“Yes! Oh please, don’t stop!” I panted, rocking my hips to meet his—the dildo’s—thrusts, my fingers moving faster on my clit as my muscles tensed, my control spiralled, and the ache of impending orgasm shot outwards from my core, shocking me with its suddenness, its intensity.
“Henry!” I cried, head thrown back, my orgasm soaking the dildo, my hand, the bedding beneath me as my body spasmed wildly, the climax rolling on and on through me, until I was gasping for breath, flushed from head to toe, and still thrusting myself against the dildo.
“Sex education one-oh-one,” I mumbled, watching as I slid the glistening dildo out of me, moving it aside so the camera had a good view of my pussy, still clenching with aftershocks. “If your woman doesn’t wet the bed, you’ve still got work to do.”
I let out a trembling breath, all achy from wanting to do it all over again … from wanting to storm into his bedroom, tear off his clothes, and demand that he make me feel even better than I could make myself feel. Because I knew it would be cataclysmically good.
I couldn’t post this, not with me screaming his name!
“Pizda!” I cursed. It was honestly the hottest thing I’d ever filmed. Not just the angles, and the perfect view of me squirting around the sides of that thick dildo, but the way I lost control. It was so real.
And that was exactly the issue. I’d lost control of my fantasy.
“Maybe I can just erase that little bit of sound?” I wondered, heading into the editing screen. With a few taps, a couple of cuts, and changing the volume level for a strategic second …
“Thank fuck!” I breathed, watching my head fall back and my mouth move soundlessly on the screen. Before I could think twice about the fact that anyone who looked close enough would be able to tell I very clearly said ‘Henry’, I posted the content to my followers only.
Immediately the views jumped from zero to three hundred. Holy shit—were people literally sitting on the app, waiting for me to post content? That was … well it was kind of disturbing. But at least there was no doubt that my views were out of whatever Tickle dungeon I’d temporarily found myself in.
I wondered if Cadence was kicking herself that she’d sent me a curtemail cutting our partnership short due to my poor performing content. A small, vindictive part of me hoped she was. A bigger part was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the constant reminder of a perfect, polished woman like her having been such a big part of Henry’s life.
The envious pang I felt whenever I thought about her dumped me straight back into my feelings. And these wererealfeelings. Ones that made my heart ache, and my stomach flutter, and my head swim with a whole essay of ‘what ifs’.
It had been two weeks since the ‘Icebergs Incident’. I kept telling myself the strength of the things I was feeling were just because the Icebergs Incident had been a very emotional morning for me. I’d successfully avoided that memory for years now, only to have it thrust vividly back into the front of my mind with one touch of that chilly water.
But I couldn’t deny that the big emotions I’d had were less about revisiting my trauma and more about how he’d handled me. With kindness, patience, support. Things I’d trained myself not to need from other people.
Things I was beginning to realise I wanted from him. And no one else.
But he’d made it abundantly clear that anything more than what was necessary to pull off our little scam for immigration was off the table. And I got it. I really did. I didn’t want this fake marriage to get messy, for either of us.
I was kind of worried though, that our professional distance was already in shambles, and that neither of us was prepared to admit it to the other.
“Is this really necessary?” Lucian asked, leaning against the wall with arms folded as Liv bustled down the yacht stairs, followed closely by Parker, the yacht’s mechanical engineer. They were each loaded up under a mound of garment bags.
Lucian was on babysitting duty today. Henry had a big Tickle update happening tonight, and he was in the office, overseeing the finaltesting phase of the new features before it went live at midnight. Truth be told, he’d been ‘busy’ at work a lot in the last fortnight. A not small part of me wondered if he was avoiding me.
If he was, it was probably for the best. Every time I looked at him, all I could think about was practising making babies with him. He really would make such a hot dad.
Just the thought of him watching me with that expression on his face, like I was something precious that he had to keep at arm’s length in case he broke me, while I tried on outfit after outfit for River’s big runway debut … well, I didn’t think I had the self-control I needed not to drag him back into my room, peel myself out of my clothes, and go to my knees, begging him to let us consummate this fake marriage of ours.
Liv draped her bags over the back of the lounge and grinned at me before turning to Lucian.
“It’s absolutely necessary!” she snapped playfully, a hand on one cocked-out hip. Lucian twitched, his eyes roving from the pile of bags to Henry’s PA, where they lingered. I bit back a smirk.
“This is the first time they’ll officially be seen out together at a public event,” she explained, patting his chest. “First impressions count, Lucian, and it’s a fashion show, no less! Ri can’t just rock up in any old thing!”
Liv threw a withering look in my direction, as if to say‘men, am I right?’I snorted, tempting Abernathy with a little crumb of cheese from the platter I’d made myself for lunch. The fluffball took it gently, purring madly and rubbing his smooshed face against my legs.
Lucian, cheeks ruddy, ran a hand through his blond hair. “Right,” he grunted. “I’ll be on the upper deck. I can see I’m not required for this.”
Liv’s eyes followed him as he climbed the stairs from the living room. Once he was out of sight, she let out a long sigh and turned immediately to the first garment bag. “Are you excited about River’s show?”
I folded my arms and eyed her. “How long have you and Lucian been pretending you’re not in love with each other?” I asked bluntly.
Liv froze, her back to me. “I … I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered.
I scoffed. “Oh, come on. The way you touch him … the way he looks at you.”
