Page 85 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
We collided in the darkness between the bed and the door. His hands came up instinctively to steady me, one on my waist, the other on my shoulder. I found myself pressed against his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin through his thin T-shirt.
Neither of us moved.
I could hear his breathing, slightly uneven now. My own pulse hammered against my ribs. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I could see his face, the way his eyes had darkened as they searched mine.
"Sadie." My name came out rough, almost broken. "I need you to know—having you in your own room was impossible. I couldn't stop thinking about you. And now, with you here…" He swallowed hard. "I feel like something inside me is going to explode."
My breath caught. When we crossed the line the first time, we swore it didn't have to mean anything. And maybe it didn't that first time. We were just two consenting adults with hormones and we fixed the problem. But the subsequent times have meant things, very loud, very powerful things.
I didn't think I could keep up with this charade at all anymore. I didn't really want an arrangement with him. I wanted him. I wanted things I shouldn't want with a man this much older than me, and it was impossible for me to separatethe logical facts of the arrangement from the things he made my body feel when I was around him.
"Harrison—"
"Can I have you?" His question came out raw and desperate. "Please. I know we said the sex doesn’t mean anything, but I can't. I need… I mean, I want…"
I answered by rising on my toes to close the distance between us. His mouth found mine in a hungry, urgent collision, and all my careful resolutions scattered. This was wrong. This was dangerous. This was exactly what Mom had warned me about. I was being swept away by the luxury, the convenience, his pampering, and most of all the chemistry between us and I would be sorry.
I didn't care.
His hands tangled in my hair, pulling it free from its messy bun. I arched against him, every nerve ending alive with desire. We stumbled backward toward the bed, hands grasping, mouths seeking. When my knees hit the mattress, I fell backward, pulling him with me.
He covered my body with his, his weight pinning me in a way that made my pulse trip. His mouth traced a hot path down my neck.
“You undo me,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against my skin. “Every time I’m near you, I can’t think straight. I can’t keep my hands to myself.”
My fingers dug into his shoulders. “Harrison?—”
“I tried to stay away,” he said, brushing his lips over the curve of my jaw. “But you look at me, and I forget every reason I shouldn’t touch you.”
His words curled inside me, tightening everything. This wasn’t supposed to be happening again. I was supposed to be strong, to draw a line and keep it. Instead, I was melting into him, chasing the heat of his mouth, the press of his body.
His hand slid under my top, fingers splaying against my stomach. “You make me lose every bit of control I have,” he whispered, lifting the fabric until it cleared my head. His gaze swept over me, reverent and hungry. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
I shook my head, but my breath caught as his palm cupped my breast. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve rolled away. Instead, I arched into his touch, my own traitorous body begging for more.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine until I was clinging to him. “I think about you all day,” he admitted between kisses. “What you’d sound like if I touched you here…” His fingers brushed between my thighs, across the thin fabric, and I gasped.
“Harry…” My voice was already unsteady, the sound betraying me.
“I want you so badly it’s driving me out of my mind,” he said. “Tell me you feel it too.”
I did. I felt it everywhere—my skin hot where he touched me, my pulse pounding in places I didn’t want to think about. My mind screamed at me to stop, to remember this was a mistake, but my body was already answering him.
He pushed my shorts down, trailing kisses over my bare thigh, each one a small surrender. I hated myself for not pushing him away, for letting him see me like this again, but when his mouth found me, every thought scattered. My hands fisted in the sheets.
“Sweetheart…” His voice was rough with need as he looked up at me. “You taste incredible. I could spend hours here.”
I bit my lip, trying not to fall apart too quickly, but his tongue was relentless. I told myself it was only physical, just relief, but the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing he wanted—shredded that lie.
He rose over me, his breath warm against my cheek. “I need to be inside you.” The blunt honesty in his tone sent another shiver through me.
I nodded before I could stop myself, and then he was there shedding his clothing, sliding into me with a slow, claiming push that made my toes curl. I clung to him, unable to keep the soft sounds from spilling out.
“This is where you belong,” he said, his forehead pressing to mine. “With me. Around me. You feel too perfect for it to be anything else.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t true, that this was only temporary, but the words wouldn’t come. Every steady thrust pulled me further under, every whispered need in my ear erasing my protests.
“You make me lose myself,” he groaned. “I can’t stop wanting you. I don’t even want to try.”
