Page 29 of Forever Fake

“My stuff doesn’t have anywhere else to go.” I fold my arms. “Your closet’s too small to hold my clothes and there’s nowhere to put anything in your bathroom either. If you’d let me move into a guest room?—”

“That’s never happening, so drop it.” Finally satisfied with the state of his living room, he turns to me. “You need to keep my house tidy. It should look like this at the end of the day.”

“Yourhouse? Don’t you meanourhouse? You’re the one who moved me in here.”

All of my joy over the past few days dissipates. Why’s he being such a grouch?

Blake steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “Just remember, in the grand scheme of things, this is temporary. You’ll be out of here in a year.”

Ouch. Heat blazes behind my eyes. So in other words, I’m not welcome here. Thisisn’tmy home, just a temporary lodging.

“I’ll remember that.” Turning on my heel, I head for the front door.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

“Out.”

“Gin,” he uses that warning tone, which I ignore.

“It’s none of your business.”

He catches up to me at the door and grabs my arm, spinning me toward him. My body collides with his chest. “It is my business.” His blue gaze searches my features. “I swear, if you’re fucking someone?—”

“I’m not fucking anyone! Give it a rest. I know the terms of our agreement and I’m not going to risk going to prison for a bit of dick on the side. How stupid do you think I am?”

He leans toward me, then his lips are crushing mine. My startled inhale gives him full access to my mouth and his tongue sweeps in, tangling with mine. He licks and sucks and devours me with ruthless passion. The sensory overload renders me motionless.

I’ve never been kissed like this. Men have tongue-fucked my mouth and drooled all over me, but they’ve neverkissedme like Blake. This kiss is possessive, claiming, passionate—almost desperate, but for what I don’t know.

His arm loops around my waist, holding me to him, and my hands find the warm skin of his neck. Then, surprising myself, I kiss him back.

The heat between us turns into a raging inferno. We’ve caught fire and we’re blissfully burning alive in each other’s arms. The intensity nearly bowls me over.

Blake’s hold on my arm loosens as he skims down my waist, my hip, my thigh, until his thumb finds my clit. I jolt at the new sensation. Moaning, I press into him and he circles my bundle of nerves with more vigor. His touch becomes rougher, more demanding of my body.

Then I smell it—the stench of stale cigar smoke and body odor.Hishands on my skin, trapping me beneath his heavy body.Hisvoice in my ear, “That’s right, come for Uncle Lorenzo before I fuck your tight little-girl cunt.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and push away from Blake. “No! Get away from me!” The foyer spins around me, and I stumble, catching myself on the entry table. My heart pounds in my ears. My vision blurs and I realize it’s because of the tears in my eyes. I blink them away and focus on calming my nerves.

Why is that horrible memory springing up now?

Blake keeps his distance, a deep frown etched on his face as he watches me hyperventilate. Without a word, he turns and walks away, leaving me here to deal with my own shit.

Fair enough, I know I’m a mess, no matter how hard I try to hide it. But for some reason his abandonment still… hurts.

A few seconds later, he returns with a cold glass of water. “Drink this. Slow your breathing. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” He demonstrates, filling his lungs, then exhales slowly through his parted lips. “Do it with me.”

He came back.For me.

I hold the water glass in my shaking hands, and follow his lead. Gradually, my breathing and heart rate calm down enough that I can sip the icy liquid. I swallow down the glass’s contents, and place it on the table.

“Come with me.” He extends his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it, his palm warm and dry—strong, and he leads me upstairs to our bedroom. There, he sits me on the edge of the bed, disappears into the bathroom and comes back witha cool, damp washcloth. He dabs the cloth against my flushed cheeks and neck.

Closing my heavy eyelids, I relax into his touch. My emotions are in such turmoil that I don’t question or resist the way he’s caring for me right now. No one’s ever treated me like this before.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” his tone’s calm, soothing even.

I shake my head, the gesture small, but he understands and doesn’t push me for an explanation.

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