Page 74 of The Pretender

I yip, and then remember the diva requires pure silence while we make bad decisions, and hush. With more athleticism than I gave him credit for, Sebastian navigates the back deck’s steps easily and even manages the door, without so much as jostling me.

The cool air from the house is what I notice first. The second thing I notice is Sebastian bypassing the living room and carrying me down the hall like I’m some value-sized bag of dog food.

Finally, he stops at the bathroom door, hesitating.

“What are we doing?”

For a minute I think he isn’t going to answer me but then, as if he makes up his mind, he backs out of the bathroom and heads to the guest bedroom where he’s staying.

His hand goes to my back as he lays me down on the bed like I weigh nothing. “Don’t move,” he says, pointing at me like I’m one of the rescue dogs I train.

I nod and go against saying anything. I’m curious where all this is going and I don’t want to ruin it by speaking, since he seems to be heavily opposed to it.

After a second of just raking his eyes up and down my body, he nods and then stands and walks out of the room. Finally, I relax and let the muscles I didn’t know I was tensing, relax. Really, what are you doing Valentina Lambros? This is Bash-hole, and yes, we once thought he was a really decent friend with a body that we found incredibly distracting, but it’s all just for a few more weeks. Once this competition is over, Sebastian will take his winnings and disappear. He won’t finish college because he’s always wanted to be in Hollywood. Unlike my parents, his don’t support that dream, and he won’t get their blessing or financial support unless he finishes his degree—one that he loathes.

My point is, this is so temporary that it doesn’t deserve a memory that will haunt me forever. I doubt Sebastian will even think of me or these wars once he gets to LA. He’ll live the life he wants with a new cutie on his arm and money in his pocket and a camera in his face. He won’t wonder how I’m doing with classes or if I figured out how to make a bloody gash using makeup.

“Stop thinking,” he tells me, as if he knows me well enough to know I’m worrying about everything that could go wrong.

“I’m not thinking,” I lie, simply because I don’t want him thinking he’s right. His horn doesn’t need tooting any more than it already does.

The smirk he gives me pops his dimple, and I swear those damn tingles start up again. “Liar.”

I shrug. He’ll never know for sure because I’ll never tell him.

“What are doing with that—”

The rest of my words are cut off when he grabs my ankles and drags me across the sheets so that my legs go around his imposing body.

He tosses something next to me that I don’t bother seeing what it is. Frankly, it could be a spider or a stick of gum and I wouldn’t give a shit. The only thoughts running through my head is how fucking low his pants hang off his hips and if I could push them down the rest of the way with my feet.

Before I can try, though, Sebastian’s big body leans over me and lets his stubbly jaw scratch up the side of my leg that’s laying helplessly at his side. He takes the one he just grazed with his pretty face and places it on one of his broad shoulders and then he repeats the same motion with my other leg.

Dammit.

He’s ruined me. At the very least, he’s set a precedent for all the other fake boyfriends that may follow him. The scruff makes the lady bits purr in compliance. When both of my legs are resting—wobbling—on his shoulders, he licks his lips and reaches between my legs.

My eyes close, and I prepare to smother a moan and terribly smutty thoughts, but his touch never comes. Instead, my eyes flash open, as something cold hits my inner thigh.

I suck in a breath and ignore the stupid smirk on his stupid face. He meant to tease me.

“The sting doesn’t look too bad,” he says through a grin, as he wipes what I now realize is a wet cloth against my welted skin. “I don’t see a stinger either.”

Is he really going to remain calm and collected while my legs are on his shoulders, spread apart for his viewing, while he rubs dangerously close to where I want him to be?

Here’s a hint: Fuck the sting.

At this point, I don’t care if I die of shock or my leg rots off. All I want is for that smartass mouth of his to be smothered in my vajayjay.

Yeah, I said it.

I’m not going to act like I’m some kind of reserved person. My lady bits haven’t seen a man in over a year. And even when they experienced a man for the first time, he did not look like Sebastian or make me want to punch him and then make it better.

No, my first time was with Thomas, a guy from the high school band. He played the trumpet and he acted like the sight of my vagina scared him.

It wasn’t a magical or even much of a memorable night, except for the fact that I realized that I had no idea what all the girls were talking about. The D was not that good.

But feeling Sebastian’s scruff against my sensitive skin, the heat from his kiss searing through the cotton of my panties… I’m willing to bet this is the D that I’ve been missing. I bet Sebastian has never played the trumpet, but I’m willing to bet he’s going to be able to blow my horn.

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