Page 80 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

This was the iron will he’d glimpsed in the flashes of her eyes. The side of her she kept well hidden, lest anyone think she was anything other than the perfectly responsible, perfectly good Daphne they saw.

But she’d demanded this from him the moment they’d pulled up outside his house. She’d kissed him like she’d craved it. And now she rolled her hips into his touch and panted out his name like the sweetest music he’d ever heard.

Her panties were lace. Again. Dark blue this time, so he could see the contrast of his skin beneath them as he touched her. He watched the movement of his fingers, studied the trembling of her stomach. He wanted to memorize this woman. All her moods, her shape, the sounds she made when she came for him. Calvin wanted to drink in every little detail, every reaction, every sigh, and store it away to examine later. He wanted to know all the ways she came undone. Wanted to be the man who learned every secret she kept locked away.

She felt perfect in his hand. Wet and soft and warm and so fucking perfect he couldn’t think of anything else. He stroked her until she trembled, fingers finding that bud of pleasure that made her pant. She looked so good when she was flushed and needy and desperate.

Sliding his finger inside her, he watched the flutter of her lashes against her cheeks. His cock was hard as stone, the pressure an aching reminder of what this woman did to him. It was impossible to stop the moan from escaping his lips when he felt the soft clasp of her on his finger. Daphne’s lips fell open as he touched her, her chest heaving whenhe pumped his fingers, then moved to circle her clit. The nails were back, then, little points of pain in his shoulders as she clung to him.

“You feel so much better than I imagined,” he rasped, nose tracing her jaw, the shell of her ear. “And I imagined you’d feel like heaven. Can’t wait to get inside you.”

If he could do that without moving from this exact position, he would. But he dropped his gaze to the movement of his hand, dark lace against his hand, soft, soft skin beneath his fingertips—

“Oh!” Daphne cried on an exhale, hips jerking. “Calvin—” Her hands scrambled for his own pants, but he clicked his tongue and slid another finger into her warmth.

“Stop touching me,” he said, curling his fingers until her mouth fell open.

Her eyes were hazy as they met his, the tips of her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. She licked her lips as he touched her, then shifted her gaze to the movement of his hand beneath the navy lace.

Nothing existed except her body, her breath. Time lost all meaning as Calvin’s attention narrowed to the woman sitting beside him. He felt dizzy with the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her. His own need became a feverish thrum inside him, the kind of insistent pressure that felt like it was too much and not enough all at once.

His will was ruled by her soft commands, whispered in the close heat of his car:Like that, don’t stop, softer, harder, yes.

He’d run headlong into hell if she told him to do it with that voice.

And then she let go. Her cry was a sweet surrender. The arch of her back an image Calvin would remember always. He drank in the line of her neck, the harshness of her gusted breaths, the feel of her hands gripped around his biceps, the jerk and roll of her hips as she chased the pleasure of his fingers.

Her eyes were hazy when he finally slid his hand free. He couldn’t resist pressing another kiss to her lips, loving the way she softened at the barest brush of his mouth against hers. Then he was furtively checkingthe windows to make sure they were alone as he haphazardly buttoned his shirt, and once he was sure they hadn’t been seen, he got out of the car and circled around to Daphne’s side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him pick her up. Her cheeks were a soft shade of pink, her eyes the blue of a clear summer sky.

“I can walk now, you know,” she told him as he brought her to the front door, her voice still pleasure-drunk and sultry. “There’s no need to carry me.”

“I know,” he said; then he unlocked the door, picked her up again, and carried her across the threshold.

Chapter 30

Being in Calvin’s arms made Daphne feel drunk in that giddy, effervescent way at the start of a good night. Her fingers trailed over the hair on his nape as he kicked the door closed and carried her down the hall to his bedroom. She’d never been inside it, and even her curiosity about the room couldn’t drag her gaze away from his face.

Giggling as he tossed her on the bed, Daphne watched as he tugged his shirt out of his pants and undid the buttons he’d fastened crookedly before bringing her inside. His hair was a mess, his eyes were dark and full of desire, and his movements had lost their fluidity. He looked impatient as he took in the sight of her on his bed, and Daphne felt powerful and beautiful and precious.

The voice in her head that protested about this course of action had gone silent, locked away in a corner of her mind that wasn’t accessible here. Instead, her own clumsy fingers worked her blouse open, excitement making her fumble over the tiny white buttons. When she’d finally gotten the last one open, she felt Calvin’s fingers curl over her waistband. A breathless laugh slipped through her lips as she lifted her hips to help him shuck off her bottoms, panties and all.

His pants were still on, but her protest died before it could be voiced when he fitted his shoulders between her thighs and brought his mouth to her core. Her hips lifted to meet him, but Calvin’s hands clamped over her hip bones to hold her down for him to devour.

“Calvin,” she gasped, fingers tunneling in his dark hair.

He hummed against her flesh, tongue and lips exploring every inch of her. With any other man, she would’ve been self-conscious. Hell, with her ex-fiancé, she’d never been able to relax enough to orgasm like this. But Daphne was untethered. All the threads of her that kept her safe inside her shell had been snipped, and now she was floating on a current of pleasure.

She came again with a cry, body arching as the sensations splintered through her. Limbs heavy, skin flushed, and eyes at half-mast, she looked at the man framed between her thighs and felt a rush of emotion so strong her lungs suddenly felt too big for her chest. He met her gaze as he kissed the inside of her right thigh, his hands stroking her skin like she was something to be cherished.

They moved as if in a dream. Daphne slipped her arms from her blouse and unclasped her bra under Calvin’s hungry gaze. His hands worked his belt open, and she found herself fascinated by the movement. The tendons moving under his skin. His deft fingers. His broad palms. A quiet, insistent pulse rose in her, a need to have those hands on her body once more.

And when he pushed his pants and underwear to his ankles, the need grew to a feverish ache. His cock jutted out, its tip glistening. Daphne licked her lips.

“I’ve imagined this moment,” Calvin said, voice rough, as he reached into his nightstand for a condom. “I thought I’d have more control than this.”

Daphne huffed. “You seem pretty calm to me.”

The bed dipped as he joined her, calloused palms sliding over her knees to spread them. “I’m not,” he said. “All I can think about is getting inside you. All I want is to feel you come on my cock, Daphne.”

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