Page 31 of Forever Fake

Rage simmers in my gut. Someone touched her, hurt her, and ghost or not, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. The one who hurt her may be dead, but there could be others. I’ll find out. It’s my new personal mission.

I’ve been so focused on her, that I quickly tired of toying with the man who hired me to fuck with Roman’s shipping empire. Last night I ended that game by draining his account. Then I sent a quick text to Roman so he can deal with the man himself. Which he will do, thoroughly. No one messes with Roman De Luca’s business and lives.

Now I’m free to focus on Gin. That beautiful young woman has far too many secrets. I can’t wait to unearth them one by one. She’s a puzzle that I’m determined to solve.

Friday night, I decide to forego my dark web surfing, any messages can wait a day, in favor of going to bed with Gin for a change. I’ve been thinking a lot about her, and us, this week. If the man who hurt her is dead, there’s nothing I can do to hurt him. But I can still help her. At least I think I can. I’m willing to try.

I’ve seen trauma, and PTSD, in others many times before. If I can help her…heal… that might be beneficial for both of us. She’s going to be my wife—fake wife—and I want to touch her in the most intimate ways while she’s sober, not a drop of alcohol to cloud her mind. More importantly, I want her to want to be touchedbyme. Only me. In fact, I want her begging for it.

So tonight, we’re going to try some things. Ease her into what I can only assume will be new experiences for her. Which begs the question about her reputation. If she panics when a man touches her through her clothing, how in the hell has she slept with half of Manhattan’s bachelors? I’m confused.

Either she made it all up–probably to piss off her parents–or as a shield against society, to keep herself safe. That’s some twisted logic, but I won’t judge her for it. I’m sure she has her reasons.

Or she only fucks when she’s drunk, too trashed to let her past haunt her, to let her demons claim her mind. But that’s…

My gut wrenches at that thought. I scowl, imagining all those boys taking advantage of her when she’s inebriated and clearly not in her right state of mind. She’d never let them touch her otherwise.

Either way, I’m going to help her, and ruin her for any other man. I’ll break down her defenses until her ghosts vanish and she’s begging for my touch.

Armed with these new insights, I find her curled up in bed watching a cooking show on her phone. I guess her blossoming friendship with Kyla, my cook, isn’t a bunch of bullshit. Gin’s genuinely interested in the culinary arts. How unexpected.

However, the pillow blockade is alive and well. Doesn’t she realize how she busts through that thing every night in her sleep and ends up snuggled at my side, her limbs tangled with mine?

When I stop at the foot of the bed, she eyes me, then sets her phone on the nightstand. “Are you coming to bed early tonight?”

“You could say that.” I shrug out of my suit jacket then loosen my tie, my gaze roaming over her appreciatively. “Come here, I want to kiss you.”

She visibly swallows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. After last time?—”

“I don’t want to kiss your lips.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns in confusion. “W-where do you want to kiss me?”

My gaze drops to the apex of her thighs. “I want to taste you there.”

Gin’s face flames a bright tomato red, and she sits up, her back to the headboard. But she doesn’t appear frightened, merely alarmed at my blatant desire.

I continue, “Has anyone ever tasted your pussy before? Don’t lie to me, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. Raw possessiveness courses through my veins and I can’t wait to get my hands andmouth on her, but I have to take this slow. I don’t want to scare her away.

“Do you think you’d like that?” I ask. “Or would it cause you to panic?”

Her lips twist as she thinks about her answer before giving it. “I-I think that might be okay.”

I try to suppress my wolfish grin and fail miserably. I’m going to eat my little magpie tonight until she’s screaming my name.

“Come here. Slide to the end of the bed and remove your panties.” My tone’s a soft command, and like a good girl, she does as she’s told. Her satin nightgown drapes over her curves, riding up as she slides to the edge of the bed, showing me how she’s not wearing any panties. I swear I start to fucking salivate.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Her tone’s so soft it’s barely above a whisper. My heart pinches at seeing the more vulnerable side of this sassy woman.

“It’s just pleasure, baby girl.” I drop to my knees. “Now lie back and enjoy yourself. If it’s too much, just say so. Use your words.”

She bobs her head and settles back on the bed. Her lips parted, pupils blown wide, she watches me as I grip her hips and drag her butt to the edge. The kiss I plant on her inner thigh sends a shiver through her body. Her skin erupts with tiny goosebumps.

I kiss and lick my way toward her bare, pink pussy. She tastes like sugar, so damn sweet, and I grunt my approval. At my urging, she drops her knees, spreading her legs wide to give me better access. I lick from the bottom of her slit to the top, and she jumps.

Holding her hips in place, I circle her clit with my tongue, reveling in her sweet, earthy taste. I knew she’d taste fucking divine. She’s a little demon in the body of an angel.

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