I stared at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Nobody had ever called me out on faking an orgasm before.
“I… No… Not... It..” I stuttered. I couldn’t form a complete sentence. He shook his head back and forth like he couldn’t quite believe it.
My shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”
He was still eyeing me in confusion, and yeah, okay, I understood why he was confused. It’s not like I’d ever had to fake it with him before.
“Why the hell are you sorry? And why would you think you needed to fake it?”
I inhaled, launching into an explanation.
“Because my brain is broken. I’m overthinking everything tonight. You took me out on this wonderful date and you got jealous and said super sweet things and we’re just friends who happen to fuck. And that’s fine. I’m good with that. I mean, of course I am. So good with that because I mean, what we’re doing is great.But then I got this stupid mental block and couldn’t orgasm. You were great, and it felt so good, but it just wasn’t happening. Through no fault of your own, I might add. But I couldn’t get past these stupid thoughts, and I didn’t want you to get upset if I didn’t... So, I just thought I’d save us both the frustration and awkwardness when you realized I wasn’t going to orgasm and just faked it instead.”
He gripped my shoulders, jostling them to stop my rambling. “Breathe, Eve.”
He massaged my neck with his thumbs, drawing calming circles that pulled me out of my mental spiral. I took a breath. And then another, concentrating on the press of his body against mine.
“Sorry.”
He quirked a grin. “You said that already. Explain it to me again without talking a mile a minute.”
I stared at the ceiling, too embarrassed for eye contact. “Sometimes, when I’m in my head too much, I can’t relax enough to... you know.”
“Does that happen a lot?” he asked, brow furrowed in concentration while he mindlessly rubbed my shoulders some more.
I shrugged. “Often enough.”
He chewed on his bottom lip, turning something over in his head. “Can you relax enough to get there on your own when it’s like this?”
“Well, yeah. That’s different. I don’t risk disappointing anyone other than myself if I can’t get there.”
“You’re worried about disappointing me?” he asked, lips twitching like he thought it was funny.
I’d been disappointing people my entire life. My mother let me know that often enough. Of course, I worried about disappointing him.
Tears burned the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over as I nodded.
He took my face in his hands and made sure I held his gaze. “Never gonna happen, princess. I love every part of fucking you. Even navigating through things like this. I told you I like a challenge.”
I pressed my palms over my eyes. “It’s frustrating. Everything will feel good, and I’ll think we’re getting somewhere. But then the overthinking starts, and my lady bits freeze up. It’s like she gets stage fright and forgets her lines.”
His lips turned up in a wry grin. “I think I have an idea.”
He crawled off me, kneeling at the side of my bed. I heard my nightstand drawer slide open.
“Hey!” I scrambled to get hold of his arm. “What are you doing snooping through my drawers?”
He sifted first through the top and then the second—ignoring my protests—before finally reaching into the third. He pulled out the long pink, phallic-shaped toy.
“Jackpot!” he exclaimed as he tossed it on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
He climbed back on the bed with me and brushed my lips with his. “Solving our problem.”
“It’s my problem. Not yours,” I mumbled.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Cause as much as I like to bend some rules, I happen to really like the ‘you always come first’rule. That makes itourproblem because if you don’t come, then I don’t come. And I’m pretty sure that we both really want to come. But since I’m not doing the trick tonight...” He gestured toward my toy.
