Page 55 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“I’m not acting stupid. I’m genuinely curious why you’re apologizing to me for not climaxing. Aren’t you the same woman who told me sex wasn’t just about coming?”

“Yeah, when you’rewithsomeone. This? Here? It’s literally about figuring out how to make me come. And you tried something. And it didn’t work. So, yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your efforts were in vain.”

A dark expression ghosted over his face, there and gone in an instant. “Blondie, this? Here?” Beck fisted the front of my shirt and pulled me aside. He threw the freezer door shut, then pushed me up against it, knee wedged between my thighs. “We’re practicing because when I fuck you, I want you screaming in pleasure. Real pleasure. And we’ll practice again and again and again, until your overactive brain is completely shut-up and the only thing left on your mind is my name. Your first climax will only be the beginning ofthis. Understood?”

I swallowed.Your first climax will only be the beginning of this.All the air had suddenly left my lungs.

“Understood?” he repeated, closing his hand around my chin in an iron grip that sent a hot shiver rippling down my spine.

“Yes,” I croaked.

“One more thing,” he bent down, lips ghosting over my cheek bone, and continued with his voice dropped to a low growl, “if you ever touch yourself in my place again, I will tie you to my headboard and spank that tight ass until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

I winced at the sheer word choice but couldn’t ignore the moisture gathering between my legs. “Beck?

“Hmm?”

“You ruined my favorite shirt.”

Beck let go of my shirt and looked down at the deformed, stretched-out mess he left behind. He sighed and pressed a quick kiss to my temple before he disappeared from the kitchen. Hopefully to fix the AC.

Despite having just had some icy refreshments - involuntarily - my throat felt like sandpaper. And by the time I’d downed a glass of water that cleared my head, and had wandered back to the library, Beck found me, a bundle of fabric in his hands. He placed it on the shelves before his fingers found the hem of my shirt. I let him peel me out of it again, barely a moment to think about how he kept seeing a whole lot of my skin and I had yet to see his, before he opened the fresh white button-down for me to slip into. It swallowed me, the crisp fabric loose and surprisingly breathable.

“Thanks,” I sighed and rolled up the sleeves to my elbows.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, throwing my pink shirt over his shoulder.

“Don’t throw it out. I’d rather have it stretched-out than not at all.”

“You’ll get it back as good as new.”

“Do you have a fashion fixer on call or something?”

“Or something.” He smirked.

A soft tickle of cold air curled around my neck and my head whipped up, trying to find the fans for the AC. Unseen and unheard.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, but I didn’t need to answer because he had already picked it up from my study corner. “Unlock.”

“Why?” I asked but tapped in my code. There were some incriminating texts between Cordelia and me on there, but Beck didn’t seem like the kind of man who would snoop through my phone.

“I’ll log you into my home systems. No more tripped alarms. You can start the AC 30 minutes before you get here, play music, start the coffee maker, run a bath...”

Of course, he didn’t have a thermostat on his wall like a normal person. “Thanks. Wait. Run a bath?”

“Perfect to loosen muscles after a long workout.” A grin tugged on his lips, and I had a feeling he wasn’t referring to the gym. He handed my phone back, opened on an app that showed a plethora of functions grouped by rooms. Sure enough, the bathroom showed bath settings for temperature, jacuzzi air streams and even for adding bath oils. Imagine all those winter nights after trudging through the snow, and the bath was already waiting for you?! My idea of a dream house had just shifted - Cordelia’s interior designer, but Beck’s tech features.

TWENTY-THREE

“This is just soap,”Isaac muttered, reading through the list of ingredients of arejuvenatinghand wash.

“Don’t let anyone hear you or you’ll get us kicked out.”

Between the socialites and influencers, the Kit by Kristin Carter launch wasn’t my scene, but I went wherever Blondie went. Julian had pulled the guest list from the event planner’s cloud and Cordelia Montgomery had RSVP’d yes to her invite. It wasn’t a bad business move. A new luxury skincare line aimed at women too old to ignore their wrinkles, but young enough to care about name-dropping Boston’s version of Kim Kardashian, Kristin Carter, on Instagram. If they managed to get Kit into the bathrooms at Montgomery, or worked out an exclusive line for the Montgomery On The Go online shop, Del would be the perfect face for that collaboration. She’d made sure of that by popping up all over social media in her tiny gold outfit at Decker’s birthday. Even without her own profile, she’d posed for plenty of pictures with those that wanted to be seen with the elusive Cordelia Montgomery.

“It’s an actual crime to charge more than three quid for this.” Isaac uncapped the bottle and took a sniff, recoiling instantly. “It’s an actual crime to charge for this. Period.”

“Why did you want to come again?”

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