The Proposal (Faking It Book 1)

by Lila Kane

  Her fingernails scratch my back, sliding up and down and driving me crazy.

  “Brianna,” I breathe. “I need to see you. All of you.”

  She scoots forward as if to get off the counter, but I only catch her legs around my waist and make sure she’d holding on tight before I lift her and turn from the kitchen.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, her breath tickling my ear.

  I fight a shiver. “Upstairs.”

  “I haven’t even seen the rest of the house yet,” she says with a laugh.

  “We’ll have time for that later. Right now, I want to bury myself in you.”

  Her thighs clench around me and she kisses my cheek, my jaw, and everywhere else besides my mouth as I carry her upstairs and to the closest bedroom.

  21

  Michael carries me like I weigh no more than a feather. It’s hard not to stare at everything we pass—this house is spectacular—but fortunately he goes to the closest room and brings me to the bed. Outside the window, I see mountains and trees, and the whole thing is so romantic, I just want to toss my arms around Michael and thank him for bringing me here. And then I want to show him how much it means to me with my hands. And my mouth.

  He lowers me to the bed and doesn’t waste any time pulling off my pants so I’m only in my underwear.

  “It’s almost a shame to have to take this off,” he says, eyes wandering over the lace of my bra, and then down to my panties, which are equally lacy and skimpy.

  “We can save this for another time if you’d prefer,” I joke.

  “Not funny. I want you right now.”

  He yanks off his boxers and joins me on the bed to remove my bra and panties. Before he can lean over me, I nudge him back on the pillows. His cock is thick, and I haven’t had the chance to get my mouth on it. It curves up to his abdomen, long and already moistened at the end, waiting.

  I crawl between his thighs, brushing his hands aside when he reaches for me.

  “Patience,” I murmur.

  “Brianna.” His voice is strained. “It’s—God—”

  His words are choked as I wrap my mouth around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue over the tip, listening to his groans, and then slide my lips as far down as I can go. He’s so long, he hits the back of my throat, and I still haven’t completely sheathed him.

  “Brianna—” he chokes out.

  His hands clench on the comforter, and a thrill of pleasure races through me. Chet never seemed impressed with anything I did to take care of him. But with Michael, it seems like he loves everything I do. Like he can hardly stand it because I pleasure him so well.

  It makes me want to do more.

  I slide my mouth up and down, completely wetting his shaft and making his body tighten even more. His dick jerks inside my mouth, so I grip it with my hand at the base so I can pump there at the same time I use my lips.

  Michael’s body tenses again and he grabs my arms. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

  I keep doing it, wanting to feel him come because of my actions, but his fingers tighten.

  “No, Brianna.” He meets my eyes. “I want to be inside of you when I come.”

  I sit up. He pulls me close, mouth locking on mine as he maneuvers me so I’m lying back on the bed. My whole body tingles when I feel him hovering over me.

  His abs are rock hard, his dick brushing my leg and driving me crazy, and all I want is to feel his hands all over me. I want to feel him inside of me, pumping and pumping until neither of us are coherent.

  “Michael,” I say, practically begging. “Please.”

  He kisses down my jaw, then presses his mouth to my collarbone and slides his tongue all the way down to one breast. I arch my back, pressing my hips up to his, trying to get him to slide inside of me.

  When he tongues my nipple, swirling it around until it’s a tight bud, I moan and grab his mouth to bring it back to mine.

  And just when our lips touch, he presses my legs further apart with his knee, and slides into me. We both release a slow breath at the same time because it feels so good.

  “You’re on fire,” he murmurs.

  He feels the same inside of me. Hot, smooth, so thick it stretches me wider and wider, drawing more and more pleasure from me.

  “Yes.” I pump my hips against his, trying to get him to go deeper. “I can feel you so far inside of me.”

  When our bodies are completely joined, Michael kisses me again slowly. Lingeringly. And then he starts to slide in and out. He picks up speed until his sack is slapping against my damp flesh and our hearts are racing out of control.

  “Keep going,” I say, on the brink of losing it. “Keep going.”

  He switches his rhythm, so his dick is hitting another part inside of me, a sensitive place that feels so good every time he moves.

  “God, Brianna, I can’t—”

  “Then don’t,” I say, panting. “I want to feel you come.”

  But he doesn’t let go until he’s pumped hard into me and I shoot over the edge, the orgasm slamming through me with so much force my back comes up off the bed. Michael follows behind me, his body jerking against mine as he pours into me.

  His arms come around me, and then he’s clutching me to his chest as the world shakes around us. It’s a long time before my body stops tingling, before Michael’s arms relax and we both go limp on the bed.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, breath tickling my cheek. “You’re so tight. You feel so good.”

  I squeeze my thighs around him and he hisses out a breath when I nearly make him come again. “I can’t—not yet.”

  I chuckle softly. Michael pulls out of me and we both stretch next to each other on the bed.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, rubbing his hand on my arm.

  “Better. A lot better than I felt earlier this week.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “How about you?”

  He turns to me and props his head on his hand. “I feel good. Like I should be doing this more often. With you.”

  “Do you get to take much time off of work for things like this?”

  “Time off?” He laughs. “No.”

  “Ever?”

  He sighs. “What for? I like to be at work, I like to be in the middle making sure things run smoothly. I haven’t really had a reason to be away. Until now.”

  The words hit me right in the heart. He’d taken time away from work, something he rarely ever did, for me.

  “You’ve had a girlfriend before though, right?” I ask, averting my eyes. “Someone you’ve wanted to spend time with?”

  Michael brushes his thumb on my cheek, making my eyes come up again. “Lots of questions.”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Me too.”

  My stomach clenches. I don’t want to talk about me. I don’t have good things to say about my past or who I’ve been with or where I’ve come from. I want to talk about him and know more, find out who he is.

  “I guess it’s a little easier on my end,” I say. “I can just look you up. I’m sure I can find out all about your old girlfriends or ex-fiancées through the news. You got to see mine up close and personal.”

  Michael frowns. “I don’t want you to find out about all those things through an article. They’re not…who I really am. Or was. Just like learning about you through Chet isn’t real either.”

  Something else crosses his features that I can’t make out.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing. Should we shower? I can give you a tour.”

  I cover my disappointment with a smile. “Sure.”

  He’s probably thinking more clearly than I am. It makes sense to settle in here first before we get to the serious topics—if we do at all. Maybe it makes sense to avoid them altogether. I know we both said we were going to start over and give this a shot, but we probably weren’t talking about the same thing.

  I was talking about a relationship with him. A r
eal relationship within the arrangement. He probably thought I meant another chance at the fake relationship—and it’s probably smarter. Getting feelings involved changes the game completely.

  We both get up from the bed and I watch Michael as he moves in a leisurely stretch. I’ve never seen a finer specimen. He’s strong and toned but still capable of being gentle. And something tells me his heart is just as gentle. And strong.

  If only he’d open up to me.

  When I head to the bathroom, Michael snags my hand. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to need some help in there.”

  I grin up at him, trying to forget my worries. “I’m pretty sure you’re right.”

  As we start the water and step into the shower together, I vow to set aside my thoughts and worries and simply enjoy the weekend with someone who wants to be with me.

  22

  Instead of feeling like I learn more and more about Brianna every day, she becomes more and more of a mystery every day. I want to learn about her and it seems she only wants to ask questions about me and my past.

  After we shower and I bring in the rest of the luggage, I leave Brianna upstairs to finish getting ready, and wander downstairs in a pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt. I’m going to have to open up more if I want things to progress with her, but I’m going to need her to open up with me, too, and I’m not sure we’re on the same page.

  I grab a bottle of wine from the cellar and open it in the kitchen. While I let it breathe, I dig into the freezer and find a nice salmon filet I can grill for dinner. I thought about going into town, but that’ll just distract me from Brianna, or her from me, and that’s the last thing I want right now.

  When I hear her footsteps on the stairs, I pour her a glass of wine and head in that direction. Instead of finding her going to the kitchen, I find her in the living room, staring out the large windows at the mountains and the valley. The trees slope down, the tips of them glowing in the sunlight, and the sky is darkening into a cerulean blue.

  “This is where I want to live when I grow up,” she jokes.

  I pass her the glass of wine and join her at the window. “Really? You’ve already decided even though you’ve only been here a day? You haven’t even seen the rest of the town yet.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve always wanted to live in the mountains. As long as I have the internet, I can set up anywhere.” She glances over, then flushes. “Sorry. Just wishful thinking. I don’t even have a career yet.”

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” I say to her.

  She sips her wine before answering. “Do what?”

  “Apologize for saying things like that. For wishful thinking. For dreaming. And definitely don’t belittle what you’ve started. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “I’m kind of far along in my life for new beginnings—at least career-wise.”

  “You’re never too far along in life. I think that’s a good goal,” I say. “To get your business going. You have time, and you have help.”

  She bites her lip, clearly not in agreement. Part of me wants to shake her and say, “Just tell me what you’re thinking!” but there has to be a better way to get her to open up. To get her to trust me.

  “You want to eat out on the deck? It’s a perfect evening for it,” I say.

  She glances to the deck, eyes turning wistful again. Slightly unlocking that part of her I’m longing to know. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

  We cook together, me at the grill and her putting together a salad and some rice. A simple meal, but it feels bigger than it is. More important. Because we did it together. Like a real couple.

  My mom would die if she saw this. So would my sister. Going on a date with someone means a casual interest. Cooking together is a whole other story.

  At least that what they’d think.

  And they’d be right. Cooking, vacationing at a family spot, buying personal gifts for each other…those are all things I’ve never done before with my other girlfriends.

  These are intimate things, ways in which my parents bond with each other. And now I am.

  With Brianna.

  We bring dinner and the wine to the back deck and sit at the table, candles flickering in the middle. Instead of sitting across from her, I sit on Brianna’s right, allowing her a view of the mountains and trees.

  “You’re spending more time looking than eating,” I comment.

  She glances over, cheeks flushing, and automatically lifts her fork. “Sorry.”

  The words strike something in me, a flicker of irritation that quickly morphs into concern. I’ve heard and seen her apologize for things that aren’t her fault before, but didn’t think much of it.

  Now…I’m beginning to suspect there’s more of a reason.

  “Tell me about your family,” I suggest, taking a roundabout approach.

  She flashes an easy smile. “They’re not like yours at all.”

  I nod, encouraging her to continue.

  “Your sister invited me to go shopping with her,” she says instead. “Like we’re best friends. She invited Deb, too.”

  Before she can say anything else, I take her hand. She glances up, surprised.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  I choose my words carefully. My mom and dad are always insisting us kids use “I” and “feel” words to solve personal and relational issues even though I’ve never had a relationship to speak of. I never thought it would benefit me until now.

  I hold Brianna’s gaze. “I feel like…you’re avoiding talking about some things with me.”

  Her eyes dash away, looking at the scenery again. When she looks back, her smile has returned, but I can tell it’s forced. “It’s not intentional. You know, we all have our ghosts.” She winces like she hadn’t meant to say what she had. She waves off the comment. “I’m not trying to avoid…I just figure there are things we don’t want to talk about, right?”

  No, I want to talk about everything. Shit. Everything except for one thing. One thing I never, ever thought would be an issue. But that—that isn’t something I need to bring up.

  She picks up her fork again. “It doesn’t really affect what’s going on with us.”

  “Doesn’t it?” I ask softly.

  She shrugs.

  I guess that depends on what this is. I lean back in my seat, stuffing down my frustration to try to get to the bottom of this.

  “If this is an arrangement—just a show, part of our contract,” I say, “then you’re right. Our history doesn’t affect what’s going on with us.”

  Brianna’s eyes flash with something I can’t define. Fear. Hurt. She takes a long swallow of her wine and then stands and walks to the rail.

  Part of me is pissed off at myself for ruining dinner, and the other part figures it’s about time we have this conversation. We’re a month into this thing and there’s something between us. Not just a flicker or a small spark of interest. It’s a big thing. A truckload of interest that has me reeling because it’s something I’ve never felt before.

  I walk to the rail and stand next to Brianna. In the waning light of the evening, I glance over, trying to see her face. When I catch sight of a single tear sliding down her cheek, my heart clutches.

  “Brianna,” I say, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”

  She sets aside her wine glass and tries to wipe away her tears. “I’m sorry. It’s—”

  “Stop apologizing.” I gentle my voice. “Please. Just talk to me.”

  She sniffles, and then wraps her arms around my neck, hanging on tight. All I can do is be her rock until she’s ready to talk—and this is the first time I’ve wanted to.

  I want to be here for Brianna, and I want her to trust me.

  23

  I don’t want to break down in front of Michael. And really, I’ve shed enough tears over my family and my situation with them, there’s not much left to cry about. It’s also not worth the energy anymore. But I do need to tell him.

  I dri
nk the rest of my wine, and Michael grabs the bottle to fill my glass again.

  “Thanks,” I say, grateful. If I’m going to tell him my secrets, I’m going to need a little liquid encouragement.

  “I don’t really talk about my family with anyone.”

  Michael takes my hand and guides me to a lounge chair at the side of the deck, still giving me a view of the mountains. Instead of sitting on the chair next to me, he sits on the end and sets his hand on my leg.

  Support. Even Chet hadn’t been the this supportive when I told him about my family or my worries or anything else. He’d usually just shrug and say the past is the past.

  “There are a lot of things I don’t talk about with other people, too,” Michael says. “I keep things close—which kills my family. My mom and my sister especially because they love to share.”

  I smile. “That sounds nice.”

  “It can be. A blessing and a curse. It makes me feel like I don’t fit sometimes.”

  I clasp my hand over his. “You’re lucky to have a family, though. I guess…that’s why I was so devastated when everything happened with Chet.” Michael’s jaw clenches at the mention of my ex-fiancé, and I clamp my mouth shut.

  I take a long swallow of wine and point to the table. “I can clean this up.”

  “Not yet,” he murmurs. “You’re opening up to me—don’t stop now.”

  When I open my mouth, trying to think of an excuse to get up, he leans in and kisses me. With my wine in hand, I scoot forward just slightly so I can reach him better. And so I can lose myself, even if just for a moment, in him.

  Michael brushes his fingers down my cheek, and the tenderness there nearly breaks me. My eyes fill with tears again.

  When he leans back, I drop my chin. “I haven’t seen my parents in ten years.”

  Michael’s eyebrows furrow. Of course that’s strange for him to hear—he sees his family almost every week.

  “My dad—my biological father—died when I was twelve. My mom remarried less than two years later to—to Lewis. He…” I shake my head, trying to block out the emotions. But my fingers still clench dangerously tight on the stem of the wine glass. “He was verbally and physically abusive and when I turned seventeen, I gave my mom an ultimatum. I told her either she leaves him or I’m leaving forever.” I swallow down heartache. “She chose him.”