Page 46 of Faking It For Real

The thought was barely formed before Ethan closed the distance, his lips finding mine with an urgency that sent electricity down my spine. This wasn't like our previous kisses—the awkward peck at the festival entrance, or even the more convincing performance for Vanessa's benefit. This was something else entirely. Genuine. Hungry. Real.

I responded immediately, forgetting we were in a hallway, forgetting this was fake, forgetting everything except the feel of his mouth on mine and the solid warmth of his body. My hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his damp hair as the kiss deepened.

Someone wolf-whistled nearby, breaking the moment. Ethan slowly lowered me back to the ground, but didn't step away, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

"We should probably..." he started, then cleared his throat. "I mean, the team is heading out to celebrate, but maybe we could—"

"Go somewhere else?" I finished, surprising myself with my boldness.

His smile was answer enough. "There's a quiet spot I know," he said, his voice low. "Nobody will be there now."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as he took my hand. I didn't want to think about what this meant or where it was headed. I didn't want to acknowledge that the lines were blurring beyond recognition. I just wanted this—his warmth, his touch, the intoxicating reality of being wanted by him.

Reality could wait until tomorrow.

He pulled me through the brightly lit corridor, away from the lingering celebration, away from inquiring eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic rhythm driven by the unexpected fierceness of his kiss moments before, and the sheer force of his determination now. His fingers were laced tightly with mine.

He veered sharply, tugging me toward a narrow door marked ‘Maintenance Access’. It clicked open easily, revealing a small, dim space crowded with rolled-up hoses, metal shelving stacked with cleaning supplies, and the faint, musty smell of dust. He pulled me inside, letting the door swing shut with a soft thump that seemed to seal us off from the rest of the world.

In the sudden quiet, broken only by our ragged breathing, the energy shifted. The frantic escape transformed into pure, focused need. He turned, pinning me gently against the cool metal of a shelf unit, his body a solid wall against mine. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating on the ice, were dark, dilated, filled with an intensity directed solely at me.

"Mia," he breathed, the single word a raw sound.

Then his mouth was on mine again. There was no hesitation this time. This was raw, hungry. His kiss was deep, demanding, tongue tangling with mine in a desperate dance. I met his urgency, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing the solid weight of him. One of his hands slid down my back, pressing me harder against the shelving, the metal digging slightly into my skin, while the other tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access. A groan vibrated in his chest, travelling through me, igniting something deep and primal.

We broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads resting together. "Ethan," I whispered, my voice shaky.

"Couldn't wait," he muttered, his breath warm against my cheek. "Not after seeing you wearing the jersey, watching me."

His admission sent a fresh wave of heat through me. It wasn't just adrenaline anymore. It was this connection, the one we’d pretended didn't exist, now sparking like faulty wiring in the dim light. My fingers fumbled with the zipper of the borrowed team jacket I wore over my clothes, needing less barrier between us. He mirrored the action, his hands going to the buttons of his own damp practice jersey, tearing at them with impatience.

"Help me," he urged, his voice rough.

My fingers, suddenly clumsy, worked at the remaining buttons while his hands slid under my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. It fell to the dusty floor with a soft thump. His palms skimmed my sides, finding the hem of my t-shirt beneath. He didn't ask, just bunched the fabric in his fists and pulled it over my head, tossing it aside without looking. The cool air hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps, but the heat radiating from him, the fire in his gaze, banished any chill.

He stared at my bra, a simple cotton thing, his eyes tracing the lines before meeting mine again. Then his mouth claimed mine once more, hotter this time, as his hands worked behind my back, fumbling for the clasp. I arched into him when it gave way, my breasts pressing against the hard muscle of his chest through the thin fabric of his undershirt. He groaned again, pulling back just enough to push the straps down my arms, freeing me.

His gaze dropped, fixed on my bare chest. A thrill shot through me, mixed with a sudden shyness. But his expression wasn't critical. It was pure, unadulterated appreciation. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over my skin before cupping one boob, his thumb stroking across the nipple. I gasped, my back arching further, pressing him against the shelves again. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over the sensitive peak, tongue flicking, suckling gently. My knees nearly buckled. I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging slightly into his skin.

"Ethan, please," I choked out, not even sure what I was asking for, just needing more.

He moved to the other breast, giving it the same devastating attention before straightening up, his eyes blazing. His hands went to the button of my jeans, then the zipper. I held my breath as he slid them down my hips, catching my underwear along the way. They pooled around my ankles, trapping my feet. He didn’t seem to care. His hands slid up my bare thighs, fingers finding the damp curls between them.

He looked down, his gaze tracing the juncture of my legs. My face flushed, but I couldn’t look away from the raw hunger etched on his features. "You're so beautiful, Mia," he whispered, his voice husky. "So wet for me."

Then, shocking me completely, he sank to his knees right there on the dusty concrete floor. He looked up at me, his hands gripping my ass firmly, anchoring me. I gripped the metal shelf behind me, my knuckles turning white.

His hair brushed against my stomach as he leaned in. The first touch of his tongue sent a lightning bolt straight through me. I gasped his name, my head falling back against the cold metal. He explored my pussy with meticulous focus, his tongue tracing, dipping, swirling. It was overwhelming, intimate beyond anything I’d imagined. Soft, involuntary whimpers escaped my lips. I felt the tension coiling low in my belly, tightening, building with every clever flick and gentle suckle. He hummed, a low sound of approval against my clit, his fingers digging slightly into my ass cheeks, tilting me for better access.

"Almost there?" he murmured against my pussy, his breath hot.

I couldn't answer, could only nod frantically, lost in the spiraling pleasure. He seemed to sense it, his rhythm becoming faster, more insistent, pressure focusing on that one tiny nub that held all my nerve endings. It was too much. The world dissolved into pure sensation. A choked cry tore from my throat as my climax ripped through me, sharp, electric, leaving me trembling uncontrollably. My legs shook, and I sagged against the shelves, utterly spent.

He stayed there for a moment longer, lapping gently, soothing the hypersensitive skin before pressing a soft kiss to my pussy. He rose slowly, his eyes dark and searching as he took in my flushed face, my kiss-swollen lips, my dazed expression. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

He didn't speak, just helped me step out of the jeans tangled around my ankles. Then he pulled me into his arms, holding me close against his warm chest, letting me catch my breath. The maintenance alcove suddenly felt like the safest place in the world. Nothing felt fake anymore. Nothing at all.

Chapter 11: Mia

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