Page 68 of Faking It with the Firefighter

I smiled. “Good.”

Rexhuffed, and a condom appeared in his hands. He shucked off his pants and tore off the shirt I’d unbuttoned, and then he was above me, sheathed and hard and beautiful. I reached between us to touch him, squeezing the base of his shaft as a sharp breath blew through his lips.

“This changes things, Abigail,” he said. “You and me. This isn’t fake. Not for me.”

One last, desperate dart of panic went through me. Would Rex hurt me the way my ex-husband had? Would he get sick of me, decide I wasn’t good enough? Would he try to change me because he suddenly decided I was too much work? I wasn’t subservient enough? I wasn’t good enough? I wasn’t quiet or tidy or perfect enough?

Then Rex’s eyes softened, and he touched my cheek with his hand. “Let me in, beautiful,” he whispered.

He didn’t mean physically.

The panic evaporated. I softened beneath him, wound my arms around his neck, and took him inside my body. At the first stretch of his entrance, a shudder went through my body. I sank my fingernails into his shoulders and caught his lips with mine. He entered me slowly, moaning into my mouth, destroying any hope I’d had of keeping one shred of my heart to myself.

And I let him in. I smiled against his kiss and held him tight, arching my back to welcome his intrusion. I reached down to pull him tighter to me, wanting more. More of him. More stretch. More pressure. More weight. More Rex.

One broad palm landed beside my head. Rex exhaled sharply, then snapped his hips back and forward again. Hard.

I cried out, pleasure shattering through me.

“Sorry,” he panted. “Didn’t mean to?—”

“Again,” I begged.

His eyes shot to mine. A short, sharp breath—and he thrust inside me once more. Then it was a frenzy. We moved in tandem, limbs and hands and teeth and tongues. I wanted him deeper.

“Slow down, Abigail,” he panted. “I want this to last.”

“The second time can last,” I said, levering my hips so he’d flip onto his back. I landed above him, catching myself with my palms against his chest, and let out a laugh. “Right now, I need you deep and hard and mean, Rex.”

Surprise and lust flashed across his face, and then his hands clamped over my waist and he thrust his hips upward from beneath me. I gasped—and he did it again. And again. And again.

“I’m supposed”—I fought to catch my breath—“I’m supposed to be setting the pace in this position.”

Rex just laughed. “You said deep and hard and mean, Abigail,” he reminded me, his voice low and rough.

Then I was flipped onto my stomach, and Rex was hauling my hips up. My hands twisted into the sheets as I felt his hand between my legs, giving me a quick caress before his cock was at my entrance once more. This position made him feel bigger and deeper and?—

“Oh!” I cried, burying my face in my pillows to hide the tears leaking from my eyes. It was pleasure and ecstasy and joy all wrapped up in one. It was the feel of his hands stroking me so tenderly while his hips drove deeper and deeper inside me. It was the soft murmur of his voice as he told me how beautiful I looked and how long he’d been waiting to feel this.

I came with a shudder, crying his name. He urgedme on, reaching around my hip to roll my clit between his fingers, and my orgasm went on and on and on. Then I felt him stiffen, and his movements became jagged and rough.

Smiling against the bed as Rex came, I turned my head to try to catch my breath. My muscles were jelly. My lungs were burning. Every inch of me felt wrung out and sated.

I tumbled onto my side and Rex lay down beside me. I threw my arm over his chest, and he picked it up to press a kiss to my wrist. We panted in silence on crumpled, sweaty sheets, and when my brain started working again, I realized Rex had been right.

It did change things, and it wasn’t fake for me either. Gulping, I glanced over at the man beside me. He turned his head, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I’m discovering that I’m actually a fan of blackmail,” I told him.

He laughed, curling his body around mine. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, voice a low rumble next to my ear.

There were reasons not to get ahead of myself. The past had taught me that men lied, and they demanded more than they gave. Ultimately, they left. But in that moment, wrapped up in Rex’s embrace, I forgot all of that and let myself imagine a world where a man as good as Rex actually chose me for his own.

And in the end, he was right about another thing: the second time did last longer.

TWENTY-TWO

REX

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