“I don’t?” His lips brush my ear. “Then what am I wearing, love?”
Oh God. My body throbs and pulses, and I desperately want his hands to run over every inch of my skin. I should take his invitation, but I hesitate, worried about crossing a line even though I know that’s why I’m here. We’re stepping into brand new territory, all for the purpose of declaring our “fake” love. But for some reason, this feels so, so real.
He watches me waver and decides to help me by gathering my hands in his. He places my fingers on the band of his black slacks and the other on his zipper, guiding me to the right actions. I unbutton, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I’ve never been this anxious, this excited, and this fucking scared all at once. I’m riding a rollercoaster at high speed, and any second now, I may run off the tracks.
I begin to tug his pants down, and my eyes refuse to peel away from the bulge in his black boxer-briefs. If that’s how bighis cock looks now, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like when he’s hard. But I know I want to see.
I open my mouth to ask how far we’re going to go, but the words won’t form. I’m afraid if I say them, then he’ll stop. And a part of me wants him inside of me again. The other, more reasonable part, is screaming about keeping things as chaste as possible. So he’s not like all the guys I’m with. So I don’t break his heart when I undoubtedly will seek out another man in the future.
And then all thoughts whoosh out of my head. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me so forcibly that air pushes into my lungs and locks there. That my legs quake beneath me, and my arm wraps around his waist, gripping for dear life. I am succumbing to his body, to this passion that he pours with each kiss. He parts my lips, his tongue exploring my mouth, his chest thrumming against mine.
I moan, and the sound drives him deeper. He hikes both of my legs around his waist and pushes me to the couch cushions. Lo hovers on top, but his pelvis digs into mine, my whole body ignites with something foreign and yet so familiar. I can barely breathe.
I kiss back with the same urgency, as though this will poof away in a matter of minutes. As though it will all disappear before our eyes, and I’ll be left without this feeling tomorrow. He pulls off my shirt, leaving me in a blue bandeau and cold skin that he warms with his hands. His fingers find their way to my breast, and I lose myself to the way he flicks my nipple. I need his mouth on…and then his lips find the same spot, licking a circle around the tender place of my breast.
“Lo,” I gasp. “Lo…” I moan and writhe beneath him. This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming.
His hardness presses near the wet spot between my legs. Only fabric keeping us apart. I ache for him to move it. I silently plead for him to fill me, even though I know it will be so, so wrong.This is pretend.But why does it feel so good? Why does it seem so fucking real?
And then I hear the click of the door. We both freeze. Lo lifts his head and adjusts my bandeau so my breasts are covered. Expensive loafers clap against the marble floor, and keys jangle as they’re slipped into a pocket.
Jonathan Hale stands right in the foyer with a full view of the living room—our couch angled in perfect sight. He sets down his briefcase and begins to take off his tie, and then his head turns and he solidifies as much as we have. This is what we’ve waited for, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward.
I turn cherry red and shield my face behind my hands, looking at Lo’s father through the cracks in my fingers.
“Dad,” Lo says, sitting up only a little. My legs still wrap around his waist. His pants still lie in a heap on the ground. Maybe this was a bad idea… “I thought you weren’t coming home until late.”
“It is late,” he says, scrutinizing our position on the couch. I want to disintegrate into it. “So you two are together now?”
“Yeah,” Lo snaps. “I told you that five days ago.”
“Don’t talk to me with that fucking tone, Loren,” he retorts with thesamehostility. “I heard you before. I just didn’t think you two were serious. When you were seven, you said she was your fucking wife.”
I blush, remembering our “pretend” wedding. Rose told me that I was stupid during the whole ceremony. I suppose noteverythingchanges.
“I’m not seven anymore,” Lo tells him.
“I can see that.” Jonathan eyes me for a little longer than I like, and I shrink further in the cushions. Lo shifts so my half-naked body is hidden better from his father’s view. “Do you agree with what my son did, Lily?” he asks. “You think it was right of him to fuck with another person’s property?”
I shake my head repeatedly. “No, sir. In fact…” I clear my throat, willing on a bit of confidence. “I’ve told Lo that if we’re going to be together, he’s going to have to change.” The lie tastes gross in my mouth, but I better get used to it. There will be far more from here on out.
Jonathan mulls this over and then says to Lo, “Hopefully a woman can knock some fucking sense into you.” So he’s going to let Lo stay?! We watch as he takes measured steps to the liquor cart, ignoring our not-so innocent position on the couch. He pours himself a glass of bourbon. “I paid for the damages you incurred on the Smith’s house, but I’m taking a portion out of your allowance.”
Lo drills holes into the couch arm above my head, glaring at the object instead of his father. I think that’s a wise decision. “Thanks,” he says.
Jonathan swishes his glass. “I talked to that bitch principal of yours. She’s going to take your suspension off your records. You’ll stay at Dalton unless you fuck up again.” I can barely celebrate the news because he tops the statement off with, “Stop tarnishingmyname.”
Lo grits his teeth, his nose flaring to bridle his emotions. His father refuses to even acknowledgewhyLo retaliated against Trent Smith. Maybe if he heard the reason, he would understand.
“Okay,” Lo says through clenched teeth, choosing to drop it. “You can leave now.”
After a long pause, Jonathan asks, “You have protection?” Oh my God! I nearly scrunch into a ball, but Lo keeps a hand on the outside of my thigh that hugs his waist.
Lo closes his eyes and then opens them, his glare deepening. “Yeah,” he replies with the same hard-edged voice, as though each word is lethal.
“Good. I’d rather not explain to her father why my son couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”If only he knew.He goes to the archway that’ll lead himawayfrom us. “And Loren?”
Lo cranes his neck over his shoulder to meet his father’s hardened eyes. In all my life, I’ve never seen them soften.
