Page 19 of Faking With Mr. Steele

“What about dinner?” I say as he unlatches my seatbelt.

“Fuck it,” he answers.

I’m so turned on, I can’t think straight, and after a wrangle of removing my tights, I climb into his lap. He moans as he slides in deep, filling me completely. We’re loud and feral. Like wild beasts, unable to get close enough to one another.

He pumps his dick inside me, and it feels too good. I love having sex with this man. This can’t be normal. His hands fondle my breasts, and I lean my head back, eyes closed, and bite my bottom lip.

“Yes, don’t stop,” I say, riding him faster.

He keeps thrusting, and we rock against each other as our moans escalate. “Zoe, do you feel what you do to me?”

I keep grinding, seeking release from his torture. And then his fingers massage my clit, his thumb tracing circles against it, and I can’t hold back.

“I feel you,” he pants out. “Come on me.”

All my built-up angst explodes, and I tug at Graham’s dark hair as he slams into me, hitting that treasure spot that only he’s ever reached. Before my orgasm is done, he sends me into another with his ragged breaths and soft pleas ofhow good it feelsand how he’sso close.

His head falls back against the seat, and I bring my lips to his. “I’m coming,” he groans.

As I hold his gaze, my hands cupping his beautiful face, I want to tell him things. I want to tell him how good he makes me feel. How it’s never been this good before. And how I don’t care about the soap deal. But instead, I kiss him through his orgasm. And when it’s all over, he kisses my fingers. “I like doing that with you.”

“I like the way you do it.” I smile.

He laughs, then is serious once again. “No, I mean I really like it.”

“I really like it too.”

I like it way too much. It’s something I could easily become addicted to and not have the willpower to quit. But, I can’t ignore the fact, he didn’t say he likedme. So, I can’t let multiple orgasms cloud my judgement and twist this into something more. Because that’s all this is—sex. If I tell myself that enough times, maybe it will stay true.

Chapter 9

Graham

“Ishould just trek off into the damn forest, and keep going,” my father grumbles. “We have enough money to buy a tree so why am I chopping one down every year?”

“Because it’s tradition,” I mimic my mother’s words. Every year, we do this, and every year dad complains and then complies.

“Yeah, well, so is turkey, doesn’t mean I’m going out to shoot it.” And then he gets to the real reason he woke me at the crack of dawn when he arrived to hike into the woods for a Christmas tree search. “You’re going to need a prenup if you really plan on marrying this girl.”

Even though our engagement is fake, I’m offended for Zoe. Having her sign a piece of paper essentially expecting it to fail wouldn’t be in the cards, if this were real. I don’t do failure.

“We’re good,” I say, stalking away to scope out trees while he continues to advise me of the dangers of not having an agreement in writing while he surveys our choices of pines.

“Listen,” he says, “I don’t care who you marry. Your mom has her heart set on Trudy because of what she brings to the table.”

“Yeah, well, she can sit at the table with her then. I’ve got what I want.” I don’t want to be at the table, I want to be coming hard in the car because I’m with someone who makes me forget about the table. Zoe has my head all fucked up. Two nights ago, after I took her back here, and kissed her goodnight, I couldn’t sleep. At All. She’s avoided me since that night, and I’m sure she’s compartmentalized all of this into not mixing business with pleasure. And she’s right; I shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. But, it’s too fucking late. Now I’m trying to not mix pleasure withfeelings. I’m not supposed to have feelings. And getting feelings for Zoe is not what I need right now. It’s not what should be happening. But guess what? It kind of is happening. Maybe after we break off this engagement we can go on an actual date.

“Up here, Graham,” my father calls to me. “Found one.”

I trod through snow, over to where he stands, eying a gorgeous Douglas Fir with full branches.

“Ah yeah, it’s perfect.”

We get to work chopping it down and then tie it with rope atop the red sled my father brought along. No one is stirring when we arrive back at the house, and my father and I set the tree up in the living room.

“A real tree,” Zoe exclaims as she comes into the living room. She takes a deep, calming breath, and lets it out slowly. “I’ve alwayswanted one, but my mother always does a fake tree.”

“Oh, there’s nothing fake when it comes to me.” Except our relationship, and that thought stings when my mind goes there.

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