Page 79 of Lessons in Faking
I kissed Dylan as if I hadn’t been about to fake break up with him. And he kissed me back as if there was nothing fake about this arrangement at all. His lips moved against mine longingly, only reinforcing the fear that I’d made the wrong decision by not ending this when I had the chance. One more step and I’d be falling off the metaphorical cliff in my head. The point of no return edged closer with every swirl of his tongue against mine.
Pulling back, he said, “You’re dripping.” He laughed against my lips, voice low and hushed.
“So get me out of these.”
His laughter died out, and something else entirely took over his expression. He didn’t hesitate to press his lips to mine again, groaning.
“Jump,” he mumbled against me, and my legs wrapped around his waist effortlessly. He didn’t seem to care aboutmy wet clothes against his bare skin, although he shivered at first contact. His hands cupping my ass, he moved, and a soft, muted moan escaped me when his lips trailed along my neck. If he was leaving a trail of dark bruises all over me, I’d worry about it later. Makeup existed for that very reason.
His brown hair fell into his face when he pulled back, eyes dark and devious. “My room’s upstairs,” he informed me, as if I cared, then moved toward what I assumed was the staircase.
I didn’t check. When my eyes weren’t closed because I was kissing him, I focused on the way his brows drew together when I rubbed against his hard length, how he stifled a moan when I trailed a finger down his bare chest.
A squeal ripped through my throat when he almost lost his balance halfway up the stairs, and I slipped out of his arms for my own safety.
“Not a word about that,” he grumbled before I had the chance to say anything, though a sly smirk played on his lips. The long corridor we ended up in showed two doors on each side, and McCarthy’s hand slipped into mine before he dragged me into the second on the right.
I didn’t have much time to look around. Vaguely made out a closet opposite his bed and a desk right by the door before his lips were back on mine, and our combined efforts shifted us toward his bed. It was made up with blue sheets, the two pillows fluffed.
A gust of air escaped my lips as my body fell onto the soft mattress. My stomach twisted when he turned on the light at his bedside table and I saw him hovering over me. “Ineed to see you,” Dylan reasoned, as if there was no way around it.
The light was dim, barely enough to make out his prominent jawline, the cheekbones, brown hair that seemed almost midnight-black.
Neither of us cared that my wet clothes soaked his sheets.
His hair flopped over his forehead, and his silver necklace dangled between us. His breath was heavy and his eyes dark. We looked at each other for just a second too long for this to be strictly physical. Seeing him like this, gazing at me like that, there was no way.
Get it together, Athalia.
Instead of backing out like I probably should have, I pulled him back down on top of me, and we were kissing again. My hands were buried in his hair, reminding me once more that three-in-one shampoo could never achieve this level of softness. I pulled at it playfully, a grin on my lips, and he bit down on my lower one, coercing soft whimpers out of me.
“Hey.” He pushed away from me. “This wasn’t my plan. This isn’t why I agreed to help you out,” he said, searching my reaction carefully. It was hard to concentrate on anything other than how easy it would be to connect my lips with his again. “You know that, right?”
I nodded, then asked teasingly, “You want to stop, then?”
Given what was pressing against the inside of my thigh, I knew he didn’t.
“God, no.”
His lips crashed to mine, hands beginning to roam my body.
I quickly followed suit. It had been all about me in his office, then on the piano bench. And it was a crime I hadn’t gotten the chance to feel much of him yet. With my fingers gliding along his toned stomach, tracing every ab underneath my fingertips, I felt like I’d robbed myself of an unknown pleasure. That feeling only intensified when his breath became heavier the farther down my fingers trailed.
I’d never appreciated sweatpants as much as I did when I could feel his length through them. He groaned at the friction, and the sound traveled right between my legs. His hand slipped underneath my tight, long-sleeved top, his touch sending goose bumps across my skin. Sneakily, as his hands traveled up and up and up, the hem of it followed. I wanted to get rid of it right then and there.
Not because it was cold and wet, only because I wanted his touch everywhere: no barriers. Sitting up at once, my chest heaving, I pulled it over my head. Well,tried to, until my elbow hit something hard in the process. I faltered, registering a stream of curses coming from Dylan’s lips.
No, no, no.
My eyes widened, head still buried in the fabric as I scrambled to pull it over my head. Throwing it to the side carelessly, I was greeted by McCarthy rubbing his chin, trying to soothe the pain my elbow seemed to have caused.
“Fuck, I’msosorry,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow red as I tried to see how bad it was. “Are you okay?” My handgently cupped his cheek to make him face me. Worry filled my eyes when they met his.
Dylan, clearly amused, shook his head. “Even now you’ll take any and every opportunity to knock me out, huh?” he joked, eyes still locked with mine before he noticed the missing piece of clothing. He watched my chest rising and falling. His gaze lingered, and I suddenly felt the need to grab a pillow and hide behind it.
I’d never been particularly self-conscious about my looks. And while a B-cup had its perks, when my boobs were being scrutinized like they were a painting in the Louvre—and by the one guy in whom I had yet to find a physical flaw—I wouldn’t have minded a cup size bigger. Or two.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, just as I was about to break the short silence between us. “I’m definitely okay.” The encounter with my elbow seemed instantly forgotten.
