Page 90 of Play Fake
It doesn’t.
No amount of pushing my body to its limits helps. Nothing gives me the rush I’m looking for.
Nothing makes me feel the way Ainsley does.
And that’s why on a Sunday after our final preseason game—one in which we emerge victorious—the second I walk in the front door, I finally say the words I’ve been holding onto for weeks. “We need to talk.”
“I was going to congratulate you on the win first,” she says.
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
“What do you want to talk about?” she asks. She stands from where she was seated on the couch, and I indicate she should sit.
I sit next to her. “It feels like we’re drifting, and I don’t want that for us.”
“I don’t either,” she admits.
“So how do we fix it?”
“I don’t know for sure, but open communication would probably be a good start.”
I press my lips together. Isn’t that always the sage advice successful couples give to make a relationship last? Open communication? “Right. So I’m communicating that I feel us drifting, and I don’t want to driftfrom you.”
“I figured it was just the start of the season.”
“That’s part of it.” I clear my throat, and I open my mouth to admit how it feels like everything is spinning away from me when she interrupts me.
“That and your father’s lounge. And it’s okay, Dex. I’m right here. For the next two years at least. Right?”
Right. The contract. Our sham of a marriage.
So maybe it’s time to give her some attention—to help her feel like this is less of a sham since it’s starting to feel more and more real to me.
“I hope it’s longer than that,” I say softly.
Her eyes dart to mine. “So do I.”
I lean over to press my lips to hers to seal in those words, but the heat between us burns too hot. My mouth opens, and so does hers, and suddenly I’m on top of her, humping her with our clothes still on.
She moans beneath me as she wraps her legs around me, and then she breaks the kiss to whisper, “I got on the pill last week.”
That’s my green light.
I pull her shirt over her head and start by giving some attention to her perfect, gorgeous tits. I suck her nipples into my mouth until they form those sexy as fuck tight little peaks, and then I shift off her to get the rest of our clothes out of the way. Once we’re both naked, I move to hover over her once again.
My eyes are on hers, and my voice is a low rasp when I ask, “Are you sure about this?” I reach between us and fist my cock, bumping the head against her clit.
She closes her eyes and leans her head back as she moans, “Oh yes, Dex. God, yes, I’m sure.”
I pump my cock against her clit a few more times, and I let go of my cock to slip a finger into her.
She’s sure.
She’s ready.
She’s wet as fuck.
I hiss out some incoherent appreciation of just how wet she is, and then I fist my cock again and move down to slide into her.
