Page 52 of Faking All the Way
“Is that what you want, bright eyes? Want to see how hard you get me?” He adjusts his position on the bed a little, making the sheets rustle, and I have to close my eyes for a moment as images of him stripping off his boxers flash through my mind. “Now let me taste you. I’ve been fucking dying all night. Watching you in that dress, so damn desperate to get my mouth on you.”
He shifts his weight again, and the way the mattress dips in the middle brings us a few inches closer together. I squeeze my thighs together, so turned on by the lie we’re spinning that I feel like my skin could light the sheets on fire. My head feels light, my body hot all over.
Asher is looming over me a little now as I lie on my back on the bed, resting his weight on his elbow as he gazes down at me. When he lets out the kind of satisfied groan that someone might make when they taste their favorite dessert, I clench my hands as a needy little noise slips past my lips.
My whimpers build in pace and volume as I start to lose myself in the illusion of what we’re supposedly doing, becomingmore uninhibited as I visualize the picture we’re painting with our voices—the way he would settle between my legs, his broad shoulders pushing my thighs apart, his mouth finding the part of me that’s currently throbbing needily as it demands attention.
I’ve always been a bit nervous when guys go down on me, self-conscious about my body. I have a hard time relaxing with someone’s face down there, so close to parts of myself that I can’t help but feel anxious about. The fullness of my thighs, the swell of my stomach. But in this fantasy, I don’t have to worry about any of that. I just let myself go, running with it.
I moan softly, and then louder, and Asher punctuates my sounds with grunts and ragged groans, still talking to me in that rough voice.
“That’s it, bright eyes. Let me hear you. Fuck, you taste so good.”
Something about hearing him praise me using that nickname—the one that I assumed was as fake as the rest of what we’re doing—sends a fresh wave of arousal shooting through me. Each word he says sends the heat inside me bubbling higher and higher.
As my moans turn into breathy cries, he leans a little closer to me, his gaze locked on my face as his nostrils flare.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, his voice like sandpaper.
My heart lurches. I am. I can feel my arousal soaking the crotch of my panties, my clit pulsing steadily. Does he know that? Can he somehow tell?
No. Don’t be an idiot, Kat. It’s just part of the act.
He’s probably saying it for the same reason he’s said everything else, using his phenomenal dirty talk skills to help sell the fiction we’re creating for Daniel’s benefit.
“I can’t wait another second to be inside you. Are you ready for me?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
My body responds before my brain catches up. “Yes,” I whisper, then realize it wasn’t loud enough for Daniel to hear through the wall. I clear my throat slightly and repeat it louder. “Yes. Please.”
His eyes flash with something that looks almost feral. “That’s my girl.” He pauses, then adds, “Get on your hands and knees for me.”
I almost do it. I’m so lost in the moment that my body nearly starts to move, immediately ready to follow his command, before I remember at the last second that it’s not real. Neither of us have moved much this whole time, so I don’t need to actually do it.
But he groans as if I did anyway, as if I’m right there in front of him on my hands and knees. The sound is heavy with appreciation and hunger. “Fuck, look at you. So perfect. You have no idea how good you look like this.”
He talks more, a mixture of praise and filthy promises that make my face burn. Then he groans again, deeper this time, and I realize in a blinding rush that that’s the sound he might make if he was sliding inside me. My stomach clenches, and I whine, crying out softly as my back arches a little of its own accord. My clit is throbbing so hard it almost hurts, pulsing in time with my racing heartbeat.
Still leaning on his elbow, still looking at me with that heated gaze, Asher starts to rock the bed lightly. The old frame creaks with each movement, and the headboard claps against the wall with a rhythmic thump, creating the perfect illusion of what we want Daniel to think is happening.
We keep making noises, building higher and higher. Asher’s eyes burn in the darkness, the muscles in his neck taut. “That’s it, baby. God, you feel so good. So tight. So perfect.”
Then he nods at me, and I realize what he’s getting at. We need to finish this. Need to sell it completely.
Letting go of the last bit of self-consciousness that’s still clinging to me, I let out a naked cry as if I’m coming, my voice rising and breaking on a moan. My toes curl beneath the sheets, and even though it’s all supposed to be fake, I feel myself hanging right on the edge, every atom in my body begging desperately for release.
Asher lets out a sound like nothing I’ve ever heard before, a long, harsh groan that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It’s so rough, so primal, somasculine, that it undoes me completely.
The arousal that’s been building inside me breaks like a water balloon being punctured, sending a rush of sensation surging through my body. It spreads through my limbs, making them buzz with energy and heat, and my clit pulses over and over again as my fake orgasm tips over into something very, very real. My muscles go tense, the climax washing over me in rolling waves that seem to go on forever. I bite my lip to keep from making the wrong kind of sound, the kind that would give away that this isn’t pretend at all.
As the pleasure slowly starts to ebb away, I drag in a shuddery breath and let it out slowly, trying to even out my breathing as he stops rocking the bed. But little aftershocks keep shooting through me, my pussy clenching around nothing.
For several heartbeats, Asher and I stare at each other, both breathing hard. The rest of the room seems to fade away, and all I’m aware of is his proximity, the hint of his familiar woodsy, spicy scent. His broad chest expands with a deep inhale, and the blanket that covers us both slips a bit lower, revealing more of his muscled torso.
“I think… Daniel got the message,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.
Asher nods, not looking away from me. “Yeah. I think he did.”
The moment draws out, neither of us moving at all. Then he clears his throat suddenly and sits up, breaking eye contact as he rests his elbows on his knees.
