Page 126 of The Faking Game

He’s clearly enjoying what we’re doing too.

I focus on the feeling of him pressing against me. He feels big. But what do I know? Our bodies fit well together like this, mine in the curve of his, but what would it be like to practice… all of it?

To take him inside me?

I’ve never wanted it with a real guy the way I do now. Never been curious this way. But now, with him…

I shift a little to glance over my shoulder.

It’s a mistake. West groans and pulls me closer against his body. The hand that’s been relaxed by my stomach flattens against my skin, fitting me neatly against him.

Against his erection.

His breath is hot against the back of my neck, his thumb moving in small circles on my stomach. He’s not asleep. But he’s not quite awake, either.

Heat spreads through me at his touch. What would it be like if his hand moved farther south? Just a little… and his thumb kept rubbing those circles? What would it be like to hear him call me his clever girl? If he told me that I felt so good, was doing so good, while he coaxed my body through orgasms I’ve only given myself?

Just like he did the other week when he kissed me while I used the vibrator.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, and his hips shift forward, grinding his cock against the curve of my ass. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I whisper.

His hand shifts down just an inch. His pinky brushes the waistband of my pajama shorts.

I try to stay perfectly still.

“You smell good.” His voice is rough with sleep. I feel the brush of his lips against my neck, and my breath catches.

His hand stops on my lower stomach. And then he groans, but it’s far less pleased now. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”

The grinding pressure of his erection disappears, and West twists away from me. The warm cradle of his body is gone. I turn onto my back to see him looking up at the ceiling.

“That went well,” I say. “We practiced cuddling. It’s okay. On my end, I mean. That happens.”

He runs a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“And there’s no need to be… I mean, I know it’s usual for men to get hard in the morning. I know it had nothing to do with me.” I’m babbling, and I know it, but I can’t stop.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Nothing to do with you?”

“Yes,” I say. “Which is fine! I mean to say… it’s okay.”

He laughs, voice still a bit rough. It doesn’t sound like a particularly happy sound. He’s still looking up at the ceiling, and I study his profile, the shadow along his jaw that’s grown stronger overnight. “I don’t have expectations,” he says. “But I’m a man, Nora. Of course I’m affected. And it most definitely has everything to do with you.”

“Oh,” I breathe.

He turns to look at me, his eyes unusually light in the soft glow of the morning. “That doesn’t change anything, though. You don’t start thinking about me now. We only do what you want to do.”

“Have you been… I mean… it must be uncomfortable. To be hard. Right?” The cover is down to our waists, and I can’t resist glancing down. “And not get to…?”

He groans again. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You’re curious, and I’ve promised to teach you things.” He turns to look at me. “What do you want to know?”

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