Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
But I don’t want anyone to hear her. No, those noises are mine and mine alone. As I eat her, I lift an arm and cover her mouth. Like that, I bury my face in her sweetness as she bucks against me, crying out into my palm and then coming on my face. She tastes fucking incredible, better than all my dirty dreams.
I lick her slowly, easing off.
And when she starts to come down, I stop, giving her a final soft, tender kiss before I straighten and meet her heady gaze.
“Like I said, I’m very, very sorry I was such a dick.”
She swallows roughly, then leans forward, cupping my cheeks. “You were a total ass.”
Then, she kisses me, and I think I might die of lust right now.
But there’s a knock on the door and her sister’s voice, like bells saying, “We’re heading to town. The snowball competition is in an hour. Let’s go!”
We wrench apart, and I’m breathless and dizzy. Her chest is heaving. My dick is a flagpole in my jeans. She shudders out a breath and says to Charlotte through the door, “Coming.” Then she looks at me and smiles, too amused as she whispers, “That’s what she said.”
And I laugh. “She sure did.”
She brushes her palms down her sweatshirt and fluffs out her hair. But her lips are bee-stung, and her cheeks are flushed. Good. I hope everyone knows what I did to her. She lifts a finger my way. “Don’t think this means our argument is over.”
I battle a smirk. “Yeah. I figured you liked fighting.”
“I did.”
Did.
But we can’t keep doing it. Or it’ll feel too real for me. “It’s good practice. It makes everything more believable.”
“It does.”
“And now we’ve practiced,” I say, crisply.
She’s nodding too, adamant, on board with the plan. “We should be…good to go? Unless you want me to…” She doesn’t finish—just lets her gaze drift down my body, landing on the outline of my hard-on.
I breathe out roughly. I want that more than nearly anything. But I’d be so fucked then. “We don’t really have time now,” I say in a non-answer.
“Right, but that’s not what I meant.”
“I know, honey,” I say, facing her and her question head-on. “I do, but I don’t want to get…addicted. To practice.”
“Sure. Of course,” she says, nodding. A ghost of a smile shifts her lips. “Just so you know, I haven’t had orgasms like the ones you’ve given me in a long time.”
My brow furrows. “Through oral?”
She shakes her head. “From another person.”
Oh.
Oh.
I shouldn’t ask the next thing, but I do it anyway. “How long?”
She shrugs. “Before the other day on your desk…it was more than a year.”
I flash her a smug smile. “Good thing you threw all those glitter dicks at my face then,” I say, “so you can truly experience how a man should treat a woman.”
She laughs. “It really is.”
I rise, look down at her. I should walk off, but I can’t help myself. I need to crow about one more thing. “By the way, I was right.”
“About what?” she asks, her eyes still a little foggy.
I take my time, lick the corner of my lips. “You taste fucking delicious.”
Then, I turn away from her as she pops up and rushes for her suitcase. I head to the en suite bathroom, where I remind myself that once is all I’ll allow.
I liked it far too much to let it happen again.
28
SNOWBALL-ISH
Fable
There’s no rest for a fake dater.
I can’t even come up for air. As I grab a scarf, beanie, and mittens, I can still feel his mouth on me. His lips. His lips. I can still feel the rush of heat in my body. My chest flips from the filthy memory of his wicked apology. But I can’t keep losing my pants for him, no matter how talented his hands or his mouth are.
So fucking talented.
But the more we cross the line, the more complicated this holiday ruse becomes. And honestly, as much as I want to return the favor—and I do, oh hell do I ever—I don’t need or want a complication. Or, like he said, an addiction. The Os he bestows are definitely of the addictive variety.
I want this wedding to go smoothly. I want to win the Christmas competition. He clearly doesn’t want a distraction. If Wilder and I keep lunging at each other, we run the risk of becoming…real.
Even on a temporary basis.
And real couples hurt each other. With words, with deeds, with disappointment. If it feels all too real, he could back out or change his mind. Or we could get too caught up in the moment. It’s best we keep this romance as fake as it can be.
We leave the suite and Charlotte ferries us from the cabins immediately, urging us through the main living room and out the door. “The snowball-fighting competition was moved to today. It starts in forty-five minutes,” she explains, enthused. My sister sounds like she can’t wait. Makes sense. She’s always loved activities—the more the merrier for my outgoing sister.