Page 77 of One Week Wingman

I nod. “And then Stefano can disappear back where he came from. In fact, we might need a little change of plans,” I add, remembering the scene with my mom—and all her wedding plans. “How are you at acting like the worst boyfriend in the world?”

“Wait, what?” Sebastian asks, laughing.

“I mean it,” I insist. “My family is so smitten; they’ll want to keep you in the break-up. So if you can say some awful, retro things about how I need to stay in the kitchen… Ooh, and maybe be mean to me, and start a fight in front of them.”

“I’m not saying horrible things to you,” Sebastian says firmly.

“And insult Mom’s cooking,” I continue, “And maybe call me fat?”

“Rox!”

“It’s just to cool them on the idea of us,” I say. “Otherwise, they’ll be devastated when you go.”

And they won’t be the only ones.

I glance over at Sebastian, wondering how he feels about our week together coming to an end. Is he thinking about what could be next for the two of us? Counting down until the charade is over? But he’s just humming along with the radio, with his eyes on the road.

“Sebastian?” I start to ask, and he looks over.

“Fine. If you really, really want me to, I’ll insult your mother’s cooking. But if she wallops me with a frying pan, it’s on you!”

“Thank you,” I say, exhaling. “I appreciate it.”

“How much?” he asks, shooting me a wicked smile. “Because I’m pretty certain I heard your parents say something Bridge Club tonight. Which means, we’ve got the house to ourselves again.”

My pulse kicks, that thrill sparking in my bloodstream just from the way he looks at me.

Two more days, I tell myself. Can’t I just enjoy two more days with the man, before this whole charade comes to an end?

“An empty house, hmm?” I pretend to muse. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity for me to deep-condition my hair, do a face mask, and have an early night.”

Seb reaches across, and rests his hand on my thigh. “Or…” he says, tracing a slow circle through my jeans.

“Or?” I bat my eyes, innocent, even as my blood runs hotter.

“I could do somedeep conditioningof my own.”

I burst out laughing. “If you say anything about a facial—” I warn him, giggling.

Sebastian grins back. “I would never be so crude. But now that you mention it… Do you have a spare? These pores won’t cleanse themselves.”

So we mask,sprawled in front of the TV with a takeout pizza, in sweats and hydrating peels. I would never in a million years have pictured me hanging out with Sebastian Wainwright like this, but it feels completely natural. Easy.

Right.

Just like when he pulls me into his lap and kisses me, hot and slow, making every nerve in my body come to life. Like when he eases down my pajama pants and teases me to the brink of oblivion with his hands, and nimble fingers, and slow, searching tongue.

Like when I straddle him, right there on the couch, and slowly sink down, taking his thick cock all the way inside me.

Natural. Easy. Right.

I could stay like this forever, clutching hold of him, stretched open, feeling impossibly full. But then he moves, thrusting up inside me as he captures my mouth, kissing me as our bodies rock together, the avalanche of sensation spiraling me higher, until I can’t hold back anymore. I come apart, crying out his name, feeling the pleasure slam through me over and over, and the answering shudder of his release.

And I know, there’s no fake breakup in the world that’s going to make this easy.

I’m falling for him, hard. And I don’t want the week to end.

19

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