He took the seat next to her, close enough to feel the heat of her leg, but not touching. So far nothing was off the table, conversation wise. Not that they’d discussed anything too intense, but he didn’t hesitate to answer her questions. “I’m wondering, does the diner do so well it pays for the BMW, or is that the blogging?”
For the first time that night, she hesitated. She handed him a plate, took one for herself, and grabbed a piece of pizza. She nudged the box toward him. “Help yourself.”
“Fair enough. No money conversations, then.” He liked she didn’t have any hesitation about eating in front of him.
She chewed and swallowed, then met his gaze. “No, it’s fine. It’s not a big secret. They pay for the car about as well as lingerie sales pays for your condo.”
He raised his brows. “Technically that’s true in my case.”
“Technically.” A tiny smile played on her face. “For me, it’s an inheritance. I mean, the blog and diner both make money on their own, but neither makes enough to buy a car like that.”
“That’s cool.” They were both silent for a moment, as they ate. He wasn’t sure how to follow up a question like that. She held something back, but he wasn’t sure what or if he should try and nudge it out of her. Open conversation or not, they weren’t exactly close.
“Your turn,” she said. “Why cosplay-themed lingerie?”
That was something most people didn’t know. He usually made up a flippant response, like cartoons are hotter when they’re real or every geek guy’s dream, right? He didn’t want to lie to her, though. “I got the idea from my sister.”
“Okay.” She leaned back, putting a few inches between them. “Not quite what I wanted to hear.”
“No, nothing like that. She’s a costume designer. When I was first married…” The answer died in his throat. He hadn’t expected the memory to surge back so hard. He shook the heavy feeling away. “Emily had her make something for Valentine’s Day.” Saying the words helped erase the stigma associated with the past. “Details aside, it sparked an idea. Tori and I took it from there.”
“Tori’s your sister? How’d she get off without the music-inspired name?”
He was grateful for the change in subject. “She didn’t. It’s short for Victoria, an old Kink’s song.”
“So you got in-your-face, and she got obscure. That’s cool.” Gwen set her empty plate aside and leaned in. “And I’m sorry for dragging up unpleasant memories.”
“You didn’t know. And I did the same to you.”
Surprise flickered across her face, as if she hadn’t expected him to notice. “But you didn’t make me talk about mine.”
“And neither did you. It’s done. It’s over. The biggest reason I hate looking back now, is because it should have been more obvious Emily was never invested in us. I don’t miss her. I should have seen it sooner, though.”
“You can’t do that. Not that my saying so changes anything, but you can’t play that what-if game. It’ll drive you crazy.”
He studied her—the brown eyes, wide and genuine; the swell of her full lips; how comfortable she looked sitting there talking to him. She was gorgeous. “Is that why you blog about dates gone bad?” He winked, to make sure she knew he was teasing.
“It is.” She leaned against the back of the couch and slid her hand close to his. “It’s how I leave those memories behind. Purging the demons, so to speak.”
“Really? That’s kind of genius.”
“Isn’t it? Too bad I just made it up. It sounds good though; I’m keeping it for future reference.”
He slid his fingers under hers, pleased when she intertwined them instead of pulling away. “I won’t tell a soul it was ever otherwise.”
With her other hand, she picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “I’m sorry your ex is fighting you for your daughter. I kind of know what that’s like. Not the whole having the light of my life ripped from me, but being told by someone I thought cared that I don’t quite count as much, because I’m still single.”
He wanted to push for more, but he recognized the hitch in her voice. He’d heard it in his own words. “Whoever it is, they’re wrong.”
She looked up, smile strained. “Well, duh.”
Impulse wound through him, and he leaned in and kissed her.
“Careful.” Her voice was more playful than warning. “Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”
Something told him heading down this path was a diversion, a way to cover scars and wounds with sex, and it wouldn’t do anything for either of them, besides provide a temporary distraction. Or that was the residual voice of his couples’ therapist—the man Emily cheated with. No point in listening to the man. Brad scooted closer. “I’m willing. Eager, even.”
*
The conversation triggered memories Gwen never summoned. Thoughts of when her brother had been one of her best friends. When Grandma was still alive, and money hadn’t come between them. She couldn’t go back to that; too much had changed between her and George to, get it back, and Gwen didn’t like lingering on it.
Diving into sex with Brad was a more appealing idea.
When he kissed her again, hard and hungry, she slid into his lap and straddled his legs. He groaned against her mouth. Sharp desire spread from her chest and flooded her nerve endings. This was better, without question. He dragged his hands down her sides, caressed her breasts, then slid his fingers up her back, to draw her in. Each time his tongue danced around hers, another flare of need glowed inside. She wanted to be closer. To be a part of him.
She shifted against his legs, and his cock hardened under her, teasing her mound and promising more. He dug his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back enough to look at her. “As much as I love you riding me, I think I promised we’d do this in bed, somewhere along the way.” His voice was heavy and breathless.
She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, a tiny laugh escaping her throat. “But that was days ago”—she ground against his erection, focusing on the tingles the sensation filled her with—“and bed is so far away.” She kissed him again and trailed her nails along the back of his neck.
When he cupped her breasts and drew his thumbs over her hard nubs, she arched her back with a groan. “Really?” He chuckled. “You can’t walk to the bedroom?”
“I guess I could.” She returned his favor, flicking a finger over the bump of a nipple changing the territory of his shirt.
“Are you afraid of changing your mind on that short trip?” His voice was light and playful.
Maybe. The word echoed in her head like a slap. She stuffed it aside. “Not even close.”
“Fuck.” He dropped his forehead against her chest, tone shifting in an instant.
“Not what a girl wants to hear. Not like that, anyway.”
“Trust me; I’m not changing my mind. I don’t have any condoms.”
She pulled his head back up and kissed him. “Lucky for you, I was a Girl Scout.”
“So we’ll eat cookies instead of having sex?”
She slid from his lap and danced out of reach. “So I’m prepared. I have some in my drawer.”
“Lead the way, my lady.” He stood and laced his fingers with hers. It was such a simple gesture, but every time he did it, something sharp and primitive responded behind her ribs.
She turned toward the master bedroom and stepped inside without thought, the surroundings familiar even in the dark. When he flipped the light on, she winced and blinked.
He whirled her to face him and looked her over. “I’m not doing this without light. Watching you is like the icing.”
Heat rushed through her—both want and embarrassment at the compliment. Any retort she had vanished when he nudged her backward and her legs hit the bed. One more gentle push from him, and she let out a soft eep, as she lost her balance and landed on her butt on the mattress.
He sat next to her and drove his mouth back to hers. Kissing, sucking on her lips,
devouring her. There were too many clothes in the way. She needed to feel him. She pushed his shirt up, and he pulled away long enough to tear it over his head and fling it aside. That was better. She kneaded her fingers into his bare chest. Marveled at the combination of fine hairs and firm muscle dancing under her touch.
He leaned her back, feet still on the floor. The faint but intoxicating scent of his cologne flooded her thoughts. She wanted to dive into every new feeling and lose herself in all of them. When he lay on his side next to her, she tilted her head up enough to flick her tongue over a flat brown nub on his chest. He pushed her shirt up, scraping her skin with the hem.
His every touch was frantic and desperate, mirroring her own need. He shoved her bra out of the way and pinched her nipple. She gasped and squirmed against him with each new pull. His erection dug into her hip. Taunting.
He spent several minutes on one side. Tugging, twisting, and eliciting a combination of sharp pain and exquisite pleasure. Then he moved to the other, to give it the same attention. Every time she shifted, to draw closer, her legs rubbed together. Her pussy begged for attention. She covered his hand with hers and guided it down her stomach.
He kissed a trail along her jaw, to her ear. “I adore that you know what you like.” She felt as much as heard the growl in his whispered words. He made quick work of the button and zipper on her jeans.
“Right now, I’m pretty fond of you.” Her words melted into a whimper when he glided below the waist of her panties and parted her folds.
“Only right now?” He trailed along her slit, drawing nearer to her clit with each pass, but never touching it. “I’ll have to make sure that lasts.”
He finally honed in on her aching center, and she jerked into his hand. He teased and coaxed, drawing back each time her breathing became stuttered gasps. When he focused his attentions on her clit, rubbing and not letting up, a wave rolled through and over her. Enveloping her. Flooding her senses with her orgasm. She screamed when she came, riding his touch, until it was too much and she shuddered away involuntarily.
He laid soft pecks along her neck, until he reached her mouth. “I think that’s become one of my favorite pastimes.”
Gwen struggled to catch her breath. “What’s that?”
“Watching you come.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she had to tell herself not to turn away from his gaze. She didn’t know how he stole her bravado and made her blush with a few simple words. In a way, she loved it. Wanted more. Another bit of her was terrified that she might be losing part of herself in whatever this was. She forced the sudden shyness aside and dragged her nails up his back. “I want you inside me.”
“I like that, too.” He stood. “Which drawer?”
She nodded at the nightstand. While he grabbed a condom, she peeled off her shirt and bra, and squirmed out of her pants. He let his jeans fall to the floor and sheathed himself. The little pauses were enough for her mind to wander, and she didn’t want that. Losing herself in now, in him, felt good. She scooted to the middle of the bed and propped herself up on her elbows, trying to look seductive.
He crawled toward her and knocked her back with a playful shove. “You really don’t have to try. I can’t take my eyes off you, even without the awkward poses.” He wedged a knee between her legs and moved forward. Supporting himself on one arm, he guided his cock along her slit. When he thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt, she sank into the pleasure of being stretched out.
Each time he rocked against her, she met his movements, and the slow rhythm increased in tempo. Faster, harder, until he pounded her, pulling her deeper into each new plunge.
He rested a hand on either side of her head, watching her, brow creased. “. You feel so good. So tight.”
“That’s not all me. It doesn’t hurt that you’re well hung.” She hooked her legs on his hips, feet meeting over his ass, and held him close. “Or maybe it does. In the best possible way.”
His chuckle was strained. He reached between them and sought out her clit again.
She pulled away from his touch, still tender.
“Trust me,” he said, between grabs for air.
She tried to relax, to ease into his touch, as he drove inside her again and again. Numb discomfort gave way to a new flash of sensation, and sparks danced behind her eyes as he hit the right spot. She slammed into climax, head growing light, everything except the physical fading into the background.
She was intently aware of his cock inside her. The way she clenched around it. The sheen of sweat covering her, cooled by the air. The taste of his kisses, when he crushed his mouth to hers. His grunts as his motions became more punctuated. The jerk of his body when he came, still moving inside her. All of it mingled, as her orgasm hit a peak and then ebbed.
Slowly, her world came back into focus, sharpness muting, to blend with what had fuzzed. He slid out of her, then shifted to lie on his back beside her on the bed and tugged her into him, and she rested her head on his shoulder without resistance.
She wasn’t sure how long they lay there, catching their breath and letting the world tick by. The salt of sweat tingled on her lips. He’d said she could trust him, but that never lasted. It was nice to pretend, though. Would be nice if it continued outside the bedroom. There weren’t a lot of people in her life she could say she trusted, and with stunts like the one George pulled, the list grew smaller every day.
Her brother’s name summoned a new thought. Not a welcome one, in a moment like this, but the edge was gone in the lingering haze of pleasure.
Gwen propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at Brad. She was going to do this before she lost her nerve. “Do you want to get engaged?”
“Did you just propose to me?” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead, while he studied her face.
“I supposed that’s what we could tell people.” She worried the inside of her lip with her teeth, doubt sinking in. “I mean, not for real, of course. But you need to prove your life is stable, and I need to prove I’m not planning on dying an old spinster.” The way he furrowed his brow wiped away the last of her bravado. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m saying. Post-coital bliss or something.”
His smile returned, though not full force. “I don’t think I’ve ever fucked a woman so hard she wanted to marry me.”
“You don’t think, but you might have? Besides, I said engaged.” Gwen tried to keep her tone light. What was she thinking? Bad, bad idea. Straight-out-of-a-stupid-movie kind of bad.
“No, I’m certain that’s never happened before. Yeah, all right. Let’s do it.”
“Wow. That sounded less than enthusiastic.” Though she’d dismissed the idea, and it wouldn’t be more than for show anyway, his reluctance dug deep. She rolled onto her back. “It’s no big deal, really.” And it wasn’t. Whatever ached inside, gnawing at her sensibility, needed to knock it off.
Chapter Eight
There were so many reasons for Brad to tell her no. On the other hand, the idea was brilliant in theory. He had to say so, since he’d started the whole thing when he told Emily they were engaged. But Gwen was real. She didn’t wear a mask for the cameras or pretend to be someone she wasn’t. Or put on a facade for years, in a marriage that made her miserable, the way Emily had.
If he and Gwen went ahead with this plan, at least part of whatever was between them became as fake as the rest of his life.
He also couldn’t ignore how wounded she looked. They’d both know it was pretend—no lies between them—and the benefits would be for them both. He let himself relax, sat, and pulled her up. He traced a finger along her bottom lip, and she let out a gasp. Hearing more of these tiny sounds, seeing her turned on, would be pretty pleasant too.
He took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “Gwen Marie Debson, my life has been non-stop chaos since you walked into it, and I don’t want to imagine how boring going back to normal will be. You’re amazing in the sack, and—God—you look hot naked. Wil
l you fake marry me?”
Her smile was back, hesitant but there. “You say the sweetest things.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes. I’d love to.”
It still didn’t feel right, but at least she was in on the deception. A new thought flashed into his mind, and he frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Her expression mirrored his.
“I can’t do this to Drea. Don’t misunderstand, I think the two of you would hit it off, but I can’t let you into her life, let her get close, knowing you’ll be gone at some point.”
Gwen tapped her fingers against her leg. “So we don’t get close. I assume someone will tell her, but that doesn’t mean she has to spend time with me. There’s always a convenient excuse, right? Not that I want to coerce you into this. No is fine too.”
That would have to do. Keeping her apart from Drea made sense. “I’m still asking if you’re still accepting. We’ll just have to be careful.”
“Of course. Perfectly careful. When are we comfortable telling people?” Her smile was too big. Too bright.
“No time like the present, right? We’re happy and in love.” One lie on top of another. He didn’t like it, but it was a means to an end.
****
Jaycie slid into her seat at the counter. Today she was laptop- and handheld-free. Unusual, but it meant she had a lull in games. Or she was working on how to write up one she’d recently played. “What’s new?” she asked.
Gwen’s response died in her throat. This was her chance to put her plan into motion. To tell someone and celebrate and let the world know she wasn’t a bitter old hag who hated men and marriage. Except with the opportunity in front of her, she struggled to find the words.
Jaycie raised her brows. “That good, huh? Did the one-night-stand bozo come back with another business proposal?”
Yeah, this was about to suck. Gwen gave a nervous laugh. “Funny you should mention him…”
Too Goode to be True (Love Hashtagged #2) Page 5