Page 136 of Faking All the Way
The pressure builds and builds until it breaks in a sea of stars, white spots flashing behind my eyes. I come hard, my whole body shaking with it as my pussy walls ripple around him.
He lets go too, driving into me a few more times as he chases his own release, groaning deeply as jet after jet of cum spills inside me. He grinds his hips against mine as he empties the last of himself, as if determined not to let me miss a single drop.
When he pulls out after several breathless moments and sets me carefully back on my feet, my legs are shaky. He grabs my discarded panties, but instead of giving them back to me, he tucks them into his back pocket instead.
I give him a questioning look, my eyebrows rising. “Um, do you need those?”
He chuckles.
“I think I’ll keep them tonight. I like the sight of you like this too much to give them back.” His voice drops, low andpossessive. “With my ring on your finger and my cum sliding down your thighs. I want you to stay like this for the rest of the night.”
I shiver at the claiming heat in his words. He’s such a caveman sometimes, all territorial and primal. But I like it. I like that his obsession with me leaves no room for doubt about how he feels about me. I never have to wonder or worry. His love is obvious in everything he does.
We finish straightening our clothes, and I’m very aware of the sticky wetness between my legs as he tucks himself back into his pants. I brush my hair over my shoulder, my pulse still racing a little as I glance around the large space.
“This will always be my favorite museum now.”
He laughs, the sound echoing in the gallery. “Same. We’ll have to get a membership.”
We explore a bit more, wandering through other galleries as his cum slowly dries on my thighs. It’s filthy and messy and hot, and I like it way more than I probably should. I like wearing the evidence of his love—both on my finger and between my legs.
When we finally leave about an hour later and walk out hand in hand into the Denver night, he lifts our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles as my ring sparkles in the streetlight.
“I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Vaughn,” he murmurs.
My heart flutters as our gazes meet. “I love you too, Mr. Vaughn.”
Last Christmas, I was afraid of love and unsure of my path. Convinced I’d never be good enough, that my dreams were foolish. Now I’m engaged to the man I adore, thriving in my career, and building a life I never dared imagine was possible.
Sometimes what starts out as fake, I realize with a giddy thrill, becomes the realest thing of all.
