Faking It

by Black, Natasha L.

  We’d spoken on the phone a couple of times, but it had been rushed and just wasn’t the same as being together. I missed him, but most of the time I could keep busy and didn’t dwell on it. It bothered me, though, that he seemed to think if I was out of sight, I was out of his mind as well. I hadn’t gotten a lot of texts or photos from him—even though we usually texted throughout the day when he was on the ranch. So I held back when I wanted to message him over every little thing during his absence. I limited myself to two texts a day unless he messaged me first. It felt like I was playing games, like I was trying to increase his interest in me or at least see if he was interested at all. It felt childish, like I was a teenager with a crush.

  Waking up without him, missing him all day every day had taught me one thing for certain. I had feelings for Raul Santiago beyond just friendship and lust. I had thought of us as friends, had admitted I cared about him. But these were romantic, yearning feelings. The kind that felt like an anchor dragging me down to the ocean floor. Because as hard as it was for me that we were apart, he didn’t seem to suffer the same from our separation.

  Passion and love and longing seemed to tear at me. I couldn’t sleep. My head ached. If I was this attached to him after a few months, our final split at the end of three years would be incredibly painful. So, I decided it was better not to entertain these strong feelings—not to dwell on them and pine for him. I had to choose to go on with my day-to-day life and try to find other things to think about. Because looking at my photo stream to admire his face or reading over the beautiful letter he had written to me before our wedding just stoked those feelings higher. I had to be smart. Because it had been bad enough to fall for a man who was totally up front about his intentions of this being a fake relationship. It would be worse to hold on to that love and hope stupidly that he’d return my feelings.

  Raul was a good man, and a considerate one. But he wasn’t open hearted. He’d lost too many people he loved very suddenly and had been solitary for a long time. The only serious relationship he’d had was with that woman who cheated on him and lied to him, so he even admitted that he wasn’t trusting, didn’t open up easily. He wasn’t a man likely to seek out and make a romantic connection with me. He would go back to life as he knew it the second we divorced. If he ever thought of our time together it would be with nostalgia for all the excellent sex we had, and then he’d go back to focusing on the ranch or go pick up a new woman. It pained me to think so, but I had to be realistic if I wanted to survive the marriage and the divorce in one piece.

  I went to the doctor during the second week because I kept having headaches. Since we’d tried three formulations of the pill in the past year, and the headaches seemed to be related to them all, he advised me to go off the pill for a couple of months and see if that helped. I agreed, and then went and bought a giant box of condoms at the drug store. Because celibacy wasn’t’ going to be an option for us.

  I messaged Raul a picture of the new economy size box of extra-large condoms with the caption: had to go off the pill because headaches, got these for when u get back can’t wait to see u.

  He messaged back a thumbs-up and winky face. That told me he was in a meeting, because he only used emojis if he was in a hurry. I tucked the condoms into a dresser drawer and looked forward to the day he’d return so we could use them. As it was, I missed him body and soul. I woke half the time in the middle of the night with my fingers working between my legs. I’d finish with tears in my eyes, ashamed and lonely.

  Once I even called him and left a voice mail, my voice husky with want, saying that I missed him. He had called back later and said I sounded sexy as hell and he wished I was there. That was the closest he came to saying he actually missed me. And even that was just an admission that he missed the convenient, always available supply of sex. Because we were used to doing it every day, sometimes more than once. I had never been a woman with a high sex drive until Raul Santiago got a hold of me, and then he had me begging for it. Even with him thousands of miles away my body didn’t seem to understand why the fun had been cut off. I felt edgy and restless, needy for him. Not just for his body, but for his gaze locked with mine, his soft kiss on my temple and the way he held me in his arms afterward. I missed everything about him more than I could say.

  I was stubborn, determined not to let my inconvenient feelings interfere with our happy arrangement. The fake marriage was working out better than I ever imagined—apart from the fact that I’d fallen for him—and I didn’t see any reason to introduce a bunch of serious talks about my feelings and ruin the camaraderie we shared. He had never indicated that he wanted more from me, and I knew him well enough by now to expect him to react badly if I seemed to be making emotional demands on him. I’d rather have my binge-watching pal, my horse-riding instructor, my enthusiastic and skilled lover than a man who resented me because I’d forced my feelings on him and asked him to love me back. When I was pretty sure he couldn’t, not really. Not after his parents died and he buried himself in work as an adult only to have his grandfather betray him by requiring him to marry or lose his ranch. Not to mention the evil ex-girlfriend who’d soured him on romance and commitment for life. That kind of loss and that love, the kind with barbed wire attached, had made him keep people at arm’s length. I could be happy at arm’s length. I had been for months, I reasoned.

  When we talked on the phone, he filled me in on how well the meetings were going, and how he was optimistic he’d be home on schedule.

  “I’m bringing you a present,” he said teasingly.

  “Is it cheese? I hope it’s cheese,” I laughed.

  “It’s not. I could bring a huge wheel of cheese on my private plane, but I would have to smell it for hours, so I don’t think so. It’s better than cheese.”

  “Better than cheese? Hmm…must be another dog.”

  “No, I’m not bringing you live animals or dairy products. I’d like to get through customs,” he laughed.

  “Then I have no idea what it is,” I said. “Give me a hint. Is it bigger than a book? Is it bigger than an umbrella?”

  “That depends on the book, and no to the umbrella. Probably no to both. But no more hints. I get to surprise you. I’ll be home sometime on the weekend.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then,” I said, excitement in my voice.

  I texted him playfully once: “Bigger than a slice of bread??” But his reply was an eye roll emoji, so he was back in meetings.

  I’d just have to wait. I counted down the hours. Sometime on the weekend could be any time from early Saturday morning until Sunday at 11:59pm. So that gave me a big range to anticipate his arrival. I worked on grooming at the clinic Friday just to keep busy. I got home and took a shower and watched some Real Housewives while I ate dry cereal. The cook had given up on me wanting meals on my own and just left things in the refrigerator for me. It was so nice of her, but I just wanted my Frosted Flakes and the eagerness for Raul’s return.

  13

  Raul

  My time in Italy was very productive, and although I missed Santeria, it was a nice break to be off of the ranch and out of the Texas heat. At least it always had been before. But this time, I was itching to get home. Maybe it was because the ranch was my sole responsibility now. Maybe it was because Allie was at home waiting for me. I didn’t want to think about it. I just knew I’d be glad when I set foot on Texas soil again and crossed the property line onto Santiago grazing land. As soon as I drove through the gate, something settled inside me. I was more comfortable at once. As if my homesickness eased and I could breathe more fully.

  When I walked through the door, Allie came running.

  I caught her in my arms. We both laughed. Either because it was silly to act like I’d been away at war instead of just a business trip for a couple of weeks, or because we were happy to see each other. I wasn’t sure which. It didn’t matter. I held her close, my arms and hands molding the familiar curves and dips of her body, the smell of her sham
poo and the way her breath fanned against my neck. Everything in my body seemed to shift back into place, a wave of well-being crashing through me. I was home, for real. I hadn’t known how on edge, how restless I had been until I felt better. Suddenly and definitely better. I hugged her tighter.

  “I missed this,” I said.

  “Me, too,” she said. “I’ve been ready to meet you since like six this morning.”

  “Did you practice that run across the house?” I teased.

  “Yeah, I had to improve my time. I started out wearing socks but sliding on the wood floors as I rounded the corner cost me valuable seconds, so I took them off,” she said.

  I laughed again.

  “Here, I brought you something,” I said.

  I took out a paper package from my carry on and handed it to her. She lifted off the lid and unwrapped the paper.

  “Oh! It’s so pretty!” she said, admiring the graceful curve of the glass horse figurine.

  “It was made on Murano. I know you watched that glassblowing show when it came out, and I wanted to get you something like that. It reminded me of Moonlight when I saw it. So I knew it was perfect for you.”

  “I love it. And you’re perfect for me,” she said.

  She blurted it out, blushing a little in response. I wondered why my chest tightened at her words, why the pull I felt for her strengthened. I needed her so fiercely all at once. She set the horse down on table, tucked her hair behind her ears a little shyly. Shyness was cute, but it had been too long and her words had done something to me and I had to have her. I closed the distance between us, my hands on her face.

  Then I started kissing her, “Allie,” I said into her open lips, “Allie.”

  “Raul,” she said, her arms wrapping tight around my neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

  The way she said it sounded desperate. Not from worry or concern—desperate for me, to have me. For my part, I was dying to give it to her. Ever since I stepped inside the house and she ran toward me, my cock had taken on a life of its own, hard and hungry, rigid with urgent need. The frantic kissing, wet and sexy, gave way to the stripping off of each other’s clothes. Her hand under the hem of my shirt, and my palm sliding up her back beneath her t-shirt—she didn’t have on a bra. I felt my stomach clench in response to that fact. She was bare under her top for me. I could have my mouth on her nipples in no time. A surge of excitement worked me up even more at the thought. She had planned this. For me.

  I practically tore off her shirt, and she did the same to mine. Bare skin to bare skin, our chests met, the swell of her perfect breasts smashing against my hard, muscled chest. It was so satisfying, a shock of incredible sensation rolling right through my body. I trailed my hands up her bare back sensuously, gave her a romantic, slow kiss. I wanted to let her know this wasn’t just pent up lust. I wanted it to be special for her, for Allie to know I wanted her specifically.

  “It’s you,” I said softly against her cheekbone, pressing a kiss there, “I’m finally home.”

  “Yes. I feel like I waited forever. Come to bed. Please,” she said in a breathless whisper.

  I stopped for just a moment and held her. There was not a thought in my head except that I needed her badly, but I restrained my need for an instant to cradle her against me, to cherish her. I kissed her lips, a full, lingering kiss filled with promise. I led her up the stairs, her hand in mine, our shirts left in the middle of the floor forgotten. Once we reached the master bedroom, I pulled her inside. I sat on the bed and pulled her between my knees so I could get my mouth on her breasts. They were full and luscious, and the skin like satin. At the first pass of my tongue, her nipple tightened to a sweet bud that begged me to suck. I fastened my lips to her hard nipple and drew on it with my mouth, flicked it with the tip of my tongue. Allie’s hands came to my shoulders, my arm around her hips supporting her as she rode the pleasure of my mouth on her breast.

  When Allie ran her fingers through my hair, I groaned from how much I’d missed that. The way she always messed up my hair when she kissed me goodbye in the mornings, the sensual tug she’d give my hair that tingled my scalp when I put my mouth between her legs. My groan was pure, full-body appreciation of the way she touched me. My mouth fastened on her other nipple, my hands stroking her stomach and moving between her thighs. She writhed against my questing fingers, wet and ready.

  I needed her. There was no room in my mind for the sharp knowledge that this was no longer something we did for fun. This was a necessity, a coming together, a reunion to celebrate the connection we shared, body and soul. Because I felt linked to her, like I’d been missing an essential part of me the entire time I was in Italy. I had been irritable, grouchy—I’d attributed it to lack of regular sex, but the fact was, I’d missed more than sex. I’d missed everything about Allie. I’d missed my wife so much. I wouldn’t be able to get enough of her. We’d be at this all day and night, just making up for lost time.

  I laid her down on the bed, stretched her hands above our heads and held them in mine, lacing our fingers together. I kissed her lips richly, parted her legs with my knee. In an instant, the fevered crown of my aching cock notched at her wet sex. She cried out at the sensation as I rubbed my cock between her legs, teasing between her folds, brushing her plump clit before I positioned myself at her opening and plunged inside.

  I penetrated her, my body on top of hers, grinding and pushing together for a slick, intense ride. I didn’t pull out and thrust back in, no hammering or straining, just the lewd slide of my pelvis against hers, pressing just right against her clit as we rocked together. She pulled her fingers from mine to wrap her arms around me. I stroked her face and kissed her lips, giving her a slow, deep stroke of my tongue with every rocking thrust of my cock inside of her. Every time the ridge of my pelvic bone slid against her clit in perfect alignment, she screamed. Over and over as her orgasm built with every delicious push until she babbled my name and came and came, pulsing around me until she milked a screaming climax from me. I arched my back and thrust in deep, throwing my head back with a shout as I pounded into her, my cum spurting into her tight body in a hot rush.

  “Oh, oh!” she screamed as the sharp surge of my liquid set off another orgasm for her. Her nails dug into my shoulders and I shuddered with pleasure at such a primal expression of desire.

  My mouth fell to hers, and we kissed as we rolled onto our sides. I wrapped her up in my arms, pressing her naked, sweaty body full length to mine.

  “I missed you,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said weakly.

  “Allie? We didn’t use protection. I forgot. We got caught up in the moment—I’m sorry,” I said, filled with sudden regret.

  I said it as kindly as I could, but it struck me with something like fear. What if I had gotten her pregnant? What if my careless lust had left my fake wife, my best friend with an unwanted pregnancy? She’d be tied to this ranch, to me, forever. It wasn’t to be contemplated. I was surprised when she didn’t jump out of bed and run crying to the bathroom or something. It was a shock to think that we could’ve ruined everything with one fierce mating, one bout of reunion sex.

  “I’m not,” she said. “A baby with you wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “No, but it would complicate things. In three years, you wouldn’t be able to take your money and start over unless you wanted to leave the child here. Any child I have will be raised on Santeria, to take over the ranch and learn about its workings. And I know you too well to believe you’d ever leave a child. So you’d be tied to this place. You’d have to live here with our child and raise him with me. It would change all of our plans. We’d have to cooperate and be civil for the rest of our lives instead of having fun for a few years and wishing each other well. It would be—difficult,” I said.

  I cringed inwardly at the idea of Allie living here for the next eighteen years. Having to sit across from her at dinner with her latest boyfriend as we discussed our child’s math test. An ex-wife but a permanent f
ixture on the ranch. It would be a nightmare. Someone I had to discuss decisions with for our child instead of doing what I thought best—and all the conflict that would bring. We’d resent each other, for the way we were bound together accidentally and for the reckless way we’d had sex as soon as I arrived home. I wanted to tell her I was very sorry, that it would essentially ruin our lives. Tie us down.

  I didn’t want us to stop liking one another, didn’t want us to ruin everything. But that was what would happen. I remembered vividly the way Teresa’s face had looked when she told me she was pregnant. I barely subdued a shudder at the memory. To think that we’d been careless, that we could’ve gotten her pregnant and changed everything. My partner in crime, my lover and friend—this would bring out the worst in us. I had no doubt. It sickened me. She could say she only married me for three years, that I didn’t own her for the rest of her life, that I’d done this to try and manipulate her. Or I could say the same to her, that she had tricked me to trap me. A child growing up with his parents suspicious of each other, disliking each other because we stumbled into a family we didn’t want.

  “Would that be the worst thing?” she asked. Her face looked soft somehow, vulnerable.

  I reeled as if she’d slapped me. I sat up in bed, pulled away from her.

  Allie didn’t hate the idea of the marriage becoming real, of a child together. She didn’t quail at the idea of having to negotiate the divorce and child rearing under the same roof. I was horrified. How could she think that would be anything short of a catastrophe?

  The tension, the blaming that turns to contempt. To think of that tainting the joy we’d shared. How inevitable it was, when our plans could be so drastically changed by a pregnancy. No more easy and simple exit, no more goodbye and good luck. There was no way she wouldn’t hate me for expecting to raise the child under the same roof without offering her love and marriage as well. I couldn’t be a husband, not for life. It wasn’t who I was.