The kiss replays in perfect, excruciating detail—her breath catching, fingers fisting in my T-shirt, that soft, surprised sound when I pulled her in like I’d been waiting years.
I squeeze my eyes shut, letting my other hand drift down my chest, across my stomach.
She’s Liam’s sister. She’s off-limits. But my body doesn’t give a damn.
All it knows isher. Her mouth. Her heat. The way she looked at me like she was seconds from falling apart—and I was the one pulling the thread.
My cock is already hard. I wrap my hand around myself and groan—low, quiet—water rushing over my back.
I know I can’t have her, not for real. But this? This is mine. So I chase that release alone.
It’s almost too much. Too good. But I keep going. My hand moves with just the right pressure, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. Steam clings to my skin. I close my eyes and let the water wash over my face as I stroke faster, grip tightening, the world narrowing to this one burning need.
Pre-cum slicks my cock, the motion smoother, more intense. The pressure builds—tight, hot, relentless.
I think of her. Of what might’ve happened if Liam hadn’t walked in. If I’d pressed her into the cushions. If I’d kissed her until she forgot everything but me. If I’d taken her up on everything she was offering.
It’s over embarrassingly fast. With a sharp exhale, I climax. My body tenses, every muscle rigid, as I ejaculate. My cock pulses in my hand, shooting stream after stream of cum into the water. It mixes with the flow, disappearing almost instantly, but the sensation is overwhelming. My head falls back, water running down my face, as I ride out the waves of pleasure. It’s intense, all-consuming, and I let out a low, guttural groan. The sound echoes in the space, a raw confession of my need.
The release is everything I hoped for—a rush of relief and satisfaction that hits me like the water itself. My body eases, hand slowing as the last of the tension drains away. I stand there, spent, water still cascading over me, letting the moment stretch.
My breath comes hard. One hand braces against the wall, heart still thudding like she’s in the next room instead of a hundred blocks away.
I let the water run a little longer, trying to rinse her from my mind. Then I clean up, towel off, pull on a soft cotton tee and my favoritesweatpants.
Outside, the pool glows turquoise in the dark. The breeze smells like jasmine.
I sink into one of the pool chairs and pull out my phone. No notifications worth checking—just a stack of unread texts from my agent and two trending article alerts I already know will piss me off.
I ignore them.
Instead, I open the Notes app.
New note.
My fingers hover for a second.
Then I type:
Fake Wife Criteria
My thumbs move fast—clinical. Detached. Cold, on purpose.
- Wholesome
- Low-drama
- Not famous
- Not sexy in a threatening way
- Comfortable in the background
- Easy to explain
- Won’t fall in love
- Will say yes for the right price
