Page 60 of Gold Rush

Rory’s inhale is unsteady. This time, I think it has nothing to do with the situation we’re in.

Her shoulders square as she regains her composure. “I’m normally faking it.”

I was trying to shock her with my bluntness. I should have anticipated Rory would match that.

“Four years, and he couldn’t find your clit?”

She hesitates, then says, “It wasn’t just him. I have a hard time … I can come a lot faster on my own than with a partner. Guys get embarrassed or annoyed by that, so I’ve learned it’s easier to just … pretend.”

This was already an uncomfortable situation for my dick. It hardens even more, straining against my zipper, as I think about showing Rory how easily I could make her come for real.

“Don’t pretend.”

“Excellent advice, coming from my fake boyfriend. You could have put on four condoms by now. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re so bossy,” I tease.

Rory doesn’t smile as she replies, “I know I am,” and I realize I’ve unerringly uncovered another insecurity of hers concerning intimacy.

“Do you like being in charge? Do you want to tell me what to do?”

“No. No, I’m fine not being in charge. I guess guys—guys expect me to tell them what to do. Aside from the, uh, obvious.”

I step even closer, physically pressing her against the door. Rory inhales quickly, feeling the bulge of my erection against her stomach, eyes widening until all I can see is blue. I place my right hand on her hip, leaving my left behind her head. A swift tug pulls the hem of her dress a couple of inches higher. The wrinkles should last long enough for someone to notice.

Rory swallows again. It’s one of her tells when she’s unsure or overwhelmed. Or aroused, I think, reading the other signals from her body. Dilated pupils. Damp lips. Rapid breathing.

I bet she’s wet.

I lower my mouth to her left shoulder, running my tongue across the expanse of skin, over the thin black strap, until I reach the curve of her neck. Her chin lifts, skull colliding with my knuckles instead of the hard door.

I lift my head. “You okay?”

“I—yeah. You—thanks.”

She seems stunned I would have thought to prevent a concussion. Either she’s not used to strong reactions or she’s only had sex in a bed. Both bother me. Touching Rory Kensington is a privilege. Yet from what she’s said about Carson and what I overheard about her first time, she’s never had good sex.

I lower my mouth again, finding her pulse point and lightly sucking above it. Pink blossoms across her pale skin. I suck again, harder, ensuring it’ll leave a lasting mark.

Rory swears, the husky, startled syllables making my cock twitch against chafing fabric. I use my free hand to adjust my dick. I don’t really care that she knows I’m hard, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. This was supposed to be a fake hookup.

We’ve probably been in here for ten minutes. Time for the finale.

I move my lips to her mouth, shifting a little left so our bodies are no longer flush. Purposefully banging my knee near the hinges every few seconds so the door rattles in its frame.

She kisses me back this time. Maybe because I asked first, so she knew it was coming. Maybe because there aren’t any eyes on us, no one to witness what’s taking place. Her lips are tentative at first, and then we fall into a rhythm. Her hands land on my shoulders without me suggesting it, gripping the fabric of my shirt. Her fingers slide higher, into my hair, tugging on the strands. She sucks on my tongue enthusiastically. I groan, imagining that suction elsewhere. The tip of my cock is likely leaking; I’m so desperate for release.

Her teeth tug on my lower lip, and I practically punch the wall. I can’t touch her for real. Can’t yank her dress up the rest of the way and sink inside of her. That frustration is only feeding my arousal.

I bang the door a few more times in rapid succession, then take a large step back, interlocking my fingers behind my head as I struggle for even breaths.

Rory appears equally affected. Her cheeks are bright red, lips glossy and swollen. Her dress is bunched around her hips. She looks dazed. Freshly fucked.

Her eyes are where I focus last. No exasperation or disapproval exists in those blue depths now.

All the animosity that’s ever existed between us has been stripped away.

All I want to do is lift her on the counter to show her how much better real sex can be.