Page 67 of Lessons in Faking
“Fuck that contract,” he said. “There’s nothing I want more than to touch you, to feel you again. My head between your thighs, your body underneath mine.” He exhaled a strong breath, his hand behind my neck, fingers disappearing into my hair. “God, to hear you moan my fucking name.” His head shook as our eyes connected, lust undeniable in his gaze. “Every time I’m in my office, I can’t help but think of you. It’s taken a toll on my productivity.”
My breath caught in my throat when he trailed his other hand along my skin. Like he was carving me from marble, he followed every contour, dragging his thumb across my lips. His fingers continued down my neck, slipping under my top, his touch so light as he circled my collar bones that goose bumps were inevitable.
“So I don’t think you understand how much I want you, Athalia.”
“You can have me,” I promised, fueled by nothing but my own need and the way his hand had dropped to my bare thigh, right below the hem of my skirt. “If I can have you, then you can have me. Iwantyou to have me.”
“You have me. Jesus Christ, Athalia. You’vehadme. I’m at your mercy. Putty in your fucking hands—”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence.
With the first swipe of his tongue, he took every rational thought from my mind. Replacing it with the sensation of his fingers dancing up my leg, his breath against my lips, and his words replayed in my head over and over and over again.
You have me.
McCarthy dropped to his knees, shuffling between my legs. I reveled at the contact. He groaned when the heel of my foot pushed him closer.
His hand inched up the hem of my skirt. Breathing heavily, he asked, “Can I—?” I barely managed a nod, a broken moan, before I felt the pad of his thumb against my clit, nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric separating my skin from his.
“Fuck.” He held my eyes with his. “You don’t knowhow much I’ve missed those little sounds.” I was trying my best to contain them, to keep quiet the way I had in his office. But he dragged his thumb down my entrance, then pushed it underneath my panties, and I couldn’t help myself. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he hummed against my skin. “There you go, Princess.”
His gentle encouragement was entirely contrary to the way he pushed my panties to one side. His fingers hovered right where I needed him most. “This all right?”
“More than” was all I managed. “Please—”Do something, I wanted to say. But his finger pushed inside me before I could, and he stifled a groan when he realized how wet I was for him.
I failed at keeping quiet, but I was hoping the walls were thick. One glance at least confirmed we’d managed to close the door in the heat of whatever got us here. McCarthy got back to his feet, keeping his fingers still, bent over my body on the piano bench. Our gazes held for one, two, three seconds, and I squirmed underneath his touch.
Anticipation thrummed beneath my skin, my stomach tightening with every moment he refused to move his fingers. I held my breath. Just when I was about to combust, when I thought the anticipation would honest-to-God kill me, he curled his middle and ring fingers buried inside me. And began moving.
It almost killed me just the same.
His pace steadied, whispered encouragements making it through the haze. “I love seeing you like this,” he groaned. “You look so beautiful when you’re about to come for me.”
And I was about to, wasn’t I? Five minutes in a room with Dylan McCarthy Williams and I was ready to burst at the seams for him. He seemed to interpret every twitch of my body, every sound from my mouth perfectly.
His thumb stroked my clit, moving in sync with the fingers still pushing in and out of me. My head fell back, and my eyes found his. The way he looked down at me, one hand bracing on the bench, the other occupied with getting me closer to what I knew would be an amazing orgasm, pushed me over the edge. I lost all sense of up and down. The world spun and my arms scrambled for purchase behind me. I remembered a little too late it would be the piano my hand grasped onto. “Dylan—”
I came in sync with the deep, rich sound of my arm pounding against the keys.
My other hand pulled McCarthy back to my lips, and he happily kissed me through the ebbing waves. My fingers twitched with the last one, hitting another random key before slipping off the piano.
“That was—” I was still trying to catch my breath when he agreed.
“Yeah.” He planted a kiss against the top of my head. “Are you—?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, but I didn’t think I could stand yet. I could barely lift my head to look up. Awe swam in his eyes, and I couldn’t help my chest tightening at the way he looked at me.
His dark hair was tousled, nothing left of the way he’d parted it in the middle this morning. His cheeks wereflushed and his chest rose and fell almost as heavily as mine. I played with one of the closed buttons of his shirt. My eyes trailed to where he was straining against his pants. “Do you want me to—?”
McCarthy caught my hand in his. “Don’t.” He swallowed thickly. “One touch and you’re gonna make me ruin these pants.”
I laughed when I looked back up, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in his features. “I mean it.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed each finger slowly. “Whenever I think about your hands on me, it definitely lasts longer than five seconds. Let me keep it that way.” Placing his lips on the back of my hand, his eyes lifted. “Please?”
“Okay.” I nodded, trying to ignore the blush on my cheeks. Watching as he straightened back up to his six foot two with me, I couldn’t help but say, “I don’t want to ask more of you—”
“Please do.”
Out of pure selfishness, just because I wanted to see what he’d look like sleeping next to me, I asked, “Will you stay with me tonight?”
