise. And something inside me stirred at the thought of anyone, let alonehim,using a toy on me. I’d never done that. It seemed like a waste of everyone’s time, considering the toys didn’t even work when I was alone, and I would likely end up faking it again, just to break the awkwardness of neither party getting anything out of the experience. But something about the way Beck had phrased his questions…

Where?

Where in my apartment did you practice?

Next time I’ll help.

He called it ‘practice’. He knew that I hadn’t just masturbated in his bed for the kick of it – I’d also failed at climaxing yet again, and he… He wanted tohelp.

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