Page 167 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
The door opens, footsteps sound. Someone is coming. Nearer, nearer. No, please, not me. Not this time. I’ll do anything you want. Is there a God? I’ve never prayed before. If I knew how to… I could. I can’t. So all I can say is help me. Someone. Anyone.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too raw. Attempt to breathe, but my lungs spasm. My face hurts. My arms are numb. Can’t feel my fingers. My toes. I am floating… floating… looking down on my hurt broken body. Myself. I am no more.
Click. More. I need more. Click. Click. My fingers fumble with the clasp of my watch. Cold. Metallic. Click. Click. Click. The sound pierces through the noise in my head.
Focus. Focus on it.
The shape of the clasp. Rectangle. The indentation in the center. Like her lips. The crease. Pink. Soft. Beautiful. Click. Click. Click. Click.
"Sinclair."
Her voice. Soft and husky. Her breath catches. She does that when she comes. In my arms. On my dick. On my fingers. All over my tongue. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
"Sin." Her warm fingers encircle my wrist. Her scent fills my senses. Focus on that. On how she leans into me, her breasts thrust up and into my chest. The nipples erect. The pink areolae twitching, yearning for my mouth. My groin hardens. My dick lengthens.
"Sin." She grips my crotch through my pants.
Heat shoots up my spine, the darkness recedes, and I snap open my eyes.
I am back in my office, in the present, with the only person in my life who matters. Her.
"You don’t want to do this." I glare at her.
"But I do." A smile curves those beautiful lips.
"You don’t understand."
"Your watch." She glances down.
I pull my fingers away from the steel clasp.
She leans closer, "That's why you wear this worn out Casio, huh?"
I set my jaw, "If you've figured it out this far, you don't need my help for the rest."
"You play with its clasp as a means of grounding yourself, connecting yourself with the present, right?"
I smirk. "Anyone tell you that you should have been a psychologist instead? I'd use your services. Hell, we'd make full use of your couch. I bet we’d wear it out in a week, tops." I angle my head, "What do you say?"
"I say that you shouldn't change the topic."
"Hmm." I thrust my pelvis forward and into her palm.
She swallows. "Sin. Please." Her tone turns beseeching. It doesn't stop her from gripping the bulge that tents my pants. Good. I widen my stance.
"Love it when you plead with me."
"Can I speak what's on my mind?"
"As long as you keep your hand on my dick, everything is fine."
She scowls. "It's not though."
"Oh?"
"You have an imaginary dog for a companion, Sin, and you have been holding onto a watch from your boyhood days, as a means of connecting you to your sanity. You need to face what happened to you. You need help."
"Not happening." I set my jaw.
