Page 20 of Faking It Right
“I want to mark you up,” I continued, my filter completely gone. “Leave evidence so everyone knows you’re mine, leaving you begging for more.”
His breathing quickened, and I could tell my words were getting to him as much as his touch was affecting me. The power of having Ryker trembling because of me was the biggest turn-on I’d ever experienced.
“I bet you’d make the prettiest sounds if I fucked you,” I whispered, watching his eyes widen. “All spread out for me, taking my cock so well, just like you’re taking care of me now.”
I teetered on the edge, the familiar tightening in my balls warning me I wouldn’t last much longer. Not with Ryker looking at me with his pupils blown wide with desire as he worked me over. “You’re about to make me come all over myself.”
Ryker’s breath hitched. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Unable to resist any longer, I tangled my fingers in his hair and tugged him down for a kiss. Unlike our hesitant explorations earlier, it was aggressive and demanding, my tongue pushing past his lips to claim his mouth. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought I’d gone too far when he froze. Then Ryker moaned, kissing me back with an unexpected hunger. He submitted to me completely as he continued pumping my cock. His surrender was the final push I needed.
I came with a muffled groan, spilling over his fist and onto my stomach as he stroked me through my release. When I broke the kiss, we were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together as reality filtered back in. I braced myself for the panic, for Ryker to pull away and start making excuses about how this was only physical, how he was still straight, how this meant nothing, that it was merely a onetime fling.
Instead, Ryker glanced down at the mess on my stomach and his hand, then back up at my face with a cheeky smirk. “Guess I’m better at this than I thought.”
His unexpected bravado made me laugh, relief flooding through me. “Don’t get too cocky. I was already worked up from watching you come.”
“It still counts,” he insisted, reaching for tissues from his nightstand to clean us up, passing one to me.
A laugh burst out of me, sharp and surprised. It chased away the knot of dread in my chest. “You’ve got potential, but you’re nowhere near dethroning the champion yet.”
“Practice makes perfect,” he shot back with a grin.
The invitation for more fooling around lifted a weight off my shoulders as the possibility of more opened up before me. He wasn’t displaying the gay panic or regret I’d expected. It was just Ryker, being Ryker, turning the moment into something we could both laugh about while acknowledging what had happened between us.
I couldn’t help myself as I watched him toss the tissues into the small trash can beside his bed. The sight of him flushed and disheveled from our activities, his hair sticking up like he had styled it with a tornado, was too tempting to resist. Before he could retreat into his comfort zone, I reached for him.
“Come here,” I murmured, guiding him toward me.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. Taking that as permission, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his in a gentle kiss. Unlike our earlier frantic exchange, I was slow anddeliberate, savoring the soft warmth of his mouth and the way his breath hitched when my tongue teased his lips.
I kissed him like I’d dreamed of doing for three years. Not with the frantic hunger of lust, but with the aching tenderness of something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name, even to myself.
When we finally broke apart, Ryker’s gray eyes were dazed, his lips pink and slightly swollen. He blinked at me, confusion and wonder warring on his face. “What was that for?”
The question was simple, but it knocked the air from my lungs. What was it for? For the three years I’d spent wanting him. For every time I’d made a joke of my feelings because it was easier than admitting how deep they ran. Because it might be the only chance I ever got to show him how I really felt.
I swallowed hard, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my physical nakedness. “I wanted to know what it felt like when we weren’t both ready to combust from three years of sexual tension,” I said, the honesty slipping out before I could stop it.
His eyes softened, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he would see right through me, might recognize the emotion I was trying so hard to hide. My mouth went dry. I scrambled for the easiest excuse I could find. “You know, for research. Gotta make sure our fake relationship is convincing enough for your eagle-eyed sister.”
His lips quirked up in a small smile. “Right. Research.”
“I’mverythorough.”
“I noticed,” he said dryly, glancing down at the tissues in the trash. “But we should probably get ready for dinner.”
I glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Shit, we needed to get a move on or we wouldn’t be fashionably late, we’d be tragically tardy. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh, snookums?”
He shoved me at the nickname. “Don’t start that shit again. And for the love of all that’s holy, put some damn clothes on before my mom comes barging in here,” he said, as if he hadn’t locked the door as soon as we entered.
“Afraid she’ll be jealous of what you get to enjoy?” I teased, flexing dramatically.
“More like terrified she’ll whip out her planner and start mapping out our wedding on the spot,” he complained.
“Would that be so terrible?”
