I sink into my seat. The leather is freezing against my exposed skin. The entire world feels freezing. Like there isn't a shred of love or warmth left.
"Kat."
He's just as cool as the leather. As the air. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I smooth my dress. Cross my legs. Try to look at anything besides the ring.
"Something." His voice is sincere.
Does it really bother Blake that I'm upset? He got what he wanted. This is all what he wants.
He takes a seat next to me. Presses his thigh against mine.
He leans in to whisper. "Tell me."
His breath warms my skin. It's the only warm thing in the universe. I can focus on how much I want him, how much my body demands his.
That's real.
And, right now, I need real.
His lips brush against my neck. My body reacts instantly.
My back arches of its own accord.
My legs part.
My tongue slides over my lips.
"You're overwhelmed." He whispers it in my ear like it's a dirty promise.
"I know how I feel. I don't need you explaining it to me." My body whines at my protests. It doesn't want to talk. It doesn't want feelings. It wants his hands and his mouth and his cock.
He pushes my hair aside with a gentle touch. Then it's his lips on my neck. He kisses me. Softly. Then harder.
"Tell me I'm wrong." His fingers skim the bare skin on my back. They settle on the top of my zipper.
"Do you even care?"
His eyes turn down. He actually looks hurt. I think. His expressions are all so similar. "I want to make this as easy as possible for you."
"You wouldn't want a difficult wife?"
"No." He undoes my zipper. "I like you, Kat. I want you to be happy."
"Really?"
"I don't lie when we're alone."
Happy is a tall order, given the circumstances. "That isn't going to happen. Not with all this deception."
He nods with understanding. "You don't want to think about it."
It's more a statement than a question. I nod anyway. I stare into Blake's blue eyes. They're still beautiful and deep and impenetrable. "Distract me."
His lips curl into a half-smile. He nods. "Close your eyes."
I do.
He turns me so I'm facing away from him.
He pushes my dress off my shoulders.
It falls to my waist.
I'm topless— this was one of those can't-wear-a-bra-under-it dresses.
I'm exposed. On display.
It makes my sex clench.
I still like it. I still like feeling dirty. Blake still seems to know my desires better than I do.
His hands skim my back, sides, torso. He draws circles around my nipples.
My thoughts float away. They're off in some corner of my brain. Desire is taking over the rest.
I need him.
Now.
Faster than now.
I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his hands. He nips at my ear. And his hands, oh his hands.
"Are you on birth control?" he asks.
I nod. "The shot." As promised, he sent me his test results after our last conversation.
He tugs at my dress, lifting my ass so he can slide it to my feet. "You remember the safeword?"
"Yes."
He tugs hard at my panties. They strain against my hips until the lace fabric snaps.
Blake's lips find mine. His kiss is commanding. Possessive.
It wakes up every nerve in my body. It gets every part of me screaming for more of him.
I shift my hips. I tug at the fabric of his suit jacket. I kiss him back as hard as I can.
His pulls me onto his lap. I can feel his erection through his slacks. Fuck, it feels so good, knowing he's hard because of me. There's something instinctive and visceral about it.
I want my hands around him.
I want him coming from my touch.
Or my mouth.
I have no idea how to touch a man beyond late night gossip sessions back in high school. But I don't care that I'm inexperienced. That I may make a fool of myself.
I want him too badly to care.
He drags his lips down my neck, over my collarbone and chest. His mouth closes around my nipple. He sucks hard. Soft. Then it's short flicks of his tongue. Long ones.
I surrender to the sensations forming in my body.
His soft, wet mouth.
His strong hands.
The cold leather against my thighs.
The strain as he spreads my legs.
His thumb against my clit.
Pleasure wells up inside me as he rubs me. It pushes out that last nagging thought, the one reminding me about the weight on my left hand.
Then he's teasing me with one finger. I rock my hips to meet him deeper but he teases and teases and teases.
Finally, he slides his finger inside me.
Damn. That feels good.
It's not as intense as last time, when it was his cock inside me, but it's still fucking amazing.
He rubs me, sucking on my nipples as he fucks me with his fingers.
It's so much sensation. I can barely take it. But this time, my hands are on his skin. This time I can touch him.
I tug at his tie and toss it aside. I undo the top two buttons of his shirt. My fingers skim his chest. He's hard and strong against my palm. And warm.
The whole world is warm.
I dig my nails into his skin. He sucks harder. Strokes harder. Pushes deeper.
The pressure inside me winds tighter. I tug at Blake's hair. I shift my hips. I let out a heavy groan.
Everything unfurls as I come.
"Blake." I pull him closer. I groan his name.
Bliss overwhelms me. Every part of me feels good. Home. Safe. Satisfied.
Blake wraps his arms around me.
I blink my eyes open. Stare into his baby blues.
He's the Blake I understand. The one who only wants my body. Who only brings me pleasure.
If only we understood each other like this all the time.
He runs his fingers through my hair and leans in to press his lips to mine.
I kiss him harder. I need all of him. Not just his body, but the rest of him too. He's going to be my husband. I need more than great sex. I need something else to hold onto.
He drags his lips to my ear. "Turn around." His voice is a demand. "Hands against the back of the seat."
I shift off him, plant my knees on the bench, and press my palms against the slick leather.
He positions himself behind me. His zipper undoes. My tongue slides over my lips reflexively. I want so badly to touch him or taste him. Something. Anything.
But I'm still at his mercy.
No, I like being at his mercy.
I want it.
And I want more.
I want everything.
For the first time in my life, I'm greedy.
His fingers dig into my hips. He holds me in place as he drives into me. It's one hard thrust. I get the full force of him.
Just him. No condom. Nothing between us. Well, between our bodies.
My eyelids press together.
He feels so good. Warm and hard and mine. Like his body was made for mine. Like we're both exactly where we belong.
"You need to come on my cock." His voice is heavy. Almost desperate.
I nod. I need to come on his cock. I need it more than I've ever needed anything.
He holds me in place as he fucks me.
He goes hard. Deep. It hurts, but in a good way. In a fucking amazing way.
Pleasure wells up inside me. I tug at the seat. Curl my toes. Groan against the leather.
It spurs him on. Gets him going deeper. Groaning lower.
He slides his hand between my legs to stroke my clit.
Fuck.
It pushes me right to the edge. Almost…
I arch my back, shifting my hips to meet his
thrusts.
His nails dig into my skin. A warning that he's in charge. I moan some kind of affirmation. He's in control. I love him in control.
A few more thrusts and I'm there. All that pressure unwinds. My sex pulses as I come. I groan his name. I rock my hips. I try to do something to contain the intensity of it, but it still knocks me over.
My knees shake.
My hands slip.
Blake helps me up. Holds me tighter. Only he's not Blake now. He's that animal version.
His groans are low and deep.
His movements are rough. Hard.
He moves faster. Deeper.
It hurts, but in a good way.
His breath gets ragged. His groans get higher. His nails dig into my skin.
Then he's there. I can feel his orgasm in the way his cock pulses, in the way his groans run together, in the way his nails scrape my flesh.
When he's done, he pulls back and zips his slacks.
I collapse on the bench seat. I'm naked. He's dressed.
I hold onto my satisfaction for as long as I can. Maybe he'll never love me, but he will fuck me senseless. That's more than some people get.
It's not enough, but it's something.
Chapter Twelve
Somehow, I get back into my dress long enough to get from the garage to the elevator to Blake's apartment. He says nothing until we're in the bathroom and then it's only to ask if I'd like anything to eat or drink.
He draws a bath. Half of me wants to scream I can do this myself. The other half wants to fall into his arms and let him take care of me forever.
There's something comforting about the surrender. About letting go of all the thoughts bouncing around my head. I want to be better at it.
I want to be able to let go. To let someone else take care of me. Someone I trust.
I'm just not sure if that's Blake.
I split the difference. He leaves to fetch me a snack, and I wait in silence until the tub is full enough, then I slip into the sudsy water.
It's perfect. Hot but not painfully so. Big bubbles that smell of lavender and peppermint.
One by one, my muscles relax. The day washes away. The pain of pretending washes away. Everything is perfect and warm and sweet.
Blake returns with a tray of snacks. Grapes, berries, crackers, cheese, and dark chocolate.
He's in jeans and a t-shirt. It's weird. But hot too. He wears cotton well.
I move to the edge of the tub. "You look normal."
"And usually?"
"You're in a suit. You wore a suit when we went shopping."
"I wore slacks and a collared shirt."
"Okay, you were business casual. Most people wear something like that." I draw a circle around his outfit. "Isn't that how programmers usually dress?"
"I don't program much these days."
I pop a raspberry into my mouth. I never buy berries. Too expensive. It's better than I remember. Tart, sweet, perfect. "Do you miss it?"
"At times."
"Did you love programming?"
"I love some things about it."
"Like…"
"There's this feeling of accomplishment when you get a program to work. A satisfaction. Nothing compares."
"You like being in control of the computer?"
"That's part of it. It's more the sense of accomplishment."
"What do you do now? Besides programming?"
"Lots of meetings. Executive-level decisions. It's important, but it's not as satisfying."
"You could let someone else run your company."
He stares back at me in horror. I think. "What do you love about art?" He takes a strawberry and sucks the juice from it. "We've never talked about it."
"We don't talk much."
"True." His voice gets light. Well, for Blake.
"I love all of it. But I love graphic novels the most."
"Comic books?"
I nod.
He half-smiles. "You do realize I started a tech company at sixteen."
"And you were inspired by Batman or something?"
"No. He's too violent."
"Iron Man?"
"Do I strike you as snarky?"
I laugh. I'm pretty sure that's a joke.
It is. Blake is actually smiling. God, he has a nice smile. It makes me feel warm all over.
"I don't really read comic books," I say. "I'm not into superhero stories. I like graphic novels about people and relationships. My sister always says it's boring girl stuff."
"You love her a lot?"
"Of course. Don't you love your sister?"
He nods. "She's difficult, I know. If she was—"
"It's okay. I get it. What's the deal with her husband?"
"Trey? He's not a good man."
I arch a brow. "That's not a good explanation."
"It's not my secret to share."
Fair enough. I sink my teeth into the chocolate. It's perfect. Rich. Sweet. Satisfying. "What do you do for fun?"
"Chess."
"Chess?"
"That too." He glances at the plate. "Do you want something more substantial?"
"Not in the bath." I push back to the wall—the tub really is that big. "I… I want to know why we're doing this."
He nods. Then nothing.
"That was your cue to start the explanation," I say.
He nods to a glass of water. I roll my eyes but I drink the entire glass.
"Don't do that," he says.
"Follow your instructions?"
"Roll your eyes."
"Or what? Will you punish me for being bad?"
"I'm going to do what I can to respect you, Kat. I expect the same from you." His gaze is intense. "Understood?"
"If you want respect, then respect me. I asked you for something. You didn't reply."
He stares back at me.
I can't hold his gaze. My eyes go to my ring. It's still catching all the light.
"You like it?" His voice is soft. Almost like he actually cares about my reaction.
"Does it matter?" I do like it, though I'd like it a lot more if it was from someone who cared about me. If it symbolized love instead of bullshit.
"Yes." He kneels next to the bath, bringing us eye to eye. "It suits you."
"I'm expensive and showy?"
"You're beautiful and understated." He offers his hand. "I want this to be easy for you."
"It will be easier if you stop saying that. And if you explain." I dip my head into the water. I feel cleaner instantly. Like the bath is washing away all the hair product and makeup. All the stuff that makes me Blake's pretty, fake fiancée and not Kat.
Blake stares at me, studying me.
I wipe the makeup from my eyes. "Why did you ask me to marry you?"
"The same reason I asked you to play my girlfriend."
"Helpful."
"I wanted to make someone happy."
"Who?" I squeeze shampoo into my hands and lather.
Blake motions come here. When I move closer, he combs the shampoo through my hair.
"I can do that," I say.
"Let someone else help you for once."
"I don't need help."
"Accept it anyway." He runs his hands through my hair. It's soft. Gentle. Loving. "You remember my mother?"
"Meryl. Of course. She was sweet."
"And weak. She could barely stand." His voice is soft. Hurt. "She's not supposed to drink with her medication, but at this point, I don't think it matters."
I don't like the sound of that. "Why not?"
"She has liver disease." He shakes his head. "I should have convinced her to quit drinking. This wouldn't have happened."
"You're her kid. You can't convince her to do anything."
His eyes go dark. "I could have. She knew better. We all knew better."
"Maybe she... maybe there are treatments." Oh. It hits me all at once. There are no treatments. This whole charade is for his mother's benefit. It must be because—
<
br /> "She's dying, Kat." He presses his palm against the porcelain. "We thought she had a year, but things took a turn for the worse. Best case scenario, she has three months."
My stomach drops. Meryl is a sweet woman. Loving. It's not fair.
But then I gave up on life being fair a long time ago.
I offer Blake my hand. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you." He takes it. "She's always worried about me. After my father, it makes sense, but I don't want her to die worrying."
"What about your father?"
He ignores my question. "We need to sell this. We need to convince her we're madly in love."
"Why not tell her the truth?"
He looks me right in the eyes. "She thinks her marriage cursed us. She's still guilty she stayed with him."
"But why?"
This, too, he brushes off.
I stare back at him for a few moments, but his expression stays a wall. He isn't going to explain.
I dip my hair, rinsing out all the shampoo and most of the product. When I surface, Blake is waiting with a bottle of conditioner.
He runs it through my hair. "If you have any objections, I'd like to get them out of the way."
"You're pretty much at my mercy," I say. "I mean, you've already proposed to me. You can't find a new fake girlfriend now."
His fingertips graze my forehead. "I want you. Not anyone else."
"You're stuck with me."
"No, I want you."
I pull back and duck my head into the water to rinse the conditioner. Thoughts swirl around my brain. Objections. Encouragement. That voice that screams you still need his money.
I barely know Meryl, but I know enough to want her happy.
Even if it's a lie. A lie that makes you happy must be better than a truth that hurts you.
Tension builds between my shoulders. It doesn't feel right. It feels like more bullshit. "So we're… what, we're going to get married ASAP? So she's there?"
He nods.
"How are you going to plan a wedding that fast?"
"I could have a wedding planned tomorrow if I wanted." His voice gets low. "Money can buy just about anything you want."
"It can't buy me." Not my core. Not my love. Not my will. If I'm doing this, it's because I believe it's the right thing to do.
Something in him changes. He nods. All steely and determined. "You've already signed a contract."
"And you've already said you want me. Just me."
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