Page 21 of Story Of My Heart

Please say yes.

The word ‘practiced’ hangs in the air, heavier than I intend. What am I doing? The mere thought of pretending with Piper stirs a confusing mix of excitement and dread inside me. Each beat of my heart pounds with the fear of not just rejection, but of exposing too much, of giving her—or anyone—a glimpse behind the walls I’ve meticulously built. How do I navigate this, when every instinct tells me to retreat to safety, yet every glance at her tempts me to venture into uncharted emotional depths? It’s a precarious dance on a razor’s edge, balancing between what I need to do and what I’m terrified to feel. I’m tired of being harassed by Fallon for my lack of a personal life every time I communicate with her. And pretending Piper’s my girlfriend—while a bit risky—will mean I get to spend alone time with her, acting like she belongs to me. My heart warms just thinking about it.

The stitch between her brows deepens, tempting me to touch it. I want to ask what she’s thinking that put it there. Even more, I want to ask what she’s thinking about me.

“Like kissing?” At least she doesn’t sound turned off by the idea. I halfway expected to take another elbow to the ribs. In fact, she sounds kind of intrigued, if I’m hearing things correctly.

“Yeah. I mean Fallon is going to expect it if she thinks you’re my girlfriend.” My voice is thick with emotion I don’t recognize. “So kissing and… more?”

A weighty silence falls between us, stretching across time and space, the tension in the air so thick it’s starting to crush my chest. I open my eyes tentatively, bracing for the sting of her disgust or indignation. Instead, her face is clouded with thought, as if she’s having a debate wholly within herself and I’m not even in the room. After a moment, she removes her glasses, carefully folding them and setting them on the nightstand, before turning to face me. Her cheeks are ruddy, her pupils blown, and she keeps pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that’s making my heart beat unevenly.

I lean closer, drawn in toward her by some kind of magnetic force outside of my control. I feel like a moon trapped in her orbit. “So, what do you think?”

“Um… I guess that would make things more believable.” Never breaking eye contact, she brings her lips against mine, hard, snaking a hand into the back of my hair. There’s a fierceness to it, as if someone is keeping score and Piper is playing to win. Pulling back from me, I’m dismayed to find that I bob forward at the loss of contact, moaning softly, my heart threatening to explode out of my chest. Not the macho image I was going for.

I want this. I want her.

“I’ve never failed at anything in my life,” she insists with a smile, dragging her thumb across my lip. “I’m willing to practice as many hours as you need to make this work.”

I stare at her, not quite believing it. After a moment’s pause, her expression softens, and she places her hand gently on my arm, grounding me. “But Tate, we need ground rules. First, nothing about this changes anything at work. This... arrangement doesn’t put my job at risk, and it doesn’t grant me any favors. We’re professionals, first and foremost.”

I throw up a hand like I’m taking an oath. “No emotions involved. Friends with benefits just for the time we’re here.”

She searches my face for understanding, her eyes earnest. “Yes. And second,” she continues, voice dropping to a near whisper, “no matter what happens here, it doesn’t change our relationship. We go back to how things were once this is over, okay? No awkwardness, no lingering... whatever this might stir up.”

I nod, the weight of her stipulations pressing down on me, heavier than the air between us. A tangle of relief and something akin to disappointment pulls tight in my chest. She’s right, of course. Setting boundaries is the only way to protect both our hearts in this delicate charade. But as I agree to her terms, I can’t help but wonder if some lines, once crossed, might redraw the map of us entirely.

At her eager expression, my abdominal muscles tighten involuntarily, as if I’ve been shot in the gut by the thought of crossing this formerly uncrossable line. A chill ripples over my skin, and I reach for her wrist, holding her hand in place as I take her thumb into my mouth, gently scraping it with my teeth before sucking at it. She hums happily, pleasure fluttering across her face, and it’s better than any sugar high I’ve ever felt. I release her thumb from my mouth with a pop, and start kissing my way along her palm and wrist, until I meet the sleeve of her sweater.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I groan. “I can’t get any work done with all of these obstructions.”

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Piper teases, leaning back on the bed. Her entire body looks like an invitation, and I RSVP immediately, reaching for the bottom of her sweater and pulling it over her head. It leaves her tank top pulled slightly upward, revealing the warm skin of her stomach, and I can’t help but run my hand over the exposed flesh.

“Your hands are so cold,” she gasps, giggling slightly.

“Well then, I’ll just have to find somewhere to warm them up.” I make a show of rolling up my sleeves, before reaching for the fly of her jeans, peeling them over her hips and down her thighs and then discarding them somewhere on the floor. She’s somehow even more beautiful here than she was in the shower, probably because she isn’t staring at me in annoyance and snapping at me to get lost. Ever practical, she’s wearing a pair of simple nude cotton panties, and it turns me on more than all of the lingerie-clad models and clout chasers that have fallen into my bed. It feels real. Placing my palm along the fabric, I put pressure against her sex, and feel my stomach swoop when she involuntarily angles toward my hand.

“Don’t you dare warm them up like that,” she snaps playfully, hips rolling as I make small circles against her with my hand. I can feel a slight wet spot through the fabric, and it makes my mouth water.

“Look at us.” Pushing the material to the side, I stroke a finger along her folds, delighting in the little noises she makes at the contact. “Already bickering like an old married couple. I think we’re getting the hang of things.”

Before she can protest, I press against her opening, sliding my index finger inside. The warmth is indescribable. I slip another finger alongside the first, and her mouth falls open, relaxing with a groan. The panties are proving entirely too restricting, and I take my hand away for just a moment so I can remove them.

“Oh,” she whines. “Are you done already? Surely you need more practice than that.”

“You have so little faith in me.” I slide my hand back into position, settling into a gentle, consistent rhythm. Seeing her like this, relaxed and vulnerable for me, is making my head spin. I want to do everything at once, making it impossible to decide. Then, I realize that I don’t have to. Piper makes all of my decisions for me. That’s what she’s good at.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” I murmur, kissing my way along her thigh, continuing my strokes. “I want to make you feel good. I want to get everything as perfect as I can. For you.” I worry that my request is too much, and that she’ll get shy on me. She dispels that notion instantly.

“Angle your fingers upward. Curve them. And use your mouth,” she rushes out confidently, as if she’s critiquing my coding and not my sexual performance. Swallowing a moan, she continues. “Please.”

My ego steps aside, and I mimic the motion she described with my fingers, nearly fainting with excitement when she hooks a leg over my shoulder, letting her toes curl against my back. Lowering my face between her legs, I run my tongue experimentally against her clit, making several short upward short movements. I’m not use to going down on women—I’ve never really had to—but this is Piper. My Piper. And I can’t believe how much I want to taste her. Experience everything possible with her. Most of all, I welcome her guidance because nothing pleases me more than pleasing her.

It’s working, I think, but not entirely. The women that usually bed me don’t expect much of me. It’s embarrassing, but I tend to just lay there and let things happen because they demand it, then they demand presents. I haven’t not tried to pleasure my hookups before, but I’ve never cared too much about how it goes.

Until now. I’m not even thinking about myself. I don’t come until she does.

Drawing back, I look up at her. Her chest is heaving, but she seems lost in thought. “What do you need me to do?”

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