Page 60 of Gin and Lava

“I’m sorry, was I not clear?” He kisses me again, and this time my tongue opens his mouth and starts exploring. He meets my assault wickedly, before pulling back to breathe against my mouth. “Fake enough for you?”

“Perfect levels of fakeness,” I agree.

“Okay,” he smiles. “But you’re not allowed to fake the orgasms.”

“What if I already have?”

“Oh, Naomi,” he admonishes. “You scream on my cock way too much to be faking it.”

That’s true. I don’t even know what I’m saying or doing when I’m coming with Mason. I just know it’s addicting.

“Mmmm, hmmm.” Mason teases, knowing I’m thinking about how good it feels with him between my legs. “You want one right now?”

I laugh. “I have to go back to work, and we’re in a public hallway.”

“I can be fast.” He drops his hands to my waist.

“Later,” I say, nipping at his lip. “Plus, we have a story to get straight. And we need to decide who’s in on this charade and who isn’t. We need some clear rules.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“I’ll keep it simple. I promise.”

“Okay,” Mason agrees, squeezing my waist like he doesn’t want to let me go. “Then rule number one is I need my fake girlfriend’s phone number.”

I look at his smug smile and shake my head. He played that way too well. I wasn’t intending on giving Mason my phone number. Primarily because I don’t want him sending me dick pics while I’m at work. Not that actually showing up at my work is a better solution.

But he has a point.

My fake boyfriend does need my number.

18

MASON

This isn’t a thing. I mean, it’s a fake thing. A fake boyfriend thing, but it’s not a problem. It’s exactly the same arrangement as before, but with a fake label on it. Because Naomi and I are just fuck buddies and nothing more.

Simple.

Simple like how good Naomi looks in the active-wear leggings that are hugging her ass like it’s the perfect piece of round fruit.

Do I want to sink my teeth into that peach? Yes, I do.

Are we hiking on a secluded trail where I could live out that fantasy? Not a chance.

We’re hiking Diamond Head … as in Dimond Head Crater … as in tourist hike numero-uno because the volcano overlooks Honolulu and is listed in every trip guide on the planet. We’re bothering to hike at all because Naomi wanted to talk somewhereaway from our friends. But I don’t think she considered the fact that half of Japan, California, and Sweden were going to be privy to our fake arrangement conversation.

But her ass looks good. As does that sheen of sweat between the straps of that sports bra thingy she’s wearing. It’s gota lotof straps, like an I-like-to-be-tied-up-and-spanked amount of straps.

“You got a red room and some kinks you haven’t told me about?” I ask when she stops to catch her breath. Naomi shoots me a confused look, and I pluck the excessive amount of fabric covering her shoulder blades. “You’re going to tell me this is high-fashion, but it screamsI’m ready for Bondage Class 101.”

“Is everything sex, Mason?” Naomi takes a sip from her water bottle.

“You can ask me that question again when you’renotwearing skin-tight spandex,” I defend.

“This is activewear,” she replies with an unamused eyebrow lift.

“If you’re going to let Lululemon spray paint the illusion of clothing on your body, that’s your call. I’m just enjoying the view.”

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