Page 57 of Gilded Fake

“Fuck you,” I say, my voice trembling. But I deserve it after what I did to him that night, the worst thing I’ve ever done. Maybe that’s why he did what he did tonight, to show me that I’m nothing, that I don’t matter to him any more than that night. After all, I would have taken that to my grave, and he drops it casually, in front of an audience too.

“Been there, done that,” he says, smirking at me. “I’m three for three now. Filled every one of your sweet little holes with my cum. There’s not a place on you I haven’t claimed.”

“Get out,” I growl. “Both of you. And don’t come back. Ever.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Maverick says. “I told you I don’t do relationships, and this conversation is reminding me why. Sorry if you got the wrong impression about us.”

“I didn’t,” I say. “I picked you up tonight because I needed a good distraction, and you’re always good for that. But it’s time to face reality.”

“Did we hurt you?” Colt asks, narrowing his eyes as he searches mine for the truth, as if, now that he’s done treating me like a cum dumpster, he suddenly gives a fuck that I’m only pretending I’m fine.

“I gave you something to relax you,” Maverick points out.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I tell him, then turn to Colt. “And you… You’re worse than the Dolces. At least they only hurt me physically.”

“That’s a fucked up thing to say to me,” he says, standing and yanking up his jeans. He’s still dressed, and somehow that makes me feel even cheaper, even more used. He glares down at me as he buckles his belt. “You don’t want me here right now, fine. I’ll go. That’s your choice, and I’ll respect it. But if you think this is over between us too, you’re a long way from facing reality. Because this?” He gestures between us. “This will never be over, Gloria Walton. Never. That’s my choice.”

fourteen

1.5 YEARS AGO

Gloria Walton

Laughing, I raced across the room on tiptoes and leapt onto the bed. Colt scooped me under him in one motion, kissing me with no hesitation, no pretext. We were both here for the orgasms and we both knew it. Five minutes later, I was riding his face like my life depended on it.

When I finished, he flipped me over on the bed and put me on my knees. “That’s it,” he coaxed, easing his pierced cock into my dripping entrance. “You’re fucking perfect. I wish you could watch how good you look taking my cock from the back.”

He pumped into me from behind, slowly at first, and then faster once I’d warmed up. I adjusted my position, pressing my knees together, and he groaned and thrusted harder. “Can you feel how deep I am?” he asked, his breathing labored.

“So deep,” I whispered.

“I want you cum with me,” he said. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

When I did, he rammed deep into me, leaning in until the piercing at the top of his cock was pressed to my rear entrance. He slid a hand under my lower belly and pressed gently. I let go, pressing my face into the pillow dotted with rose petals and crying out as the orgasm took me. Colt grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

“Don’t hide your face,” he growled. “I want to hear those noises. Make them for me, butterfly.”

I obeyed and let out the helpless, embarrassing noises in the quiet room. I felt his cock throb thicker, and his cum spurted into me. He groaned, grinding deeper, our bodies clenched together until it faded. At last, we collapsed on the bed, Colt still on my back, his cock still buried inside me.

“Fuck,” he said. “Why is your pussy so good? I swear I could fuck you all night, but the way I cum with you takes it out of me.”

“I offered snacks last time,” I managed. “You shot me down.”

“Well, we’ve got champagne for sustenance,” he muttered against my shoulder. “But that would require getting up, and I’d rather lie here until I die of starvation than pull out.”

“I’ll bring snacks tomorrow,” I said, smiling into the pillow.

“There’s a tomorrow?”

“There’s always a tomorrow.”

The next night was Thursday, and I knew I should get sleep since we had a game on Friday, but everything else in my life seemed to have faded in importance. Yes, I was a pathetic bitch, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him from the time I woke up, achy and sore between my thighs, to the time school let out. He was on my mind as I dressed in the morning—would he think I looked hot today?—and at lunch when I saw him slip out a side door near the café. I’d never noticed before because I never really noticed him before except when he crossed my path and my position dictated I make a disparaging comment or give him a dirty look, but he didn’t eat in the café with everyone else. Not even at Dixie’s table.

When I passed him in the class we shared, I gave him a haughty look, and he countered with a knowing smirk that made me want to scream at him to stop being so obvious. But maybe he wasn’t being obvious. Maybe he always looked at me that way when I gave him dirty looks. I just wasn’t hiding anything then, so it didn’t seem so blatantly sexual. I slid into my seat a few rows back and to the left, adjusted my skirt, and tried not to feel the tenderness between my thighs from the several rounds we went last night. Colt turned his head and winked at me, and I wanted to fucking strangle him I was so furious.

He grinned and turned back around, and my heart flipped like a fucking fangirl who just got singled out at a Zane Wilder concert. What was wrong with me? I needed to get my head in the game, tell Colt he had to be more discrete than that if he wanted to keep meeting in secret. But all I could think about was that smile, those lips… What they’d done to me last night.

The memory that rose made me press my knees together and duck my head to hide the flush rising in my cheeks. A second later, my phone lit up with a text.

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