Page 57 of The Match Faker

“How do you want to relax?” He’s quiet, yet his voice still echoes in this pristine marble bathroom as he watches me through the mirror.

I should not let this man, the fake Nick, the wrong Nick, touch me. I should ask him for a mug of warm water and lemon. Get my phone. Call Jade. But if I spoke those words aloud, each one would be a lie.

I hate to lie.

The mirror gives the illusion of distance between us when I say, “You could get me off. If you wanted.”

Nick is a blanket of heat against my bare back, his T-shirt the kind of soft that girlfriends steal and never give back after breakups.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Yes,” I say, my voice breathy. My pulse hums in my throat and wrists, between my legs.

Nick’s jaw is tight, a shallow V forming between his eyes as he brushes his knuckles down my front, over a peaked nipple. He splays his hand over my belly.

“If it’s not working,” he says into the back of my neck. “Tell me to stop.”

I shake my head. “It will work.”

It already is. My blood pumps warm and loose through me. I’m using him, that’s what this is. Using him, like he’s using me, like I used him first. I’m prepared for him to be mechanical about it. Nick makes a joke out of everything; there’s no way he’ll interpret this for more than it is, more than it needs to be. Nick kisses me, his lips velvet soft on my neck. His mouth open on the side of my throat. A shock of lust and surprise moves down my spine.

“Is this okay?” he asks into my skin.

Eyes closed, I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. The moan that escapes me could only be described as wanton. In any other situation, my desperation would be embarrassing.

He doesn’t move until I swallow through my next breath.

“Yes,” I say, chest heaving, already struggling to take in air. “You’re okay.”

He ghosts his fingers those last few inches, then presses softly over my bathing suit against my pussy. There’s nothing rote or mechanical about Nick’s hands on my body.

He’s gentle, passionate.

He slips his other hand between my arm and hip, brushing his fingers over my breast. In the gentlest of rhythms, he presses between my legs. Leaves the lightest kisses along my shoulder. He plays me like a finely tuned instrument; he could make me sing. With one leg, he urges me to spread mine, his leg hair tickling my skin. We look obscene in the mirror. His head bent over my shoulder, his dark hair a mess. His hand moving slowly between my legs. I never want to forget this image.

“Can I?” he asks, slowly slipping his fingers beneath the wide strap over my breast, his other hand hooking into the hip of my bathing suit.

“Yes,” I whisper, attention locked on our reflection as he slips the rest of the way under my suit. The fabric of the suit stretches over his hands as his warmth soaks into me. I guide his mouth against my skin as I tilt my head to one side to give him access to more.

I moan as he pushes two fingers into me. I flush with embarrassment at how wet I am.

“Shhhhh,” he whispers, sending goose bumps along my skin. “You tensed up. What just happened?”

I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut. The knot tightens in my stomach.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He kisses me between words, drags his fingers up and down the lips between my legs. “Warm and so fucking wet and soft. You surprised me with this velvet soft pussy. But I should know by now, shouldn’t I? You’re always going to surprise me.”

He slips his fingers inside me again and I gasp his name.

“Perfect,” he praises, smiling against my cheek. “You like when I say that don’t you? You’re perfect now, Jasmine, and you’ll be perfect when you come all over my hand.”

My knees hit the cabinet beneath the counter. His words alone might be enough to send me hurtling over that cliff. Nick takes his time, moving his fingers in slow circles against me, until I chase his touch with my hips, until the heat in my core hurts and I have to press my lips together to keep from begging him.

I get by on quick glances of us; that’s all I can take. But Nick stares at where his hands move over and inside me, his eyes shot black, his cheeks pink. He presses hard into the curve of my ass. I whimper desperate sounds against the rough stubble on his cheek. Try to squeeze my legs closed around him, but his legs on either side of mine keep them apart. I pull at his hair, grip his wrist where his hand disappears between my legs. Anything to pull him closer to me as the pleasure becomes too much.

My orgasm spills like oil down my back, a trickle at first then faster, stronger, more, until I’m coming with a gentle moan against his ear.

“Nick?” his mother calls from the bedroom door as my orgasm melts through me.

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