Page 24 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

Holy hotdogs and macaroni. That sounds dangerous and dirty. It sounds distinctly… I pick a marshmallow off the top. It’s coated in butterscotch, peanutty, gooey goodness. My hand shakes as Sterling leans in—in my kitchen and into my space. He’s really here, and I think this is actually real. He dips his head in at a funny angle because I haven’t raised my hand up properly, and then his tongue…oh my sweet marshmallows, histonguehits my fingers first. His lips are next, so warm and soft. The marshmallow is rapidly gone, almost like a magic trick, and then he licks my fingers clean. My hoo-ha thinks that was a great trick. A spectacular trick. The fastest anyone has ever gotten me dripping wet and clenching kind of a trick.

“Delicious.” Sterling’s voice is a low rumble, like a sudden blast of thunder from one of those past gods coming down to claim me.

“I—I know.” I’m melting. I’m melting right here, and this is the end of me and my panties. We’ll never be the same again. “It’s the best dessert—”

“No.”

I’m surprised. He didn’t like it? Who doesn’t like this? There isn’t anyone in the world who wouldn’t like this. “Oh, I beg to differ. It has all the butterscotch—”

“No.”

“And peanut butter.”

“No.”

I frown. “You can’t tell me the marshmallows aren’t the perfect combination.”

“It was delicious.” That deep raspy burr is going to do me in. “But I wasn’t talking about the dessert.”

My knees turn to water, and my panties poof clean off my body. Is reverse nipples a thing? Because mine are so hard that I think they might be heading in a reverse direction. I try to brush my legs together to stop the pounding in my center, but of course, it doesn’t work at all. My face must be a thousand million degrees, like landing on the surface of some great big gassy planet that is…wait, not the sun…and full of the most primal urges that ever existed, and—

Oh god! Oh god, Sterling is right here. He’s bending his face toward mine, and then his lips are on mine, and he’s kissing me. He tastes like man and butterscotch, like marshmallows and peanut butter. And I was wrong. The recipe does have room for improvement because I’ve never tasted it like this before.

He’s all in my space, but my body doesn’t mind one bit. My body has a mind of its own, actually. It angles toward him, craving the heat beneath his clothing. I’m totally sinking into it. But I’m not brave enough to touch him even though he’s kissing me right now. He touches me instead. His hand traces my arm and then settles on my shoulder. Supporting me and keeping me from falling over. It keeps going until his warm fingers splay over the back of my neck.

The kiss becomes something else as soon as he touches me there. His tongue licks along my lips, and I give permission by parting them. However, he still takes his time and traces them before he tastes me. Before he tastes all of me, my lips, my tongue.

Maybe it’s the whole celibate for the past five years thing, or maybe it’s just a good chemical reaction, but I can’t hold back and be passive anymore. My hands come up and grip Sterling’sface. Against my fingertips, his skin is silk in one direction and rougher against the grain. I whimper against his lips, bumping my hips into his. I let him explore me with his lips, his tongue, his hands. One of his hands stays at the back of my neck while the other traces my opposite arm, my hip, and my curves. His fingers leave little trails of dynamite in their wake that slowly start exploding and detonating all over the place, one flame and spark at a time.

I want this. I want more. I want…I want Sterling. My husband. This man who I just met a few days ago, who has merely existed for me as a blacked-out name on a dotted line on a contract that has ruled my life. I’ve wondered and dreamed, disliked and burned, rallied and raged and cried, and dreamed again in turns. Contracted marriages don’t happen in real life, but it happened to me. Dreams also don’t come true very often, and this is the stuff of fluffy romances, but it’s happening to me too.

However, it might be happening a little bit too fast.

It takes all my strength to put a hand on Sterling’s chest and push against it just enough to pull back. My eyes are slightly unfocused, and the whole world feels hazy for a minute, but then it all centers again as blood goes rushing back to my brain.

“Too fast,” he whispers, looking not the least bit offended. He looks… I don’t know. He looks like he’s staring at something precious. In awe. Like he’s just discovered some super rare gem. Maybe he looks like that when he hears a song he loves for the first time.

God, I’d love to be in the room for that. I’d love to have seen his face when he heardmysong for the first time.

“Maybe a little,” I gasp. I don’t know what else to say.

He recovers fast. He’s like a cat, always landing on his feet. “Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?”

That’s what most people would term a real date. I’m not sure where the fear went…the fear about his cousins finding me. Ormaybe he’s decided that if they did, I’m tough enough to fend them off, smart enough to play along, and…or…it could be that’s not it at all. Maybe he’s lost his fear of them because we’ve decided to make this real, so there’s no danger of it being fake anymore. Actually, there’s absolutely still danger, but maybe it’s done something to assuage his fears, and perhaps even a few of the past hurts. It might be wishful thinking, but…

I’m just standing here, and he’s waiting so patiently, and he needs an answer.

“Yes.” My voice is basically all breath and vapor, so I nod too. “Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

Dinner. As in a wear something nice, do up your hair, spritz on some scented oil because I don’t do perfume, and go out into the world with someone else to have a good time and experience it with them kind of dinner. With Sterling. With my husband.

I honestly don’t know what’s scarier. The fact that I have a husband I’m going to have dinner with, or the fact that I get little fluttery butterflies when I think about it, and it doesn’t actually feel that crazy at all.

Chapter twelve

Sterling

Last month or even last week, if someone asked me about the places I might be in, I would have said London for sure for business. Then maybe Paris after that. Part of me always wanted to look up my uncle even though he never had a relationship with any of us—not even his own kids—after he left my aunt. Or maybe it was them who didn’t want to reciprocate. I don’t know if he ever tried contacting them as adults. One day, I’d like to tell him that things worked out. That we’re all doing okay. I’d like to say I hope he is happy even if he did break my aunt’s heart just a little bit, which I guess none of us really know for sure if he did or not because she resolutely refused to give in and tell anyone that she ever missed him. She might not have. She might have enjoyed her freedom. It was so hard to tell with her. When I think about my mom, I imagine she wasn’t like that at all. That she wore her emotions for everyone to see. I imagine it wasn’t hard to make her wildly happy and that she found joy in all the small things most people took for granted.

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