Page 65 of Play Fake
“That poor kid was left here with strangers, and he’s always just so…I don’t know. Happy, I guess. Despite everything. And now his only other biological parent is leaving him for two weeks, and I didn’t realize I never told you I’m leaving, and now you’re forced into this situation—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, reaching out to touch his shoulder. I leave my hand there to rest. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re not forcing me into anything I don’t want to do.”
He seems torn, and I watch as he tips his glass to his lips, chugs what’s left in there, and turns to slam his glass on the end table not far from where he stands. He moves back toward me.
“You needed a job, and you had no clue what you were getting into,” he says, and he grits his teeth together as if he’s ashamed of that fact.
“Sometimes I think the best parts of life are going in blind. Not knowing what the outcome is going to be. Remember that first charity event we attended together and how I followed you all the way to the roller coaster? I think about that night all the time.”
His head whips toward me. “So do I, Birdie. It’s the night I started to fall—” This time he cuts himself off.
“The night you started…what?” I ask softly. Carefully.
Nervously.
He glances at me, and then he moves his gaze back out the window. Eventually, he blows out a heavy breath. “Fuck it. The night I started to fall for you.” He closes his eyes as he braces for the impact of those words.
I don’t know what to say. He startedto fallfor me?
I knew I was starting to feel a certain way about him, but I had no clue he was feeling a certain way about me, too. I figured it was just that sexual connection. All the kissing. The admission that I’m a virgin. He wants the forbidden, the untouched, the innocent.
But he’s falling.
And I’m falling.
“You’re the first person I’ve spent time with in a long time who didn’t care about the fame or the money or the status,” he says, averting his gaze back out the window. “You jumped in headfirst to help me with a situation you knew nothing about,and you’ve been so fucking important in helping me navigate all this.” He clenches his jaw, and I study his profile as I watch his jaw move back and forth.
He’s clearly struggling with what to say. How to handle this. How to handleme. How to move forward.Ifhe should move forward.
“You helped me, too, Dex,” I say softly. “It’s not like I’m not benefitting from being here.”
He finally glances over at me. “You could’ve walked away at any time over the last few weeks, and you didn’t. Instead, you went all in. You fucking married me. And now you’re going to stay here with my son while I head off to training camp for two weeks.” He shakes his head in wonder. “It takes a special person to put up with me. I know I’m not easy. But I want to be better. For him. For you.” He says the last two words on a whisper, and then he moves in toward me, closing the space as I turn toward him, too. He walks toward me, and I walk backward until I bump into the window.
I’m out of room, and he cages me in against the window.
“What if I want a little of the bad boy, too?” I ask softly.
He moves so one arm rests above my head and the other hand rests lazily on my hip. “You’re about to get all of him. If you still want him.” His face is inches from mine, and he waits for my consent before he moves a muscle.
“I’m falling for you, too, Dex. Of course I still want you. All of you.” The words are barely out when his lips crash to mine. His fingers flex on my hip, and his tongue moves around my mouth in a skilled, practiced way that leads me to wonder how it would feel on other parts of my body.
I arch into him, in part because I’m up against the window and in part because my body seems to be moving reflexively, seeking the hardness his body has to offer. The ache that has pulsed between my legs for weeks is throbbing now, waiting forthis man to do something about it, something no one else has ever done.
But first, he kisses me. We’ve built slowly to this point, taking our time with each other, getting to know one another in small bursts of conversation here or charity events there, and while it feels very slow in some ways, in other ways it feels like record speed as we race toward some invisible line that we’re about to cross.
We’re both in jeans, and in a perfect world I’d be in a dress waiting for him to slip his fingers under it. Instead, his hand gripping my hip moves up toward my breast as his lips break from mine and trail down my neck. I lean back, my head bumping against the glass as I arch my chest out and give him more room along my neck. The scruff lining his jaw burns and tickles at the same time, and it’s an addictive sensation I want to keep feeling over and over—here on my neck, across my nipples, down my abdomen, between my thighs.
We’ll get there. Maybe. Probably. Likely not tonight since our time is limited. Literally. He has to leave in nine hours, and he should probably get some rest tonight so he’s focused tomorrow.
But that doesn’t seem to be a thought in his mind as he takes his time kissing my neck and massaging my breast. His lips trail down to dip into the V-neck of my shirt, but it’s not deep enough for him to get a taste of my cleavage. Instead, he lets go of me and reaches for the bottom of my shirt. He pulls it off and tosses it to the ground, and his fingertips come up to my tits as his mouth crashes back to mine again.
He finds each of my nipples and teases them through the cotton fabric of my rather plain bra, but he doesn’t seem to care that I’m not wearing lacy, silky lingerie for this occasion.
Instead, he seems totally focused on my body, on my mouth, on us in this moment.
I buck my hips toward him, suddenly needing some relief down low, and he thrusts his hips toward me in response. I moanwhen I feel his hard cock hit me right where I need it to, just with far too many clothes separating us.
He seems to lose some of his control at my moan, and he bucks his hips toward me again. I reach for his shirt and lift it over his head, and as I toss it to the floor, he uses one hand to somehow unhook the back of my bra.
