Page 6 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

“No.” His jaw unclenches. “Heard he’s running a private ballet school now. Doing well for himself.”

I only add that last sentence to piss Ken off. If it worked, he doesn’t show it. He merely looks at me, his eyes warm and interested.

I’m almost disappointed. Kali dumping me a year after joining the PBT stung. If I couldn’t use his success to pissKen off and seek gratification in that, then I’m all alone in my misery.

“What areyoudoing now?” he asks. “I’ve never been able to find out much about you, not even online.”

Great. The dreaded “where are you now?” question. The one I’d rather die than answer.

Thankfully, I’ve prepared for such an eventuality.

“Talking to you,” I say, and swing one leg over the other. Ken follows the move closely. My throat dries up as my skirt gives up completely, bunching itself high around my thighs.

My diversion works. Ken doesn’t hold back from staring—andnotin the way a childhood best friend would. His gaze burns a fire in me, moisture pooling between my legs.

And he’s not even touching me.

Fuck.I look around for the bartender, suddenly needing to hold on to something. Another drink, or better, a glass of water. Anything to stop his gaze from searing me like this. To drown the heat of expectancy, waiting for his next move.

Damn it, I want him. My plan aside, I want to be with him.

Tonight.

Ken’s eyes, a shade darker than his brother’s, hold the same knowledge. This isn’t only a meeting of two high school friends who knew each other way back. This is a meeting of a man and a woman who are very certain about what they want from each other. Even at the expense of other things.

A gasp slides out of my throat. For the first time in my life, I stray away from my carefully constructed plan. My lips part, and I relax the hold on my knees so my thighs spill apart.

Ken just looks at me. There are no words spokenbetween us. We don’t need them, anyway. Not when actions are much more meaningful.

He reaches out, his hand finding the inside of my thigh. I shiver at the contact of his rough palm against my skin, but it instantly fills me with burning for more. He obliges, creeping his fingers up, inching higher, his eyes locked on mine in a silent question.

Is this ok, they seem to be asking me.

In response, I let out a moan, and his fingers swipe away my wet panties, pressing into my center. It’s hard to control myself when all I want to do is to slide off the stool and sprawl at his feet. To keep him there, thrusting in and out, till I can’t catch my breath.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, waving the bartender away as the man heads in our direction. I’m barely aware; I can’t even bring myself to summon the shame or self-consciousness I should be feeling. “You’re so fucking wet.” His eyes find mine. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time.”

That means something to him, even now. I can tell. For a second, the pit of anger overflows in my stomach, but then, Ken pushes into me with two fingers, and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to keep him there. Tears of ecstasy start in my eyes.

He lets out a grunt of frustration as he shifts his stool toward me. I can tell that he wants to be as close as possible, and this is not quite cutting it for him. He straightens up, withdrawing his fingers. I literally have to bite my lips from screaming out in protest.

Thankfully, Ken doesn’t make me wait for long.

“Come sit on my lap, Chapman.”

It doesn’t occur to menotto comply. I stand up, my skirt falling back over my crotch as I switch my stool for histhighs. Ken lets out a small groan as I sit on him. My skirt shifts again, my naked thighs rubbing against his jeans. I’m drenching him in my arousal, I know, and something about this makes me feel excited. Wanton.

We’re now shrouded even further in darkness, but I can still see. His friends are at their booth, and by the looks of it, they barely seem to have noticed his departure. I can’t bring myself to focus on them, though. Not when I can now feel Ken under me. His dick feels big, and I start to rub myself against it. I grab my panties and shift them to the side so my naked lips are rubbing against his jeans.

Ken stops my movement by inserting a finger into me again. I collapse against him. His chest is hard, rock solid, taking my weight without a rebound. My nipples bead underneath my shirt as my body grows warmer, every inch craving his touch.

His free hand finds my hips as he moves in and out of me. He sets the pace of my movements, guiding me to rub myself up and down the hard material of his jeans. It feels like raw opium, being here, being touched like this.

“Got to admit,” he murmurs against my ear, causing the hairs on my neck to stand. “This reunion beats any other I’ve had.”

Laughter bubbles up my gut. I didn’t expect to find him funny. But nothing about this feels awkward. In fact, it feels natural, like our bodies have been waiting for this since forever.

And maybe they have. Ten years ago, Ken made me feel things I hadn’t felt with anyone else. I might hate him, but I can admit to at least that.

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