Page 13 of Fake Hearts and Kisses

See what, Blake?There is no rewriting history. You’re a fucking criminal. Everything about you is bad for her. Your entirebeingis nothing she wants in a man. No amount of justifying or manipulating will change that. It’s best to walk away, just as we agreed, and move on. No more going to the cafe so you can watch her sip her coffee and write in her notebooks. No more looking at her social media accounts. No more obsessing over a woman you can’t have.

“Not as much as I’d like,” she says, making me remember I had asked her a question. “I’d love to live someplace like this. Away from everything.”

“It’s my dream to own a house by the ocean,” I say.

“Why don’t you?” she asks. “Your business is remote, right? You can live anywhere.”

The truth almost escapes my lips, but I catch myself. Something about her makes me want to confess everything. Like when I spilled the truth about following her to the coffeehouse. Lying to her feels awful. She’s so good and pure and I’m staining her whenever I open my mouth. But I’d stain her worse if she knew the truth.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the right time,” I say. We walk in silence the rest of the way.

Inside the cabin, one of the staff has lit the fire, and it burns in a low smolder in the hearth. Daisy mumbles something and disappears into the bathroom. I move the screen aside and stoke it, adding a log. I sit in the overstuffed chair, watching the flames lick up the log, wondering how I’m going to get through tomorrow. Her family isn’t as awful as she says, but she is a bit of an outcast. The little time I spent with them, it’s obvious they are close. The bathroom door opens and Daisy walks out, her hair in a towel, a white robe wrapped around her.

She looks at the fire, then at me, then at the bedroom door. Before I can tell her she can sit with me and talk for a bit, another huge yawn breaks out and she covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, Daisy,” I say.

She hesitates, wants to say more, but walks to the bedroom, closing the door. The woman cannot seem to make a decision. Daisy’s let me kiss her, and not just polite pecks. She’s kissed me just as deeply as I kissed her. I almost had my hands inside her pants. She had said yes. Then it was like someone had flipped a switch.

My cock hardens again. I tug at my pants, trying to readjust myself once again. I can’t keep walking around like some crazed sex maniac, getting hard every time she looks at me. It’s been months since I’ve fucked anyone. When I was released, there was one uneventful evening with a woman I picked up in a bar. I haven’t bothered since. But it’s like Daisy’s made up of something entirely different from other women. Something in her drives me completely wild.

I tug again at my dick as images of Daisy flood my mind. Her smile, the way her mouth tastes, the softness of her skin. I rub the front of my jeans harder, stopping at the tip of my cock and squeezing it through the fabric. A light hiss escapes me as I breathe out. I glance at the bedroom door, then to the bathroom. I could take a quick shower and rub one out.

The bedroom door opens and Daisy steps out. I sit upright, resting my ankle on my knee to hide my erection. She steps forward and I notice she’s wearing a long thin t-shirt thatbarely reaches her thighs. With her hair wet, it’s darker than its usual the honey color, falling in waves around her shoulders. The fire makes her skin look like it’s brushed with yellow light.

Fuck.This isn’t helping.

“This is pretend?” She speaks so quietly it takes a second for her words to register.

“Pretend?” I ask.

“This weekend,” she says, stepping closer. She’s halfway between the bedroom and the chair I’m sitting in. “This weekend is all pretend?”

For a second, I’m unsure of her meaning, but I realize what she’s asking. “This weekend is pretend.”

So much for being honest with her, Blake.Why don’t you lie some more?

“You’re my fake boyfriend, so I can do whatever I want to you?”

Fuck. I’d lie every single lie I could come up with if it means she does what she wants with me. I’ll take anything I can get from her. She steps even closer, so she’s now only a few feet away.

“What is it you’d like to do to me?” I ask, working to keep my voice steady and confident.

Her eyes glide over me, stopping at the bulge in my jeans. It’s hard to hide at this point. When she licks her lips, I suppress a moan.

“I want you in my mouth.” Her voice is husky, full of need. “I want…” her voice trails off, her thighs pressing together.

“You want me to lick your pussy,” I say for her. I grip my cock through my jeans again. Her eyes dart to my hand, so I stroke my length, lowering my leg so she can see what she’s doing to me. She’s so fucking sexy. Innocent and needy, wanting me so badly, she can’t resist coming to me. “Is that what you really want?”

Her eyes move from my hand, up my chest, to my mouth. I’m beginning to think she’s just good at hiding how desperately she wants me, and the last twelve hours have been her resisting what she really wants.

“No strings attached, no feelings, no broken promises?” she asks, barely audible above the noise in my head.

Broken Promises? Broken promises instead of just promises. I want to growl with the rage that bubbles up inside me. She’s been horribly hurt. There wasn’t evidence of a previous relationship when I dug through her accounts. There were random pictures of men with her in different places, butnothing that showed any serious relationship. Maybe she deleted them. Has someone hurt her so terribly that she removed all evidence of their existence from her life? The urge to hold her close overwhelms me, almost making me rise from my seat, but that would just freak her out. She said no emotions. No strings attached. She’s asking me to fuck and leave it at that. So I remain seated and go back to stroking my cock through my jeans.

“If that is what you want,” I tell her. I’ll take her any way I can get her.

She bites her lip. With a slight now, she steps a little closer. Leaning forward, I brush the backs of my fingers to her hand, urging her to move closer. She steps in front of me, looking down at me with hooded eyes. She may still be a little tipsy, but not enough to impair her judgment.

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