Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  “How’s your ass?” he asks, staring at my lips with hunger.

  “Closed for business,” I deadpan.

  His body shakes on top of me with his silent laughter. “I wasn’t asking for anal, sugar…just making sure you’re feeling good.”

  My brows lift. “I just orgasmed on your face in less than a minute. I think it’s safe to say I’m feeling alright.”

  He smiles and dips his head to kiss me. It’s sweet and intimate, surprising since this is only a casual thing, but it feels right. I rake my nails along his back and kiss him with fervor while wrapping my legs around his waist and sliding them along his hips. The skin-on-skin sensation feels so incredibly good. I’ve missed how a man’s body molds against mine. I’ve missed being desired and turned on.

  Desperation courses through me, and I thrust my damp sex against him as his erection squeezes between our two flush bodies. He breaks our kiss, his breath stuttered as he says, “I’m going to orgasm in less than a minute too if we don’t do this.”

  I nod, my eyes wide as I glance down and watch him center his tip between my folds. He watches me for a moment before slowly pushing himself inside me.

  It’s tight. Way too tight. A year’s worth of stress causing extra tightness. But thankfully, my slick, wet heat makes his entry possible, and when he’s buried as deep as I can take him, my fingers dig into his biceps as I groan out a long, “Ohhh my Godddd.”

  “Fuck,” he growls as his head drops onto my shoulder while our bodies adjust to the sensation overload. He pulls back and gasps for breath, his lips parted as he adds, “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

  “You too,” I croak, grinding upward and silently begging him to move so I find some relief.

  He takes the hint and pulls back, propping himself up on his hands before slowly thrusting inside me. My head flattens to the pillow, and I hear myself whimpering with breathless excitement. Everything right now is sensation overload. My hormones have completely taken over my body, and at any second, I’m going to start making animal noises.

  “That’s it, sugar…just let go.” Dean’s voice is raw and full of need as he begins moving at a quicker pace, his eyes blazing down on me the entire time. “You’re so beautiful when you let go. It’s impossible to look away.”

  I blink up at him; the intensity in his voice isn’t something I’m used to hearing. Dean’s usually playful or sexual, or purposely over the top. He lives his life teasing others. But the sincerity he’s displaying right now is a new look for him, and it intensifies my arousal. Our eyes lock for a brief second, and something deeper than the sexual nature of what we’re doing ignites. Almost like Dean sees me more than anyone has ever seen me before. It’s unnerving.

  But I’m quickly distracted when Dean hoists my leg onto his shoulder and thrusts deeper than before, stroking a spot I don’t think has ever been stroked before.

  “Oh my God,” I cry, feeling every thrust, every noise, every growl of pleasure in the room as a pressure builds deep inside me. It’s intense and overpowering, like a roller coaster descending at a hundred miles an hour that I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

  “Let go for me, Norah,” Dean hisses, his jaw taut as he fights against losing his own control. “I need to watch you come.”

  That’s apparently all it takes because the next thing I know, I’m screaming his name and shattering violently as he continues moving inside, not missing a beat as my inner muscles clamp down around him, making it tighter between us than it was before.

  “Fuuuck,” Dean groans as he shakily struggles to continue thrusting.

  Suddenly, he stills on top of me, and his eyes slam shut. He expels several stuttered breaths as if he’s trying to get control of himself. But clearly, he fails because the next thing I know, he’s undulating between my legs, and I can’t help but watch him with great fascination. Dean’s normally so composed and at ease in his own skin. The image of him losing himself and climaxing is something I’d like to see again and again.

  Seconds later, he collapses on me and buries his head into my neck, his breath hot on my collarbone as his muscular body trembles over me. I lift my hands to stroke the back of his head and neck soothingly as I watch his back rise and fall in rapid succession.

  I can’t help but smile.

  That was literally the best sex I’ve ever had.

  Granted, I haven’t had a lot of sex. And the memories of the sexual encounters I have had are fuzzy at best. But surely that had to be good for him too, right? I mean, I know he’s had a lot more partners than I have. But coming that quickly and that powerfully and being this spent afterward is a good sign, right?

  Dean’s weight becomes heavy on top of me, and paranoia starts to seep into my fluttering mind. Is it possible that was just run-of-the-mill, average sex, and he came quickly because he couldn’t be bothered to go longer with me? Why isn’t he speaking?

  “Are you alive?” I ask, shaking his shoulders to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep from boring sex while his dick still twitches inside me.

  “Barely,” Dean croaks before breathing deep and rolling off me.

  The cool air hits my skin, and I grab a sheet to cover up, feeling strangely self-conscious now. “How was it?” I blurt, not attempting to play it cool.

  Dean lies on his back and closes his eyes. “How was what?”

  “How was what?” I give an indignant huff. “Oh, I’m talking about the charcuterie from earlier tonight, of course.”

  Dean turns and eyes me sleepily. “What are you talking about?”

  I sit up on my elbow and pin him with a look. “I’m asking how the sex was, you idiot.”

  “Oh…that.” Dean looks at the ceiling casually. “It was good.”

  My body instantly deflates. Good.

  Good, not great.

  Good, not perfect.

  Just…good.

  Disappointment flutters in my belly. If someone called my croinuts good, I wouldn’t sleep until I changed the recipe nineteen times and made myself sick sampling all of them. Good is a three-star review from a food critic. Good is below average.

  I nod awkwardly and bite my lip. “Then I guess I have work to do.”

  “Come again?” Dean asks, lifting his brows at me.

  I sit up in bed and run my hands through my hair. “There’s no point in having fake sex if it’s just good. I don’t do things to be good. I do them to be great. If sex isn’t something I’m great at, then I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing wrong.”

  “Norah…” Dean starts, but I ignore him as I hop off the bed, dragging the sheet with me.

  “I’m taking a shower. I need to think.”

  “Norah.” Dean repeats, but I quickly walk away from him, ignoring the silly knot of rejection forming in my throat.

  I stand in front of the mirror and slather some toothpaste on my brush. I can’t look at myself as I brush my teeth. Why did I agree to this whole situation in the first place? I was doing fine on my own. Yes, I wasn’t having sex, and yes, my mother was up my ass and practically arranging a marriage for me, but I was good. I was running a successful business. I didn’t need a fake boyfriend to deal with my family issues. I certainly didn’t need fake mediocre sex to add to my to-do list. Why am I putting myself through this? I have enough going on in my life, and now I have to figure out how to up my sex game? Stupid, Norah! So, so stupid!

  Suddenly, Dean’s warm body heat presses up behind me. I see his naked reflection in the mirror. “Sugar tits.”

  “Don’t shooga tiiis me,” I mumble around a mouthful of foam.

  He tilts his head and hits me with a playful smirk. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

  I huff and spit into the sink, wiping the dribble on my chin with the back of my hand before replying, “You seem to misspeak a lot when it comes to me.”

  Dean’s jaw goes tight. “That’s because I’m an egotistical dick.”

  “Clearly.”

  “And because if I told y
ou that was the best sex I’d ever had, I lose all my man cards.” His brows pinch together as he continues to stare at me in the mirror.

  I shake my head and rinse my toothbrush. “It wasn’t the best you ever had. Don’t patronize me.”

  “It was top three for sure,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. “But only because you were in the moment, and I’ve never seen you like that…it was disarming. I lost it way earlier than I meant to, and I’m not used to coming that quickly.”

  I blink back my confusion. “You premature ejaculated?”

  His body shakes against my back as he laughs. “I wouldn’t call that premature…just…I didn’t give you that twenty-minute dick I promised you, and I’m disappointed in myself.”

  The darkness that had overcome me slowly starts to wash away with his confession of losing control so quickly in bed. My lips part with a slow smile that spreads across my face. “So…good really is good?”

  Dean exhales heavily. “In this case, good is great. Good is mind-blowing. Good is seriously good. But now you’re psychoanalyzing and sucking all the fun out of it. You need to chill the fuck out.”

  I turn on my heel and face him. “I want to be good at fake sexing.”

  Dean fights back a smile. “First of all…it’s established that you are good. Too good. Second of all, there was nothing fake about what we just did in there.”

  “You don’t know that,” I reply smugly and cross my arms over my chest, embracing this sense of power I have surging through me all of a sudden. “I could be a great actress for all you know. You don’t know me that well, Dean.”

  He narrows his chocolatey eyes with a smile that gives me butterflies. “There’s no way you were faking, sugar butt.”

  I shrug. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  He quirks a brow. “Maybe we need a repeat in the shower for confirmation, and I’ll make good on my twenty-minute-dick promise.”

  The corners of my mouth twitch as I try not to smirk. “I suppose I could fake it again…you clearly need the practice.”

  Suddenly, Dean grabs my sheet and yanks it off my body. “Where’s the damn IcyHot? Because you need a serious spanking.”

  Norah Donahue could be a big problem for me. I shower the next morning after just giving Norah her…what…sixth orgasm in the span of twelve hours? Shit, I’ve lost count. We did it in the bed, the shower, on the bathroom counter, and once more a few minutes ago.

  This morning was kind of a sneak attack for the beautiful Norah. I woke up early smelling her with my dick rock-hard, and the fact that I rarely get to wake up next to the women I’m sleeping with meant I could make good use of my morning wood.

  And good use I did.

  I started off spooning her from behind and rolling her nipples softly as she slept. God, she has exquisite breasts. Soft and full, and the perfect handful. And her ass as she swirled it against my cock was fucking life-changing. She let out these little moans of pleasure before she finally woke up and grabbed my massive erection behind her. I rolled over and tossed on a condom before coming back behind her and pulling her leg up onto my hip to push deep inside her.

  It was sleepy sex full of hoarse, morning voice cries and complete relaxation as I thrust slowly inside her, rubbing her clit leisurely to a slow-burning orgasm. The sensation of her smooth back snug against my front as the sun rose over the mountains gave me my own mind-blowing orgasm.

  It was after I pulled out of her and she fell back asleep that I got this eerie feeling I’ve never had with another woman—the worry that I might never get enough of her.

  Like I said…big problem.

  I dress quietly and creep out of the bedroom to let her sleep. We don’t have to hit the road for another couple of hours, and after the bang session we had last night, the woman deserves some rest.

  I find Kate and Lynsey in the kitchen nook, sipping coffees and nibbling on the croinuts Norah brought.

  Kate hits me with a knowing look. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  I roll my eyes and help myself to a coffee. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Good morning, Dean,” Lynsey says, shooting me a naughty smile. “We missed you during the rest of the game last night. Were you spending some alone time with your girlfriend?” she asks in a sing-song voice.

  I shake my head and sit beside Lynsey and opposite Kate. “Just wanted to get away from the obvious looks you two kept shooting us all night.”

  Kate presses her hand to her chest looking offended while shifting her voice into a horrible British accent. “Tis not our fault we’re mesmerized to see our Dean with a worthy partner suitable for our delicate tastes.”

  “Indeed,” Lynsey quips, donning her own horrible accent but sounding a lot more like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. “She’s a proper lady if you ask me.”

  I groan while the girls giggle, and Lynsey adds, “This is certainly an upgrade from Lala.”

  “Norah is not an upgrade,” Kate corrects, her eyes wide as she looks at me. “She’s an entirely different jet. Girls like Lala are budget airline types. Norah is a private jet all on her own. Seriously, Dean, she’s amazing. I want to date her.”

  I shift uncomfortably, hating that I’m lying to my friends. But honestly, after adding sex to this agreement with Norah, what we’re doing is pretty much dating. Just because we both know it has an end date doesn’t make it any less so.

  “Norah told us you guys were taking it slow,” Lynsey says, elbowing me in the arm knowingly. “I guess a lovers’ getaway to Aspen took you two to a new level, huh?”

  “We’re not at a new level,” I reply with a frown, worry creeping inside me.

  “Any couple who can have a sex marathon like you two did last night are certainly hitting a new level,” Kate snorts, causing Lynsey to choke on her coffee.

  The girls laugh as they wipe up their liquid mess and return to picking at their croinuts while a nervous sensation settles in my gut. Are Norah and I at a new level? I mean, clearly sex is a new level but is this insatiable feeling I have when it comes to her something I need to worry about? Because, let’s face it, when I watched Norah orgasm with that vibrator, my fingers, my tongue, and my cock, I knew she was different from other girls. In the best way.

  But I should be careful because I don’t want Norah to think I want more than casual sex. Maybe after I drive her home today, I’ll avoid any future plan discussions so it’s clear I’m not looking into the future. And I’ll avoid the bakery on Monday too. That’ll be a good test to make sure I can listen to my mind over my cock.

  “Today’s flavor of the day is a new creation and the best one our girl has ever come up with if you want my opinion!” Rachael’s voice chirps in the background as I crouch over a fresh tray of croinuts that just came out of the fryer. “It’s a light cinnamon and sugar coating with a stripe of decadent Valrhona dark chocolate on the top. Inside is a super airy champagne cream filling that tastes like a party in your mouth. Seriously, skip the donuts. Today’s croinut is worth the wait.”

  “That sounds great,” the customer replies, and I hear the machine click as three numbers are pulled from it.

  Rachael proceeds to ring them up and make their coffees while I gently squeeze the pastry bag with a rounded tip full of the chocolatey topping. Damn, this flavor of the day is a work of art, if I do say so myself. I need to add it to my Denver menu because it will be a hit there, for sure. They might even be good for the morning show segment Max has lined up for me.

  Plus, they taste better than sex.

  Well, maybe not better. But they were certainly inspired by sex. Sex I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Dean dropped me off at my apartment last night.

  I blow the butterflies out of my belly as images of the weekend replay in my mind for the hundredth time. Seriously, I don’t know if it was because I haven’t had sex in so long, or because Dean and I were making good on our little tiff we had in the bathroom, but we w
ent at it like rabbits the rest of our time in Aspen.

  It was kind of insane.

  It felt like Dean was on a mission to make good on his twenty-minute-dick promise, and I was making up for lost time. Who knows? But I sincerely hope there’s a repeat soon of whatever madness that was because I am already dreaming about round five. Or is it six? Does the Friday night masturbation session count?

  A thousand times yes.

  I grin as I top the batch of croinuts off with shavings of white chocolate to give it a bubbly champagne finish and then set them aside as Rachael approaches. “Girl, you need to be inspired more often. This flavor is one of your top three bests. Look at our croinut count!” She points at the back of the machine that gives us our printout so we know how many to make. “Zander looks stressed out making dough in the kitchen. It’s hilarious.”

  “You should go help him,” I state while shifting to the next tray.

  “Zander’s fine. You need to finish your Aspen story. What happened when you guys finally emerged from the bedroom?”

  I sigh in merry remembrance and set down the frosting as she begins to plate the finished croinuts for the customers and glances at me excitedly. “Well, Dean was already out there with everyone because I’d passed out after we…well…ya know.”

  “Oh, I know,” Rachael says, nodding with greedy eyes.

  “And it was kind of embarrassing because all his friends clearly knew what we were doing since we bailed on the scavenger hunt early. God, the way Kate looked at me made me feel like I’d just lost my virginity.”

  “Born again virgin maybe,” Rachael chirps. “You have got to be hurting, considering you went from famine to feast in the span of twelve hours. I’m actually surprised you’re not walking funny this morning. Is he more of a donut hole than a donut?”

  “What?” I ask dumbly, and then her euphemism hits me like a ton of obvious donuts that has me scrunching my eyes closed with laughter. “Oh my God, stop. Too far!”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “I get it. He looks like he’d pack an average white boy donut hole.”