Page 56 of Faking It Right
“I can’t believe we’re doing this. Or how good it feels.”
My laughter morphed into a moan as he thrust deeper. “Believe it, snookums. This is real.”
His movements grew more confident with each rock of his hips, his earlier caution forgotten as he surrendered to the sensations. The weight of him, the heat of him, the scent of him, it was everything I’d wanted for so long.
“Don’t hold back,” I urged, digging my fingers into his shoulders. “I want all of you.”
Ryker groaned, his hips snapping forward with new intensity. A subtle tilt hit the exact intersection of “too much” and “not enough,” causing my body to rewrite its understanding of pleasure in real time. It was too much and not enough, all at once.
“Like that?” he asked, a hint of smugness in his voice as he repeated the motion.
“Perfect. See? You’re a natural.”
He laughed breathlessly, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. “I have a good teacher.”
The intimacy of the gesture, combined with the relentless pleasure of his movements, made my chest tighten with emotion. This wasn’t just sex. It was Ryker, finally letting go of his reservations, finally allowing himself to want me the way I’d always wanted him.
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” I admitted in a rare show of sentimentality, the words escaping before I could stop them.
“I think I’ve wanted you, too,” he confessed. “But I didn’t know how to admit it.”
His honesty pushed me closer to the edge. What a delight to discover after three years of hypotheticals, the empirical evidence proved that patience wasn’t just a virtue, but a damn good investment strategy when it came to Ryker.
Chapter Thirteen
RYKER
I grippedHarley’s hips as if they were the last solid objects in a universe dissolving into pure feeling. Being inside him redefined my understanding of intimacy so completely that my brain frantically shredded my sexual résumé and started over from scratch. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to call an emergency meeting to discuss the unprecedented levels of pleasure they were experiencing.
My previous encounters with women now seemed like watching fireworks on a muted video on my phone. It was technically the same activity as seeing them live under the night sky but missing every single thing that made it special.
The difference between now and my previous sexual experiences wasn’t just noticeable. It was as dramatic as a stick figure drawn with my left hand compared to the masterful art of the Sistine Chapel. Harley shifted beneath me, taking me deeper, and in that moment of perfect connection, I understood why poets never shut up about romantic stuff.
“You okay there, snookums?” Harley’s eyes seemed to be filled with a confusing mix of “genuine concern” and “wanting to fuck your brains out.” The combination made my heart perform drum solos that would make rock legends weep with envy.
“I’m—fuck—I’m more than okay. You feel incredible.”
And he did. The physical sensation alone was rewiring my entire nervous system, but it was the rest of it that short-circuited my brain. It wasn’t mere sex or fucking as it had been with my ex-girlfriends. It was Harley. My best friend. My pain-in-the-ass roommate who stole my cereal and sang off-key in the shower. Every touch, every shift of his hips was loaded with three years of history, turning a physical act into something that felt dangerously close to romance.
I looked down at where our bodies connected, then up at Harley’s face. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead. Without his usual perfect styling, he looked even sexier. His cobalt eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were darker now, pupils blown wide with desire. The flush spreading across his cheeks extended down his neck to his chest, a road map of his arousal that I wanted to trace with my fingers, my lips, my tongue.
“You’re staring.” His smile was softer than his usual smirk.
“Can’t help it.” I rolled my hips, watching with fascination as Harley’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting on a gasp. “You’re beautiful like this.”
The scent of his patchouli-and-lavender bodywash mingled with the muskier notes of sweat and sex, creating an intoxicating combination that made my head spin. I’d always loved how Harley smelled, but now it was downright addictive, making mewant to bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in until I was drunk on it.
Finding a rhythm that worked took some trial and error, but Harley was patient, guiding me with gentle touches and encouraging words. When I shifted the angle of my thrusts, his back arched off the bed, a strangled moan escaping him that put us in genuine danger of my family interrupting. But even if my sister broke down my door, I wasn’t stopping until we finished.
“There,” he gasped, his fingers digging into my shoulders. “Oh, right there.”
I repeated the movement, watching with growing confidence as Harley responded, his body telling me everything I needed to know about what felt good. I tightened my grip on his hips, pulling him more firmly against me as I drove deeper. My reward was a string of colorful curses that amused me.
“Something funny?” Harley joked.
“Even during sex, you’re still you.”
“Would you prefer I be someone else?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging me as his body moved with mine. “Because I’m into role-playing.”
