I was ready to lose it.
To barge in there, press her up against the cold tile, and tell her exactly what she already knew—that I could feel the air crackling whenever we were near each other. And it wasn’t just me choking on the electricity between us. But I didn’t.
I stood there like a goddamn coward, the truth burning a hole straight through my throat.
Because this whole thing, this fake-dating act we were pulling, had an expiration date stamped right across it. A few more months and she’d go back to her life, probably laughing about this ridiculous stunt we’d pulled off, and I’d be here, trying to convince myself it hadn’t meant anything.
None of it was real. Because guys like me didn’t get happy endings.
But knowing that didn’t stop me.
It didn’t stop me from admiring her every morning as she made coffee for us like it was some kind of ritual, her sleepy smile and the way she always hummed under her breath filling the kitchen with warmth I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for.
It didn’t stop me from watching her on those long walks she took with Tony, talking to him like he was a person. Hell, I’d learned the damn dog listened better than most people I knew since they’d moved in.
And it definitely didn’t stop me from noticing the little things—the mornings I’d wake up on the couch, too tired to make it to my bed, boots gone, a blanket thrown over me. She probably thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed everything about her from the moment I’d seen her in that damn grave.
I used to think I liked the quiet, that I liked being alone. Now the silence only reminded me she wasn’t in the room.
She’d taken up space in my life without asking without even trying, and somehow I didn’t want to go back to the way thingshad been before she’d shown up with her bags and her sunshine and her stupidly soft heart and that damn dog.
Now, standing here, I could hear the occasional sound of her shifting and humming to herself. The barely opaque shower curtain was wet and transparent in all the wrong places. Or the right ones, depending on how much of a bastard you were.
My hands curled into fists.
What I wanted to do, at least in theory, was simple. Propose something easy. No strings. No expectations. Just us enjoying each other for however long this pretend thing lasted.
But even thinking it felt like a lie.
Because the truth—the one I wouldn’t say out loud—was that I already craved more. I wanted every morning, every laugh, every damn moment that made this place feel like something other than a lonely cage I’d built myself.
When her hand moved, I should have turned away. Should’ve swallowed the ache in my chest and cock and gone back to pretending I didn’t want her. That I wasn’t falling headfirst into something that couldn’t end well. But instead, I stayed frozen. Watching as her fingers trailed down her body with slow, practiced grace. Through the murky curtain, her silhouette was blurred but so beautiful, my breath caught. And I pulled out my throbbing cock and started stroking it to the sight of her. I wasn’t supposed to see her like this. She wasn’t mine to look at, mine to ache for. But god, I did. I wanted to know what it felt like to touch her. What it would feel like if this fucked-up living arrangement didn’t matter.
But I was sure there were rules to this whole fake-dating scenario. And I was also sure that this was breaking every last one of them.
Her breathing became uneven with the rise and fall of her chest as her hand moved quicker between her legs. Was she thinking of me too? Picturing my cock filling her up as shefingered herself in my shower? Or maybe my head between her legs? My hand matched her pace, faster and faster, pumping in perfect rhythm as my breaths became uneven and shallow. My orgasm built at the base of my spine, but the moment I heard a small, breathy sound leave her lips, it ended me. I spurted hot cum all over my hand, trying to keep it from getting on the floor.
Fuck, I wanted her to make that sound for me again. But not like it was some dirty little secret. No, I wanted her to scream my name when she came.
I’d never been so fucking riled up from a woman in my life. Everything about her had lodged itself under my skin—her voice, the curve of her smile, her carefree nature, the way she carried herself like she didn’t know what she was doing to me. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was the worst part. Maybe she knew exactly how close I was to unraveling and was pretending not to see it for both our sakes.
I walked quietly to the kitchen, quickly scrubbing my hands, trying to erase what had just happened and clean up the mess she’d made of me. I still saw her when I closed my eyes. Still felt the tension in my muscles. The ache hadn’t gone anywhere. I’d just buried it deeper. I was sure that would come back to bite me in the ass later.
By the time the water stopped in the shower, I was already back on the couch, lying down like I’d been asleep this whole time, like my mind hadn’t just been in the gutter, jerking my cock to the sight of her.
I rolled over, tucking myself into the cushions, heart still hammering like it hadn’t gotten the message. My breathing slowed, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. Especially not Tony.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his stare. His beady little eyes locked on me from where he was curled up on the recliner, looking every bit the judgmental little bastard he was.
“Mind your business,” I muttered under my breath, just low enough that only he could hear, and then I turned my face deeper into the cushion, trying to will myself to sleep, to quiet the storm in my chest. But it didn’t matter how tightly I shut my eyes. The image of her in that shower, her fingers slipping down her skin, was burned behind my lids.
I was supposed to be better than this. I was supposed to bepretending, I told myself as I kept my eyes closed and breathed in deep. But as I heard Logan walk past me, the scent of my soap clinging to her skin as she entered her room and closed the door, I knew I was a goner.
Chapter 11
Lachlan
Ihadn’t had restful sleep since the shower incident a week ago, and now I was late to work.Again . . .
