Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  But fuck, I couldn’t help myself.

  Thinking of Norah using that pink vibrator on her pink pussy made my dick rock-hard in my tight-ass jeans. God, how often does she use that thing? Does she watch porn while she does it? Is there someone she thinks about? These are the millions of dirty thoughts that have been racing through my mind after every sip of beer I had tonight.

  And fuck me, why does she think a toy is better than the real thing? Who are the guys she’s fucked who have let her become satisfied with a battery-operated device? They deserve to have the shit kicked out of them and their brains wiped because they clearly didn’t realize the stunning woman they had in bed needed to be worshipped.

  And I would worship Norah.

  I’d worship her so much she’d forget about how busy she is, and how many goals she has to accomplish, and how early she has to get up to open the bakery. Her brain would be ruined by epic orgasm after epic orgasm…as it should be. I’d be willing to use that fucking pink thing on her if that’s what she wanted. It would be better than sex to watch her cheeks go red, watch her squirm and grip the comforter, hear her frustrated noises.

  Goddammit, I’m getting hard all over again.

  I need to chill the fuck out because Norah is probably getting ready to inform me that I’m sleeping on the patio furniture for the shit I said to her earlier tonight. Part of me knows I deserve it, but the other part of me gets off on pushing her. I want to see her fall apart, lose control, feel something beyond stress. It would be a fearsome sight to behold.

  We make our way toward the formal dining room where we hear the girls. When we turn the corner and see everything on the table, I think I’m being fucking punk’d.

  The ornate, traditional, very classy dining room table is covered with erotic sex toys.

  All sorts of crazy looking shit.

  Vibrators like the one in Norah’s bag, anal beads, butt plugs, dildos. Giant dildos that make me grimace. There’s a section of what looks like massagers, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t for your back. There’s a whole display of creams and oils and cock rings and lube and fuck, I don’t even want to know what else.

  Jesus fuck, how long were we gone?

  “The boys are back!” Kate squeals, rushing over to a stunned Miles and throwing herself into his arms. She’s clearly feeling no pain.

  The other girls all find their men, pulling them over to the table and pointing out things they apparently bought tonight because this was a sex-toy party.

  I didn’t know that was a thing.

  Also, what are the fucking odds that Norah and I get in a fight about her vibrator mere hours before she’s thrust into the kinkiest party known to man? I glance around for my fake girlfriend and my heart skips a beat when I see her walking down the hallway from the kitchen toward me.

  I didn’t get to see her before I left.

  If I would have…I probably wouldn’t have left.

  She looks…insanely hot.

  She’s barefoot and wearing a sexy pair of black velvet leggings that hug her sculpted legs beautifully. Her top is a sheer black piece with a plunging neckline that looks like a soft breeze could blow it right off her tits and reveal the equally sexy green bra underneath. Her blond hair is curled and messy around her face.

  She’s clearly been partying with the girls tonight because her makeup is slightly smudged, but that smoky look makes her look even hotter. I am so fucking screwed.

  I continue gawking at her body because fucking hell, she hides all of that all the time and I just…I knew she was hot but I didn’t know she was this hot. I inwardly growl at the view of her creamy cleavage on full display. I’d kill to sink my teeth into her right fucking now.

  Norah’s eyes find mine and light up—the blueness of them intensified by the dark eyeliner I’ve never seen her wear. Her dark lips spread into a wide smile as she rushes over to where I’m stuck onto the floorboards, trying to remember to breathe.

  “You’re back!” she squeals, setting her drink on the table before standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around my neck.

  I shake off my stupor and grip her lower back to crush her to my body, barely resisting the urge to squeeze her supple ass. “I thought we were fighting,” I murmur into her ear and inhale deeply. She smells sweet, like cake and vanilla and distinctly Norah. It’s cock-twitching.

  “Why would we be fighting?” She pulls back and blinks glazed eyes at me.

  My shoulders lift. “Well, you kind of kicked me out of our room earlier.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before the sex-toy party I just attended.” She leans in and whispers in my ear. “I put a minty oil on my pussy and I feel like my entire body is on the verge of an orgasm.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I bark, pulling away to look her in the eyes. “Are you messing with me, Norah?”

  “Dean”—she pins me with a look, her eye-shadowed lids appearing heavy—“would I mess with you?”

  My hands tighten around her waist hopefully. “You don’t really have a sense of humor so I’d say no.”

  “Jerk!” She giggles, shaking my shoulders playfully. “If you don’t believe me, go ahead and sniff between my legs. It smells like Listerine.” She hiccups and then covers her mouth guiltily.

  “Nooo, you’re drunk,” I groan and feel myself dying a little inside.

  “I’m not drunk.” She pulls me in close and cups my jaw, sliding her fingers through my beard as she slurs, “I’m horny and I want to rewrite our rules.”

  “Fuuuuuck,” I growl into my fist and contemplate sleeping outside with the sprinklers.

  This is just my fucking luck. Norah finally admits to wanting to have sex and she’s too wasted to take her up on it. I look down at her, willing her to be sober because I have wanted this moment to happen for longer than I care to admit. I want to make her scream so loud the fucking horses in those stables over a football field away can hear her.

  Her hooded eyes blink up at me.

  She’s drunk.

  I don’t do drunk.

  I never do drunk.

  I exhale the ache in my chest. “Let me take you to bed.”

  Norah thrusts her fist into the air. “It’s about damn time, Moser.”

  I wave good night to everybody and my dick yells at me the entire time I assist a stumbling, drunken Norah to our bedroom. This is going to be the longest goddamn night of my life.

  “Where’s your suitcase?” I ask, steadying Norah as she sways on her feet in the middle of the bedroom.

  “In the bathroom, why?” She hiccups, blinking her heavily mascaraed eyes slowly.

  “Do you think you can find your pajamas?”

  She grimaces. “What for? Won’t they just get in the way of our fake sexing?”

  She wiggles her hips in what I’m certain she thinks is seductive so I press my lips together and try not to laugh at her. Drunken Norah is adorable and relaxed and…I need her to go put some pajamas on and go to bed so she can stop tempting me.

  “First of all…fake sexing is not a thing. Just go change, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” She giggles and turns to make her way into the bathroom.

  I quickly dig into my suitcase for lounge pants and a T-shirt. The less skin exposed, the better for both of us. I grab some extra blankets and pillows out of the closet and make the sofa into a bed for me. I take my glasses off and sit down to wait for her to emerge, slowly reciting the ten golden rules of stock investing to get my mind out of the gutter. Avoid herd mentality, make informed decisions, invest in business you understand—

  My list is interrupted when Norah emerges. The bright bathroom light bathes her in backlight so I can’t totally see what she’s wearing, but whatever it is…is not enough. “Norah, what the fuck are you wearing?” I ask, standing up and jamming a hand through my hair.

  “It’s pajamas,” she says, swaying her hips to move the sad excuse for
fabric that’s so see-through, I can see the outline of her body. “But really, it’s Rachael’s idea of a joke…like the vibrator. She somehow found the sluttiest, most revealing clothes I own…and that’s all that’s in my suitcase. I should have known letting her help pack was a bad idea. She’s a sand-bagging sonofabitch.”

  Norah steps farther into the room and the lamp beside the bed casts a warm glow on her, and now I can fully appreciate Rachael’s joke. I tear my gaze away and look at the ceiling because the pajamas are completely sheer. Like her top she had on earlier, but this time, there’s no colorful bra underneath. All she has on now is a pair of pale pink panties with tiny fabric flower blooms along the edges and a tank top with matching flowers along the bottom hem. It’s loose and flowy and might be modest, except for the fact that I can see her pink-nippled breasts perfectly through the transparent fabric.

  “So much better than a stripper,” I murmur under my breath as I stare at the crown molding in the ceiling.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” I tug my shirt off and offer it to her. “Put this on.”

  She staggers in my peripheral and her hand flies out to catch herself against my abs. I grab her arms and make sure she’s okay. She’s thoughtfully chewing on her lip as her fingers dig into my stomach. She doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that she’s checking me out.

  “You weren’t lying about the six-pack.”

  My abs tighten with a silent laugh. “I’ve had to increase my workouts because of your damn croinuts.”

  “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.” She smiles and looks at me, blinking slowly through hooded eyes, then lifts her hands up like a toddler waiting to be dressed. When I pull the shirt down over her head, she reaches up and presses her lips to mine.

  I taste her for a moment, drinking in her soft, full lips that I’ve honestly fucking missed this entire week, but then force myself to pull back. “Norah…”

  “It’s fake sexing time, Dean.”

  “Still not a thing,” I murmur as she lifts her chin to kiss me again. “Norah, you’re wasted. We can discuss this in the morning.”

  Her chin drops and she eyes me with confusion. “I think we’re past the discussion phase of the business deal and it’s time to have fake sex.”

  I shake my head regretfully, my dick screaming obscenities at me because I know what she’s wearing under my shirt. “Not tonight.”

  “You’re a tease,” she cries, pushing me in the stomach with both hands and failing to move me an inch. She pins me with an accusing glower. “You just…offer your twenty-minute dick up to me earlier with your stupid, When was the last time you were properly fucked? voice and now you’re taking it away! I should have known you were full of shit and messing with me. You’re probably not even attracted to me. You just like to fuck with me all these years at the bakery for some sick twisted pleasure you get out of messing with a high-strung woman. And for the record Deano, I know I’m high-strung, okay? You try being raised by Elaine Donahue and learn how to let go of control…it’s not easy, bitch. I’ve worked hard to become the person I am today and you will not make me feel like a fool—”

  I slam my lips against her mouth to shut her the fuck up. She yelps her surprise but then softens against me, all those warm, luscious curves molding into my naked chest like a memory-foam pillow. My tongue demands entry because I hate everything she just said. Good God, is she insane? Does she not see how wild she makes me? Does she not know how hot she is, even in her drunken, slurred state? Even in her neurotic, measure three times, control freak state of mind? I’d have fucked her six ways to Sunday by now if she would have given me the opening.

  But not like this.

  Not like this.

  No matter how fucking bad I want it.

  I pull away, dragging ragged breaths into my lungs as I struggle to get enough oxygen. It’s not the elevation that’s the issue. It’s Norah. She stares back at me, confused and uncertain, so for good measure, I grab her hand and press it firmly against my cock. Her eyes widen and her fingers twitch against my hardened flesh. “Tell me I’m not attracted to you one more time, Norah, and I will fucking spank your ass the second you’re sober, right before I fuck it.”

  She inhales a shaky breath, her eyes like lava as they bore into mine. “Can I get that in writing?” A flash of a smile teases her lips.

  Goddamn, I’m a saint. I kiss her on the forehead. “We’ll discuss it in the morning, boss.”

  She giggles and slowly extracts her hand from my groin. My erection is painfully obvious in these cotton pants, and she won’t stop looking at it, which only makes it worse. She swallows and says, “We’ll only discuss our sex arrangement if you sleep with me tonight.”

  I frown at that remark. “What? I just said—”

  “Sleep, not have sex, Mr. Killjoy.”

  I huff out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to sleep with you?”

  “Yes, or no deal tomorrow. Those are my terms.” She lifts her sleepy eyes to me and smiles knowingly.

  I shake my head at her. “Always fucking negotiating.”

  She squeals excitedly and bounces over to the bed seeming less drunk than a bit ago. But still not sober, I remind my aching cock. She pulls back the covers and I can’t help but admire her in my white T-shirt. Other women have worn my shirts before. Most without asking. But none have looked as good in them as Norah.

  I turn off the lights and join her in the bed. The bright moonlight streaming into the room illuminates her body as she faces away from me in the bed.

  Being in bed with her is strange.

  I mean, it’s not uncommon for me to spend the night with a woman. But it is unheard of for me to spend the night with a woman I haven’t had sex with. I haven’t slept in the same bed as Kate or Lynsey, and they are my two closest friends.

  I groan heavily and try to clear my mind of any sexual thoughts so I can actually get some sleep.

  “You smell good,” Norah says without turning over to look at me.

  “You can smell me from your side of the bed?” I ask, rolling onto my back and propping my hand behind my head.

  “Your T-shirt,” she says, and I hear her inhale deeply.

  “Ah,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. “You smell pretty good too.”

  She turns over to look at me with an amused expression on her face. “Are you wearing my slutty pajama top? I’m not too drunk to miss that, am I?”

  My chest shakes with silent laughter. “I mean…in general. Every time I’ve been close to you. You always smell sweet, like something I want to bite.”

  “Promises, promises.” She giggles and I realize that this is the first time I’ve experienced flirting Norah. I like her…a lot.

  After a moment of silence, her voice whispers, “Hey Dean.”

  My eyes pop open. “Hey Norah.”

  “What if I told you that minty oil is still making me unbelievably horny?”

  I take a deep breath in and pray to the saint of no sex. That’s a thing, right? “I’d say just try to go to sleep and forget about it.”

  “Or…” Her voice trails off so I turn my head to look at her. Her eyes are bright and twinkling in the darkness. “Or since you think I’m too drunk to have sex with, you could watch me use my pink vibrator right here in this bed.”

  I did not see that coming.

  “Are you fucking with me, Donahue?”

  She shakes her head. “I think this is the perfect solution to a very obvious problem.”

  “Um…okay.” Look, I never claimed sainthood, alright!

  Norah scurries into the bathroom faster than a fucking ninja. She returns to bed in five seconds flat and is smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. She scoots under the covers and lays on her back, her hands clutching the device to her chest nervously.

  She chews her lip for a long moment and then looks over to me. “I’d feel better if you were doing it too.”

  “I’m afraid
I forgot to pack my pink vibrator,” I croak, assuming she’s going to chicken out and I’m going to have to take an ice-cold shower right the fuck now.

  She reaches over and shoves me with her hand. “I mean…you know…you take care of yourself while I take care of myself.”

  Once again, I did not see that coming.

  I nod my agreement like a caveman, because I’ve lost all intelligent vocabulary on account of all the blood rushing to my already stone-hard dick. This woman is seriously going to kill me.

  She nods subtly and both of us move our hands beneath the covers. I slip my hand inside my pants and fist my cock gently because I’m already on the verge of blowing it, and she hasn’t turned her damn vibrator on yet. Suddenly, the light buzz of her toy echoes in the room and she exhales a trembling breath as her hand begins to move beneath the covers. Her eyes close as she rolls her head into the pillow and arches beneath the covers. I glance down and see a tiny thrusting action coming from where her hand is moving.

  I pump myself slowly, biting my lip and imagining the feel of her skin touching mine. Of her breath hot on my ear as I push into her wet, slick heat. It’s intense and it’s all concealed under this massive blanket. The only thing that makes what we’re doing obvious is the rustling of fabric and the buzzing of her toy. We’re like two fucking teenagers, alone in the dark, too embarrassed to actually watch what we’re doing.

  But I’m not a teenager.

  I’m a grown fucking man.

  “I want to see you,” I husk, my voice raw with desire. “I want to see what you’re doing to yourself.”

  Her blue eyes flutter open as she turns to look at me, her eyes glancing down to the tent I’m pitching and then looking to me nervously. She nods her agreement and pulls her hand out from beneath the covers. Sitting up in the bed, she reaches behind her and pulls my shirt off her body and then lies back down, the blanket still covering her lower half.

  “I want to see you too.” She repeats my words back to me, and it takes every muscle in my body not to let go of my cock, roll on top of her, and fuck her senseless.