Pretend You're Mine

by Crystal Kaswell

  With my next thrust, I come.

  My cock pulses as I fill her.

  I thrust through my orgasm, spilling every drop.

  Pleasure overtakes me. Every molecule of my body feels good. Every molecule of my body is tuned to her.

  Relaxation washes over me. But I’m not finished. No matter how spent I am.

  I slide my hand between her legs. Rub her clit with my index finger.

  “Mmm. Ryan.” She reaches back. Her palm plants on my ass. Her nails dig into my skin.

  “Say it again.”

  She groans my name a little louder.

  I find the spot where she needs me and I rub her harder.

  Her eyelids press together.

  Her teeth sink into her lip.

  A few more brushes of my hand and she’s there.

  I rub her through her orgasm, reveling in the way she groans my name as she comes.

  Reveling in the way her breath hitches and her nails sink into my skin.

  When she’s spent, she collapses.

  I wrap my arms around her, carry her to the bed, lay her down.

  She looks up at me with a dreamy smile. Pats the spot next to her.

  This time I climb in next to her.

  I lose myself in her arms.

  Chapter 37

  Leighton

  Our night is easy. After dinner and work and a perfect 90s romantic comedy, we crawl into my bed. Fall asleep pressed a tangled mess of limbs and breath.

  I wake before him. Dress in my workout gear. Put on sunscreen.

  Even with my sunglasses, it’s bright outside. I walk the path to the sidewalk.

  When my foot hits the pavement, I pick up my pace. I run the two miles to the beach, take in the sight of the deep blue ocean rolling into the soft sand, turn, run back.

  Heat rises. Sweat drips from my pores. My hair sticks to my cheeks and forehead.

  Clarity eludes me.

  I’m buzzing with endorphins when I get back to my apartment.

  It’s enough to convince me this is okay.

  He freaked out about his ex while I was naked on his bed. I can deal with that.

  He didn’t even freak out. He asked to change locations. It’s a completely reasonable request. Even if it’s been a year. Even if there’s no way to convince myself it means he isn’t over her.

  All right.

  It’s not okay.

  But I’ll get to it being okay. Somehow.

  I unlock the door. Step inside. The ocean breeze blows between the windows. But that does nothing to cool me down.

  Ryan is sitting at my dining table in his glasses.

  Only his glasses.

  Mmm.

  My worries fade. I forget I’m leaving the shop. I forget he’s something with his ex. I forget he isn’t all mine.

  He smiles. “We’re both off today.”

  “Are we?” I ask.

  He nods. “How do you feel about being fucked so thoroughly you can’t walk straight?”

  My cheeks flush. “I can live with that.”

  “I need a better yes than that, baby.”

  “Yes, please.”

  His lips press into a wicked smile. “Come here.”

  “I’m a sweaty mess.”

  “I like it.” He motions come here again.

  I do.

  And he makes good on his word.

  For three days, everything is perfect.

  Ryan and I laugh at work. We spend our evenings running together then designing side by side—covers for me, tattoo mock-ups for him. We fall asleep watching movies on his couch.

  We sleep in his bed.

  I barely think about how Penny used to sleep in it.

  I barely think about our Thursday morning flight to Hawaii.

  Or her Sunday at sunset ceremony.

  Until we pack and drive to the airport and get through LAX’s typical hellish security line.

  And it’s the only thing on my mind.

  The Hawaiian Airlines logo might as well say Penny still owns his heart.

  First class is amazing. Plush leather seats. Plenty of leg room. The quiet that comes only with people who are too rich to bother with small talk.

  Ryan leans back in his seat. Intertwines his fingers with mine.

  I squeeze his hand. “How much did this cost?”

  “Less than you’d think.”

  I shake my head. “Rich people talk.”

  His laugh lights up his piercing blue eyes. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”

  “I have to readjust my mental image of you if you’re rich.”

  “Why? I’m still me.”

  “Your parents have that huge house in Beverly Hills.” I lean to the left—I have the window seat—until I’m pressed against the arm rest. I want to forget all the ugly thoughts in my head—it’s only two days until Penny’s rehearsal dinner, until I might lose him. I want to be lost in the moment with him. “That’s already one strike against you.”

  “Most women consider wealth an upside.”

  “Most guys want lap dances from busy strippers.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Most doesn’t matter.”

  He nods true.

  “How much do you make?”

  His wavy hair falls in front of his eyes as he shakes his head. “Not going there.”

  “Guesstimate it for me.”

  “What about not going there makes you think I will?”

  “The look in your eyes.”

  “I’m thinking about you in a bikini.”

  My lips curl into a smile. “Yeah?”

  “No.” His fingertips brush my wrist. He draws those same lazy circles. “I’m thinking about making you come under.” He nods to the blanket tucked into the seatback pocket.

  My cheeks flush. My body begs me to call his bluff. But I can’t.

  There’s no way I can stay quiet.

  There’s no way I can relax enough to feel it.

  That awful scene—Ryan standing up as Penny walks down the aisle, shooting her that it’s me look, and whisking her into the sunset—is still playing in my head.

  Those are nerves.

  There’s no way that’s happening.

  There’s no way I’m letting my fear of losing him keep me from paradise.

  “What are you thinking?” He draws a heart on my forearm.

  I love you. I need you to tell me you love me. I’m not sure I can do this if I don’t know you love me. “Nothing important.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Is it that much?”

  He arches a brow.

  “Your salary.”

  “Don’t have a salary. I make a quarter what the shop makes.”

  “I know what the shop makes.”

  “I know.”

  “That is a lot.”

  He laughs. “I guess arguing won’t help my case. My parents don’t think they’re rich either.”

  “Business degree paid off.”

  “They’ll be proud.”

  “Are they?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” His eyes fix on mine. “Your mom?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she follows me on Instagram. But then what would she be proud of?”

  “You mostly post your hair and makeup.”

  “And boobs.”

  “Do you get creepy messages?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh baby, come to my place. I’m not like those boys you’ve been with. I know how to handle a real woman.” I drop the put-on voice. “I assume that’s something about how I’m old. Or curvy. Or both.” I drift back into my creepy-PMer impression. “I’m gonna come on those gorgeous tits.”

  “Not bad.”

  I shoot him my best side-eye.

  He laughs. “Just saying. Guy’s got game.”

  “Why do I care that he’s gonna come?”

  “Where’s your generosity?”

  “Oh my God. Don’t even—”

  “What if I pinned
you to that chair and whispered—” He leans over the arm rest. Plants his hands on my shoulders. Brings his lips to my ear. “On your knees, baby. I’m gonna come on those gorgeous tits.”

  Uh…

  His chuckle flows into my ears.

  “I, uh… that’s different.”

  “How?”

  “It’s you.”

  The flight attendant stops in front of us. Clears her throat. “Seatbelts on, please.” She points to the fasten seatbelt sign.

  Ryan flashes her a million-dollar smile.

  She blushes, but shakes it off. Walks away with a mmm, if only he was single sigh.

  “She wants to fuck you,” I say.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “I like confident Ryan.”

  “I’ve never doubted my fuckability.”

  “Even when you lost all that weight?”

  He laughs, but there’s a sadness to it. “You got something against skinny guys?”

  “No. But… you’re…”

  “You wouldn’t have fucked me twenty pounds lighter?”

  “No. I just… You know what women are like. We don’t want to feel bigger than a guy.”

  “Shallow.”

  “Look at you.”

  “Look at me?”

  “You’re dating me.”

  He laughs. “You’re actually admitting your gorgeous?”

  “No. That my tits are amazing.”

  “That idiot on Instagram wasn’t enough to convince you?”

  I shake my head.

  He leans in to brush his lips against my neck. “All of you is amazing, Leigh.” He nips at my skin. Moves higher. Higher. Higher. His lips close around my earlobe. “I am gonna come on your tits.”

  “Here?”

  “No. In the hotel.”

  “Oh.”

  “Unless that’s a problem.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good.” He shifts into his seat just in time for the beverage tray to reach our row.

  The flight attendant smiles at Ryan. “Anything to drink?”

  “Water.” He looks to me. “You?”

  “Vodka.”

  He shoots me some serious side-eye. “It’s noon.”

  “So?”

  He shrugs fine. “Your body.”

  I turn to the flight attendant. “And water.” Yes, he has a point about my tendency to drink my feelings. And about how I probably should be stricter about avoiding that, what with my genetic predisposition to alcoholism.

  But it’s still my body.

  The flight attendant hands my drinks over first.

  Ryan pulls down his tray table. Arranges everything then hands over my water.

  The flight attendant moves onto the next row.

  “Would you?” I ask.

  “Would I what?”

  I motion to her.

  “If I don’t want lap dances from strippers, you really think I want a one-night stand with a stranger?”

  “It sounds so reasonable when you explain it.”

  “It is reasonable.”

  “So you say.” I wrap my fingers around my water. Take a long sip. “We have all day today.”

  He nods.

  “And tomorrow.”

  “Most of Saturday. Until the rehearsal dinner.”

  My stomach twists. Reality is ugly. It’s much better hanging out in some fantasy world where Ryan and I are going to Hawaii to celebrate how much we enjoy fucking each other.

  “We can skip it.”

  I shake my head.

  “We can skip the fucking wedding if you want.”

  “No.” I can handle it. In theory. “Your parents will be there.”

  “So?”

  “They hate me already.”

  He brings his plastic cup to his lips. Takes a long sip of his ice water. “They’ll love you.”

  “You sure?”

  “When they see how happy you make me, yeah.”

  My lips curl into a smile. “You really think that?”

  “Of course.” He downs the last drop from his cup. Pops an ice cube in his mouth and sucks hard. It muffles his words. “You’re my silver lining, Leigh.”

  I stare into his piercing blue eyes.

  I want to believe him.

  I really, really want to believe him.

  My water fails to wash away my worries. The vodka is right there, all shiny and clear and inhibition erasing.

  I can’t think about this.

  Not anymore.

  But I’m not going to drink it away.

  I don’t need that.

  I need to stop drowning my feelings.

  I reach for the first distraction I can find. “I’ve been thinking about a date.”

  His eyes fix on mine.

  “For my last day. Officially.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah.” I take another long sip. Swallow hard. The water is freezing against my lips, tongue, throat. It cools me down. Brings me back to reality. “The end of September. I know that’s almost two months away, but—”

  “That’s so fucking soon.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course.” He rest his palm on my cheek. Runs his thumb over my temple. “Seeing you is the best part of my day.”

  “More than doing tattoos?”

  “Yeah.”

  Warmth spreads through my chest. “But that’s your favorite thing in the world.”

  He shakes his head. “Making you come is my favorite thing in the world.”

  “That’s cheesy.”

  “I don’t care. It’s true.” He holds up the mini bottle of vodka and unscrews the cap. Booze spills over melting ice. “To you soaring.” He raises his glass.

  Does this count as drowning my feelings? I don’t know. It’s a celebration. And it’s only half a shot. “If this is a toast, both of us should have a drink.”

  “Fair.” He motions to my cup. Give it to me.

  I take my last sip of water and hand it over.

  He pours half the drink into my cup and hands it back.

  His eyes fix on mine as he raises his glass. “To you.”

  I bite my lip. “I can’t toast to me.”

  “Too bad.” He taps his glass against mine then brings the cup to his lips.

  I take a long sip. It’s good vodka. Crisp. Clear. Smooth. I swallow it in three gulps.

  Ryan follows suit. “You’ve gotta be careful getting me drunk.”

  “Oh?”

  “I might do something stupid.”

  Like admit you’re still in love with her? “Like what?”

  “Try to fuck you in that bathroom.”

  My nose scrunches in distaste.

  “Baby, that hurts.”

  “Not in a bathroom.”

  “Right here.” He motions to the blanket again.

  “When we get in.”

  “You sure you can wait that long?”

  Hell no. I offer him a coy smile anyway.

  He laughs. “That’s bullshit.”

  “Maybe.” I drop my cup on his tray. Slink into my seat and rest my head on his shoulder.

  He runs his fingers through my hair. “I tell you how proud of you I am?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “I’m being obnoxious, huh?”

  “No. It’s sweet.” My eyelids press together. Being with him, doing nothing, feels so right. Why can’t it always be this easy? “But I’m terrified.”

  “That’s normal.”

  “I hate that I won’t see you every day.”

  “You can.”

  “Every single day?”

  “Of course.”

  “You move fast for a guy who isn’t over his ex.”

  “Leigh.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Frustration drips into his voice. “No. I don’t. You’re my favorite person in the world.” He leans down. Presses his lips to my forehead. “When
I think about losing you… it makes me sick. It steals my oxygen. I need you, Leigh.”

  I love you. Tell me you love me. Please. I need to know. I need to feel it.

  The words climb into my throat.

  But I swallow them down.

  I can’t say that yet.

  Not until this is over.

  Not until I’m sure he’s really mine.

  Chapter 38

  Leighton

  A winding pool wraps around a lush garden.

  Behind it, the sun casts a sparkly glow over the azure ocean.

  The guy at the counter smiles as he takes Ryan’s credit card and presents us with orchid leis. Actual orchid leis made out of actual flowers.

  Ryan’s smile widens as he picks up a lei and hangs it around my neck.

  I do the same to him.

  He slides his arm around my waist. Laughs at the attendant’s joke.

  His fingers curl around the set of keys.

  Mine curl around my giant pink suitcase’s handle.

  Ryan presses his palm against my lower back to lead me through the hotel lobby, past the cafe that smells of coffee, the gift shop overflowing with sarongs, the wide courtyard glowing in the sun.

  The elevators are to the right.

  Shiny silver doors pull apart. Three kids in swimsuits run onto the concrete. A middle-aged dad chases after them. He’s wearing a wedding ring. He’s happy.

  I step inside the elevator. Lean against the mirrored wall.

  Ryan follows.

  The doors slide together.

  The rest of the world disappears as his lips meet mine. He sucks on my bottom lip. Soft. Then harder. Then he’s scraping his teeth against my flesh.

  He shifts his hips to pin me to the wall.

  My fingers curl into his t-shirt. I tug at the cotton. Pull him closer. Kiss him deeper.

  Yes. I need this. I need his love and affection pouring into me. He can’t say it. But I can feel it.

  When he kisses me like this, I can feel it.

  He keeps me pinned to the wall as his tongue slips into my mouth.

  I groan against his lips. Bring my other hand to his hair to hold his head against mine.

  He kisses me until the elevator dings.

  The doors pull open.

  Ryan releases me.

  My knees knock together. I nearly crumble onto the floor. I need him so badly. I need this—the two of us, in our own world—so badly.

  I need to believe in that.

  In him being mine.