Page 22 of Faking It Right
He fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. “Stop being a brat.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m still in the lead.”
His baffled expression was adorable. “What are you talking about?”
“I came while listening to you masturbate this morning. Then again in the shower before we left, reminiscing about how hot it was and fantasizing about being your faux boyfriend. And of course, just now.”
His mouth opened and closed a few times before he formed words. “Youwhat?”
“You heard me.” I shrugged, unrepentant. “Probably literally, since the wall’s more of a two-way street than a one-way alley. You must know you’ve been the star of my fantasies for years.”
“We’renotkeeping score,” he insisted, but I could see a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“Only because I’m winning with three orgasms to your two.”
He rolled his eyes. “Congratulations on your gold medal in the Sexual Olympics.”
“Thank you, thank you.” I took a theatrical bow. “I’d like to thank my high sex drive and, of course, my straight best friend, who seems to be a little less straight than he’d like to believe.”
“I’m going to murder you,” he threatened, though it was clear he was battling a chuckle.
“No, you won’t,” I retorted. “You’d miss me too much. Who else would make you come twice in one day?”
He threw his hands up in frustration. “Can you please focus? We need to get ready for dinner.”
“I am focused,” I protested. “Very focused on the fact that you got off thinking about me this morning and while I was touching you.”
He scowled. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t deny it either.” I pushed more of his buttons for the fun of it. “Want to know what I was specifically picturing when I came in the shower?”
He hesitated, curiosity warring with self-preservation on his face. Curiosity won. “What?”
“How you’d look on your knees in front of me. Your pretty gray eyes gazing up at me while I teach you exactly how to use that smart mouth of yours for ultimate pleasure.”
I watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Harley…”
“Or maybe how it would feel to bend you over the bathroom counter,” I continued, stepping closer. “Watching your face in the mirror as I open you up with my fingers, nice and slow, until you’re begging for more.”
“You have to stop.”
“Too much?” I asked, genuinely curious if I’d crossed a line.
He shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. “I don’t know. It’s a lot.”
“Good ‘a lot’ or bad ‘a lot’?”
“I don’t know that either. This is all new to me, okay? I never expected I would ever be…”
“Into guys?” I guessed.
“Yeah.” He looked relieved I’d said it for him.
I closed the distance between us. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling a sexual identity crisis like a champ.”
He snorted in amusement. “Is that what this is?”
“Well, youdidjust get off with another guy, so yeah, I’d say there’s some sexuality questioning happening.” I smoothed my hands over his shoulders, letting them rest there. “But it doesn’t have to be a crisis. Think of it as a delightful detour.”
