Page 109 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“Don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. Please,” I begged him. “Please.You won’t hurt me. I’ve waited too long for this.”
He held both my hands with one of his and pushed inside me. It was perfect. He was perfect—graceless and needy. Each arch of his back and jerk of his hips drove me higher and higher. I wrapped my legs around him and clung like a sloth. He clenched my hands in his. I was helpless, but I took what I needed. I scraped my cock against his belly with each thrust, dragging it over slick skin and crisp hair while uttering helpless, shocked little noises with each push and pull.
Epic's movements grew frenzied.
He overwhelmed me—amazing, and savage, and solemn all at the same time.
“So gorgeous,” he whispered next to my ear. “Who do you belong to?”
My orgasm built, and I let my head fall back with a cry.
“Say it. Who?”
“You,” I cried out. “Yours. All yours. Oh God. There…Right. Fucking. There.”
“Come for me. I want to see it. Come on my cock, sweetheart.”
I let go and stiffened around him, clenching my legs to hold him tight and gripping his fingers with everything I had.
He milked my orgasm for as long as I could sustain it.
A noise I barely recognized as coming from me seared my throat.
“That’s it, Ryan. That’s it. Give it all to me.” He stiffened and came with little halting jerks of his hips that brought me along for another few spasms of pleasure. “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart.”
My body felt boneless, weary, and energized at the same time.
As he almost always did, he blinked owlishly at me while he pulled out, then dropped the condom over the side of the bed. His eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep.
That wasn’t ever going to get old.
I got up to clean myself in the bath, then took a washcloth into the bedroom so I could undress and clean him. I covered him gently before pulling on a robe.
While he napped, I moved to the armchair to look at the sprawling metropolis that was LA. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt as content—or rather, as content to sit without doing anything. A glance back told me Epic’s power nap was ongoing, and I had nothing I wanted to do.
I didn’t need to check my messages, or look at my computer, or worry about the future or the fate of the world. As I watched Epic sleep, the light outside faded into darkness. Headlights and traffic lights made the erstwhile ugly sprawl glitter like diamonds and rubies, emeralds and citrine.
A rustle behind me signaled my boyfriend was coming back to life. My not-fake, very real boyfriend rose from his sex coma like Dracula from the grave.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking.”
“At what?”
I blinked up at him. “Just stuff.”
“Sorry about that.” He laughed. “That’s my Achilles’ heel. I tend to pass out for a while after orgasm.”
“No kidding. Anyone could sneak up on you and do what they wanted with your person.”
“You’ve got carte blanche. Were you waiting for me to wake up?”
“I guess I got lost in thought.”
“Whatcha thinking?”
