Fake Date

by Monica Murphy

“Mistress?”

  “It’s the worst,” he says with a nod.

  “Almost as bad as cool,” I say, and he chuckles.

  “Right. Both of those words are terrible.”

  “I totally agree.” I smirk. “I will never call them mistresses again.”

  “Good, because I don’t have any mistresses. I haven’t had one in at least six months,” he confesses, this time his mouth landing on mine.

  Wait a minute. Six months?

  I break the kiss. “You were buying a lot of lingerie these past six months, Jared.”

  He shrugs.

  “So who was it for?”

  “Probably the first set I bought from you was for an actual someone. After that…” His voice drifts. He shrugs again.

  We’re quiet for a moment. Him from embarrassment, I’d guess, and me because I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “So you just have a bunch of lingerie sitting in Bliss bags at your house?”

  “Not quite.” He hesitates. “Some of it is at my office.”

  “So you are some kind of weird pervert with a lingerie fetish,” I tease.

  “Not quite. More like I had a total fetish for you,” he admits.

  “Ha! No freaking way.” I shove at him so he steps away and I start walking into the living room, but Jared follows me. Picks me up, as if I weigh nothing. I shout. He flips me around and slings me over his shoulder.

  Like he’s some sort of caveman.

  “Put me down.” I beat on his bare shoulders, pausing when I see he has a tattoo there, just below his shoulder on the right side. “You have a tattoo?”

  I’m shocked. Seriously, the guy who gets aroused by formality and punctual people has a freaking tattoo? Get the hell out of here.

  “I do.” He carries me into his bedroom, dropping me onto the bed so I land on the mattress with a bounce. “What’s the big deal?”

  “You are the last person I thought would have a tattoo.” I wave a finger at him, indicating he should turn around. “Show it to me.”

  He turns, and I rise up on my knees and scoot until I’m on the edge of the mattress so I can see it better. It’s a red heart, done in that old sailor style, with a banner across the center of the heart that says:

  Mom

  Oh shit. I’m touched. More than touched. I’m freaking emotional, on the edge of tears, and I reach out, tracing each letter, pressing my palm against the tattoo when I’m done.

  “This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, my voice extra quiet in the hushed silence of the room.

  “I miss her,” he says. The words are simple, but the emotion behind them isn’t. I feel like he’s been walking the edge of being a complete emotional wreck all weekend, and I’m sure spending time with his family and me forcing him to be nice has been pretty stressful.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been too demanding,” I say, meaning it. “I wanted you to work on your relationships with your brother and sister and dad, plus Mitzi, and I probably pushed too hard.”

  “You didn’t.” He hangs his head as I skim my fingers across his back. Goose bumps rise and I continue scratching him lightly. “That feels good.”

  I scoot back to give him room. “Sit down.”

  He does as I say, settling on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath his weight. I position myself behind him and start rubbing his shoulders. They’re tense, no surprise, and I dig my fingers into his muscles, trying to get him to ease up. Slowly but surely, I rub the tension right out of him, until he feels good and loose. He bends his head forward, giving me total access, and when I lean in and press a kiss at the bottom of his nape, I heard him suck in a breath.

  “There is so much more to you than meets the eye,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t take it as an insult.

  Because it’s not. I feel like with every day that passes, he’s revealing more of himself to me. And I love it.

  “I am a man of mystery,” he says, his tone teasing.

  “You really are,” I agree, shifting away so I can study the tattoo once more. “When did you get it?” The colors are so vibrant, that deep red heart seeming to almost glow.

  “Right after I turned thirty.”

  So not very long ago. “Where were you? Who were you with?”

  “An old friend from college, Scott. He’d just moved back to town, and we went out drinking, which turned into a drunken night of going to bar after bar, until we were completely wasted.”

  Why is that everyone gets a tattoo when they’re wasted? I say that’s the worst time ever to get a tattoo, but what do I know? I don’t have any.

  “I was telling him how I always wanted a tattoo to honor my mom, and he said he knew about this one place, and the next thing I knew, I’m at a tattoo parlor, and this old dude who’s covered in ink—and I mean covered, there was barely any actual skin showing, I swear—and I couldn’t stop staring at him.” He laughs. “That old guy said I was making him uncomfortable, and I said he should take it as a compliment, and then I asked him if he had any mom tattoo examples he could show me. And he did—showing me this identical tattoo he had on his right bicep.”

  “So you copied him.”

  “It was exactly what I wanted. He said he’d just lost his mom, which I found hard to believe because man, was he old, and extra wrinkly too. But he was saying he got the ink to honor her, the best woman he’d ever had the privilege to know, and I knew that’s what I wanted to do too, so I told him I wanted his tattoo.”

  I run my fingers across the tattoo once again. “He did a fabulous job. It looks amazing.”

  “You really like it?” He sounds surprised.

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “Especially when I know the reason behind it.”

  He turns and the next thing I know, I’m flat on my back on the mattress, Jared hovering above me, his hands braced on either side of my head, the muscles in his arms straining. He’s watching me closely, his gaze roaming over my face, down my throat, across my chest. I’m still wearing the jumpsuit—seriously, I’m reluctant to take it off—and my breasts are threatening to fall out.

  And he’s looking at me with this dreamy expression on his handsome face, like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen in his life, and all I want to say is…

  Same.

  I feel exactly the same way.

  How did we get so lucky to find each other? I am probably totally overthinking this, with all my mushy-gushy emotions overwhelming me at the moment. Right now, we are in the throes of a fresh relationship. Crap, we’re not even in a real relationship, but we like each other. We’re discovering each other.

  And I am becoming a complete sucker for this man.

  “We need to get you out of this thing,” he tells me, tugging on the front of my jumpsuit. “Maybe you should roll over so I can unzip you.”

  My entire body goes hot, imagining all of the things he could do to me after he unzips this thing. I have no panties on, and no bra. It’s just me beneath the fabric.

  “You’ll need to get out of my way first,” I tell him, and he immediately does, shifting so he’s lying on his side, right next to me. I roll over onto my stomach, moving my arms so I can prop myself up on my elbows. “Okay. Unzip me.”

  He reaches for the back of my jumpsuit, his fingers skimming along my skin, making goose bumps rise. I bend my head, my hair falling in front of my face, waiting in breathless anticipation as to what he might do next. Slowly, he pulls the zipper down, the fabric falling open, revealing my bare back. Once he’s done, he spreads the fabric aside even further, running his fingers down my spine.

  “You don’t have a bra on.”

  “Nope.” I press my lips together when his fingers move lower, right above my butt.

  “You don’t have panties on either.”

  “I told you I had nothing on beneath the jumpsuit earlier,” I remind him.

  He’s quiet for a moment, as if absorbing this information. “I just find it funny that I bought you lingerie. More than you can imagi
ne. I’ve given you bra and panty sets twice. And every time we start to—mess around…” I hear him move and then the next thing I know, warm, soft lips are pressing against the base of my spine. “You’re already naked. Not a scrap of lace or silk in sight.”

  “Hmm.” I inhale sharply when I feel his tongue swipe across my skin. “You’re right. That is rather odd.”

  “Yes.” Another kiss. Another lick. “It is. Lift your hips for me.”

  I do as he asks, a huff of surprise escaping me when he tugs the jumpsuit down. It catches on my hips, my backside, and then he’s tugging again, pulling it down the length of my legs, my shoes dropping to the floor before the jumpsuit joins them.

  I stay in position as I hear him climb off the bed. The sound of his belt being undone, the clank of metal, the familiar whirring noise of a zipper. I can tell he’s kicking off his shoes, getting rid of his trousers, and then he’s back on the bed, his hands on my ankles, pulling my legs apart ever so slightly.

  Oh God, I am so turned on. He could probably breathe on my toes and I’d come. This is pure torture, his hands on my legs, joined by his lips. He’s kissing his way up my calves, the back of my knees, my thighs. I spread my legs a little farther, prop up on my knees to give myself some leverage.

  “Don’t move.” The commanding tone of his voice is another turn on. Oh, I knew he would be like this in bed. Just from the way he behaved every time he shopped at Bliss, I had a feeling he would be demanding. Maybe even a little…rough?

  I don’t have any experience in that sort of thing, but with Jared, I’d be willing to try just about anything.

  Because he asked me to, I remain in place, still propped on my knees, my legs quaking, my breathing heavy. He shifts, the mattresses squeaks, and I think he’s on his knees, looming above me. The position is confirmed when he grabs hold of my hips and readjusts me, pulling my butt close to his front, and I realize that he kept his underwear on. I feel cotton—and his erection straining against the fabric.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his hands stroking my hips. I squirm against him, trying to drive him as crazy as he’s driving me, and his grip becomes firmer, keeping me in place. “I won’t let you take control of this.”

  Oh, is he one of those submit to me kind of guys? I don’t know if I can do that. I might laugh, and he might get mad, or worse, I hurt his feelings, and then I’d worry it might not work between us—

  “You are thinking way too hard.” He leans over me, his chest against my back as he grips my hips, pulling me up so I’m on my hands and knees. “I don’t want you thinking at all,” he whispers close to my ear.

  I don’t want to think either. I want to lose myself in this. As long as he doesn’t do anything too cheesy, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine, fine, fine…

  “Oh.” I jolt against him when I feel him leave an open-mouthed kiss on one butt cheek, then the other. He’s getting terribly close to a spot I’d really like to have his mouth on, and I think he knows this and that’s why he’s purposely avoiding that particular spot.

  The man knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s driving me out of my mind with all the teasing. More kisses on the back of my thighs. Murmurs of appreciation buzzing against my skin. He disappears for the quickest moment and then he’s back, and—oh my God—he’s lying on his back, face to vagina, people. Clinical terms and all that, but it’s the truth. His arms curve around my hips, his hands are firmly planted on my ass cheeks, and then he’s pulling me down, until his mouth makes contact, and that is it.

  I can’t think anymore. Nope, all I can do is savor the sensation of his tongue on my sensitive skin. I am basically sitting on his face and he is licking me to oblivion, and I am loving every second of it. My hips are moving. My thighs are straining. He’s sucking on one particular spot that is totally working for me, and it doesn’t take long. I’m close. So close to coming all over his chin and I don’t even think he cares.

  He’s saying encouraging words, like he wants me to come and so I let go. I just let it all go, closing my eyes, reaching. Reaching. Reaching…

  “Oh God.” The words fall from my lips as that first wave hits me, teetering on the precipice before I completely fall over. I’m coming. I’m moaning his name and I’m coming. My entire body is convulsing like I have no control over it because I don’t. I flat out don’t, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to recover from this. Muscles are involved that I never use and when the tremors finally, finally calm down and I’m feeling like myself again, I aim for the mattress and fall on my side, lying right next to him in a boneless heap.

  He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. I watch as he repositions himself so he’s lying on his side facing me. He’s still got his underwear on—black boxer briefs—and his erection looks ready to pop through the fabric.

  “You are really good with your tongue,” I finally tell him, making him laugh.

  “I have never been with a woman who’s made me laugh while having sex,” he says, pulling me into his arms.

  I snuggle close to him, though it proves difficult, what with his erection poking me in the belly. “I’m here to entertain you.”

  “I thought I was the one who just entertained you.”

  Now I’m laughing. “Oh, you did. That was the best entertainment I’ve ever had in my life. In fact, if you want to keep entertaining me like this, let me know. I’ll give you a full-time job.”

  The moment the words leave me, I realize they sound kind of serious. As in, I want him to be in my life all the time, giving me delicious orgasms and whatnot. And that’s not what I meant. Not really. I’m just so overcome. My body is still tingling, little aftershocks running through my body, making me shiver.

  But then he says the best thing ever, easing my worry with a few choice words.

  “Where do I apply for this position?” He raises his brows.

  “Right here,” I murmur. “You have to kiss me first. That’s the first step. I want to see if you have potential.”

  He kisses me. I can taste myself on his lips, but it doesn’t bother me. If anything, I think it makes everything that much hotter, and turns me into a greedy little animal who wants more.

  And he is just the man to give it to me.

  Thirty-Two

  Jared

  I’m desperate for her. She comes so easily. She must be just as aroused by me as I am by her, and she’s driving me crazy.

  Crazy.

  In the middle of our lazy kissing, I start taking off my boxer briefs, and she helps me, her fingers tugging impatiently around the waistband, those same fingers curling around my dick once it’s exposed, giving it a squeeze. Her soft hand wrapped tightly sends a bolt of lust straight through me, and I’m almost afraid if she keeps this up, I’ll come all over her fingers and embarrass the shit out of myself.

  So I gently push away her hand, preventing her from touching me as I finish removing my boxer briefs. Then I’m as naked as she is, and soon we’re a tangle of limbs, mouths fused, tongues twisting, her hand still around my cock, my hand between her legs. She’s soaking wet, ready for me, and I can hardly wait any longer.

  I need to be inside her.

  Pulling myself away from her, I climb off the bed, thankful the drapes are open, letting light from outside into the room so I can see. Sarah immediately sits up, watching me walk across the room. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

  Her desperate sounding questions are a reassurance that she wants this to happen as badly as I do. But I have to grab something first before we can actually make this happen.

  I go to the giant dresser that’s opposite the bed, opening the door that reveals the small fridge within. There’s a mini bar in there, and I find exactly what I’m looking for.

  A box of condoms.

  Yep, I’m that idiot who didn’t plan ahead. Luckily enough, we’re staying in a sex positive hotel.

  Turning, I wave the small box at her. She raises her brows. She’s smiling. Compl
etely naked. Beautiful. “How many are in there?”

  I shake the box. “How many times do you think this is going to happen?”

  “As many times as possible?” Her hopeful tone makes me chuckle.

  “There are three condoms.”

  She pouts. “That’s it?”

  “I think we can manage. We are leaving tomorrow.” I tear open the box and pull a condom out, then toss the box onto the bedside table. I leave the single wrapped condom on the table as well, and rejoin Sarah on the bed, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly, kissing me like she’s starved and I’m the only one who’ll satisfy her.

  I like that. Her eagerness. Her enthusiasm. The women I’ve been with recently—if you can call six-plus months ago recently—never seemed that into sex. They said the right things, moaned at the right moments, but it always felt…

  Fake.

  Not so far with Sarah. Is it because she’s younger? A tad—sex-starved? I know it’s been a while for her. And it’s been a while for me.

  Maybe that’s it.

  Within minutes I’m reaching for the condom, rolling away from her so I can put it on. She moves so she’s lying in the center of the bed, her head propped up by a mountain of pillows, a big, expectant smile on her face. She watches my every move, her gaze tracking my hands as I roll on the condom, and her lips part.

  “You’re kind of—big,” she observes.

  “Only kind of?” Her words do great things for my ego.

  “Well, I didn’t have a difficult time managing it in the bathroom, but I don’t know. My shop’s been closed for a few years,” she explains.

  “Your shop?” This girl is just…

  Unbelievable. In the best possible way.

  “Well, yeah. I haven’t had sex in a long time. Remember?” I move so I’m lying on top of her, her legs parting so I’m in between them, and I brace my hands on the pillow on either side of her head. She shifts beneath me, her stomach brushing against my dick, and I close my eyes, hissing in a breath at the contact. If she keeps that up I might not be responsible for what happens.