Page 64 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
His head drops forward as he speeds up, rolling and thrusting his cock through the tightened grip of his fingers.
This cannot be real. It cannot be happening.
I should leave. I shouldn't be watching this, invading his privacy like this. But he had no qualms about invading my privacy yesterday, and by this stage, temptation has me by the throat. In any case,my horny brain argues,if he wanted privacy so much, then why is he doing this here, where anyone can see?
Either way, I can't move. There's too much hunger inside me, and my imagination is running wild. It's almost as if I'm watching him deliberately perform for me, and as I watch, I cannot help but imagine that instead of his hand, it's my pussy he's thrusting into.
Or my mouth.
"Oh God."
A small cry escapes my lips before I can catch it. Before I can turn and run, his eyes lift and find mine. He doesn't look shocked, doesn't stop what he's doing. Instead, he smiles—slow and wicked—mischief glinting in his gaze.
That's when it hits me. He planned this. He knew I'd be home soon and set the whole thing up.
Why? Does he want me to do something about it?
Or is this just payback for yesterday?
If it's the latter, it's working. My throat is tight, my pulse wild, and I'm so turned on it's hard to breathe. Watching him stroke his cock with his eyes locked on me makes everything worse.
I can't move. It's embarrassing how easily he's trapped me, how lust scatters my senses and leaves me helpless. Pride insists I should walk away, show him his trick didn't work—but my feet refuse. I'm starving to see more, to experience more.
I want to watch him come—more than I want to breathe.
"Like what you see?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough as thunder.
"What are you doing?" My voice cracks, hoarse and stupid. The question deserves no answer. Why would I ask what's already obvious?
My brain is gone. My wet, needy body has taken control.
My purse slides off my shoulder, my Stanley Cup slips from my hand, clattering somewhere I can't see. Even knowing I should back away, I drift closer instead, drawn by the magnetic pull of him. He strokes himself with deliberate calm, his eyes following every inch of my slow approach, his gaze thick with heat and challenge.
When I'm only inches away, I stop. I want everything. I want to unbutton his shirt, to taste him, to ride him until I forget my name. The sheer number of choices paralyzes me. His expression doesn't help; he's watching me like a test I might fail.
"I don't know what to do next," I whisper.
He smiles. "On your knees."
It's both an order and a request. Defiance stiffens my spine. I should turn and walk out just to prove I can. I should make him wait, make him pay.
But instead, I obey. I sink to my knees before him, my mouth watering at the sight of his hard, slick length. I don't wait for another command. I reach for him—but he catches my wrist midair, stopping me cold.
"You remember we said we can't do this again, right?" His grip is firm, his tone unreadable.
"We did?" I blink up at him. I don't remember that. Honestly, I don't remember anything that matters right now.
He smirks. "Yes. We said no more sex."
I don't think he means it. The way he says it—the way his hand tightens on his cock a heartbeat later—proves otherwise."Fuck," he groans, the sound hitting me like a blow to the gut. My clit throbs; my whole body hums.
"Well, this won't be sex," I say quickly, the words tumbling out. "I'll just touch it a little. Maybe use my tongue a little."Or a lot.
I shift closer, pleading with my eyes and the tremor in my voice. "Don't you want my mouth on you? I'll make it so good for you, I promise."
"God, I love when you beg." His eyes flutter closed, his composure fraying at the edges.
I see it then—the truth behind his calm. He's hanging by a thread. The control he's known for is just smoke and show. Every breath he takes looks like a battle not to give in.
