Page 38 of Bossy Fake Fiancé

“You don’t really want that, do you?” he asks, not slowing down for a second.

And I shake my head because he’s right. I want him to keep curling those fingers, I want him to keep up the pressure because I’m shattering apart. My orgasm nearly tears me into pieces as I scream, and he groans even though he’s still hard and ready to go. But he loves watching me fly high.

It’s his turn next and he’s sliding into me before I’ve even blinked sight back into my eyes. My chest arcs off the bed.

“So good,” he murmurs, raining kisses down on my breasts.

I hum in agreement, my voice stolen from me as he rocks slowly back and forth. I’m lost in the sensation, the addiction of his thrusts as he drags and rubs against every good spot in my walls. Good doesn’t even describe it. It’s euphoric.

Sparks are tingling in my extremities, and I wrap a leg around his waist, silently begging for more. And boy, does he give it. Speed, power, he amps it all up until the bed frame hits against the wall and my jaw drops. Groans roll out of me, I feel them so deep they make my toes curl.

“Not gonna last,” he hisses.

Neither am I. I’m already tightening up with the orgasm clawing at my spine. It’s so perfect today. My husband comes with a shout just seconds before me, biting down viciously on a spot on my shoulder, something he often does. The pain drops me off the cliff and I rock against him to milk the contractions for all their worth.

After a few moments of catching our breath, Adrian rolls off to the side and tucks me against him. I realize he hasn’t even removed his pants completely.

“Guess you have to change your suit anyway,” I say breathlessly.

He laughs. “I told you not to worry.”

This is my life now. Full of joy, color, work, and laughter. It’s pure happiness, brought about by this man who had originally been so rude to me. I thank Russell in my head again for recommending me for the job I never wanted. I think he could see what neither Adrian nor I could at the time, that we were what the other person needed. Perhaps it’s time I wrote to him, especially since I wasn’t completely able to articulate my feelings at the wedding. Perhaps it’s time to tell my mentor all about the troubles and love he brought me with a simple suggestion.

The End

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