Page 89 of The Fake Dating War

It was meant to be a light, testing kiss. A simpleI could want thismessage, because I’m too tongue-tied to put the fire, lust, desire, doubt, and nerves he’s making me feel into words. And because, if this is a game, I don’t want to lose by saying things I can’t take back. But a friendly kiss? Europeans do it all the time.

We’re easy, breezy, casual?—

He grips the back of my head, one-fisted. Both my hands dive into his hair, squeezing hard. There might’ve been a millisecond of lips brushing tenderly against each other, but that is long buried by an avalanche of hunger. Our mouths fight. It feels as if we’re dueling with our tongues, too impatient to take turns. He forces his between my lips first, sweeping it everywhere, claiming the premises. I push back and do the same, swallowing the coarse sound reverberating low in his throat. When he changes the angle, my head swims into a state of euphoria that is sweet, addicting, and somehow—overdue, like a return home after wandering lost for so long. It feels soright.

All I want to do is live inside Coleman. I don’t even care that it’s impossible. The taste of him shoots straight through me, and I want more. Like I’m starved, and he has all I need.

When I whimper, he pulls me closer, as if anything short of being plastered against him is too far. I help by hooking a leg around his waist. That’s not enough for him. He slides his hand under my other thigh and lifts it, so I wrap both legs around him. Then I’m turned and pushed against a wall.

He continues to be bossy, using the palm of his hand to move my head to the side. With no patience at all, he starts running kisses along the side of my neck. I feel my toes curl as he nibbles my skin. It’s punishing and very erotic. If I had any wit left in my head, I’d ask him if he’s ever fucked professionally because this is insane.

While nerve-endings by my neck are having a party, the space between my thighs is begging to join in. It craves friction. I try rolling my hips forward, but Coleman is strong. He’s got me pinned. Of course, realizing that only makes my pussy throb harder.

Finally, I free my hand, and half-blindly attempt to touch myself, but I’m blocked. Something big has risen against my stomach. A quick peek down confirms—yes—against the enormity of his bulge, my hand looks smaller. I try to test the girth, but the lightest touch has Coleman pulling away from my neck.

“Bed,” he snarls. His green eyes are swallowed by pupils. Changing his hold on me, I’m once again, bridal-style, carried in his arms. He doesn’t even struggle with the change. I’m walked over and lowered slowly onto soft sheets. After, Coleman goes and stands at the foot of the mattress. He’s breathing heavily. So am I, and my heart is racing, and I’m also pulling off my socks because they aren’t the sexiest.

Without looking, he reaches and unbuttons the top of his shirt. Then another. Pretty soon his dress shirt is open, barely holding on to the edges of his wide shoulders. My fingers twitch. So many muscles. I need to map each and every one out using my fingers first. Then tongue. Repeat forever.

Trembling, I move to put my hair into a bun because this is Important Work. But I’ve forgotten I have short hair, and I’m so disoriented that I try twice before properly remembering.

He notices, his expression softening. “Do you miss your pins?”

I point to the bathroom. “They haven’t died yet. They’re waiting for their funeral there.”

“Do you… want me to go get a few? We could put them in?”

His genuine offer risks unravelling me. Some wall inside me quakes.

“No,” I stammer. “I’m getting used to this style and feeling it out. And I’ve been told—by some man—that my opinion matters more than what anyone else wants for me, so there’s that.”

“That man sounds like a genius.”

“He smelled—”Amazing.”—and his character was dodgy.”It sneaks under your defenses and then all you think about is him.

“All I’m hearing is how impressed you were by the size of his intelligence.”

I’m so depraved that the wordsizemakes my eyes lower to his crotch. It takes effort to pull my gaze back up. Expecting a smug smirk, I’m surprised by the faint color in his cheeks. He’s blushing?

A quiet tension pulls long, taunt, and delicately between us. If no one moves, we might stay frozen like this for the rest of the night. Nothing has to move forward or backward. It can remain on this beautiful precipice because the fall around us otherwise is so steep. He feels it, too. He is gulping along with me.

Suddenly his hand is in his hair. “We don’t have to do this—we can slow down—or wait?—”

“I know.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes. “It’s going to change it all.”

Yes.

My mouth opens and out spills a terrible Old English accent. “Ye scoundrel, thy maiden isn’t a virgin, so thou’st cock ain’t going to change me whole self.”

His shoulder shakes. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m in pain.” His chuckle turns into a gasp. “I want you so much, it’s killing me. I’m barely keeping myself together and trying to be a fucking gentleman here.”

It’s his fault I don’t want that. If he sucked at kissing me, or, really, if the softest friction of our bodiesbarelytouching didn’t grow this need inside me, making it more and more unbearable every time, I’d be content. But I’m not content. I want Coleman to do ungentlemanly acts with me. I want us to drown in it.

“And if you weren’t being so noble?” I whisper.

“Then I’d order you to take that little tease of an outfit off.” There’s a harsh edge to his voice.

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