by Odette Stone
I licked my lips, trying not to show the panic squeezing my chest. “We haven’t talked to my parents yet, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me discuss this with them first.”
He shook his head. “You’re engaged. To that solider? What the fuck is going on?”
“I love him,” I blurted out, piling lies. “He’s the love of my life.”
“You barely know him.”
My fake smile twisted to a grimace. “When you know, you know.”
Yates glared. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not living my life according to the plan you and my parents made for me.” I gathered my things and stood to leave.
He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist. Hard. “Don’t do it.”
I yanked on my arm. “Goodbye, Yates. I’ll see you tonight at the gala.”
“How did it go?” a voice spoke from behind me in the apartment lobby.
I stifled a scream and turned to see Porter, who looked like he’d been running. Moisture slicked the edges of his hair, and he wiped his face with his sleeve. There was something about athletic men that was so attractive, I decided as I studied him. Athletic men were healthier, stronger, better.
“What?” He watched me watch him.
I averted my eyes. “Nothing.”
In the elevator, a saxophone rendition of Lady In Red played over the speakers.
“How did your coffee go with Yates?”
“Oh…” I stalled and shifted my body to hide my wrist, which still had faint hand marks from when Yates had grabbed it. “Yates showed up late.”
“Is he responsible for sending that letter?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“He looked pretty horrified when I showed him the note.”
It could have been an act. Yates was good at hiding things, and I was bad at finding them. Maybe I should have invited Porter. He would have seen through the bullshit. Didn’t they train SEALs for that?
Porter met my eyes. “What did he say?”
“He asked me why he would sabotage my life when he wants to, uh, marry me.”
Porter raised an eyebrow at me. “He asked you to marry him?”
“Not exactly.” I blushed. “Yates insulted you, and in the same breath, he told me he asked my parents permission to marry me. Like it was up to them.”
Porter looked interested. “What was the insult?”
I shook my head.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “What did he call me?”
My entire face was on fire. “He called you a ‘military monkey.’”
Porter’s eyebrows went up. “That’s a new one.”
“I told him you’re twice the man he’ll ever be… then, the words slipped out.” I was pretty sure my face was an unhealthy shade of fire engine red.
He was smiling now. “What did you say back?”
I fidgeted with the collar of my dress, tugging at the neckline that suddenly felt so suffocating.
“Beth?”
“I told him I was already engaged… to you.”
His smile slipped.
Chapter 17
We stood there in complete silence. I worked to steady my breath. I think I’d shocked him or broken him or something.
“Say something, please.” I was near begging.
But he didn’t speak.
I didn’t think I could handle it if Porter was pissed at me. For some reason, it was imperative to me that he didn’t hate me for my latest transgression. Or any transgression, really.
We stepped off the elevator and walked to my apartment in silence. Inwardly, I freaked out. Would Porter leave? Had he had enough of the games I was playing with my family?
I could fix this. I’d just call Yates and tell him that I’d lied. It’d be an easy fix, and maybe I could convince Porter to stay, although, I didn’t really want to examine why that was so important to me.
In the living room, Porter turned around and inspected me. For longer than was comfortable.
“What…are you thinking?”
“I think we should talk strategy if I’m going to be your fake fiancé.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Shocked, “You’re going to pretend to be my fiancé?”
He shrugged and eyed me speculatively.
“Why would you do that?”
“Not sure.”
“Okay…” I felt uncertain about how to proceed. “What kind of strategy were you thinking?”
“Do you think Yates will tell anyone?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“So, we keep up the pretense with only him.”
“Okay.”
“And we keep this to ourselves.”
My breath rushed out of my throat. “Agreed.”
“We’ll remain friends. Our secret.”
Translation: no more kissing.
Just two friends. One helping the other one out. I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed about that, but I wasn’t surprised either.
“Agreed.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “And before it goes too far, when you’ve got your situation with Yates sorted out, we’ll quietly end this.”
“Good plan.” I nodded vigorously. Those were good terms. Terms I could live with. “Yes.”
We stood there, staring at each other. I wasn’t sure how I was even meeting his eyes.
“So, do I need a tux for tonight?”
The gala.
The fucking gala.
It was my turn to do the slow blink as I processed what he was telling me. “You want to come tonight?”
“Might as well.”
“Okay. Yes.” I searched for my phone. “I know a really great tailor that can have you fitted with a rental. It might cost extra for the rush, but they’re the best.”
I pulled out my phone and found the address. I wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “I’ll call there. They’ll be expecting you.”
Hard-to-read grey eyes met mine. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. I had no idea why he was helping me out like this, but I was unbelievably grateful.
“I’ll shower and then head out.”
“Okay.”
I called the tailor and gave him my credit card after Porter left. I flopped back on my bed. I debated calling Emily, but I had too much to say and doubted I could articulate any of it. This situation was getting complicated, but if it meant Yates would get off my back, it would all be worth it.
How had things gotten to this point? Porter had stood up for me, to my mom of all people. He would make an awesome boyfriend. Why would Felicia leave him? What could possibly have happened between them that she would leave without even saying goodbye?
I’d been living with him for a short time, and so far, I hadn’t seen anything wrong with him. He was tidy, generous, and thoughtful. He also rocked a hot-as-sin body, and judging by the bulge I had seen last night, there were no size issues in ‘that’ department.
Maybe he was bad in bed?
I thought about the near kiss between Porter and me and immediately dismissed the thought. There was no way he could be bad in bed. Last night, he had effortlessly flipped me around in bed, indicating that he knew what he was doing.
I wanted to find out for myself.
Which was my dumbest idea yet. Porter had made it clear that we’d remain just friends. He was helping me out with this bizarre favor. And we shared a mutual friendship with Jackson and Emily. So, I needed to tuck my libido out of sight. I needed to control myself. I would not get drunk and throw myself at Porter. And I would refrain myself from embarrassing him and myself.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. The best way to ensure I didn’t throw myself at anyone was to take care of business myself. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out my trusty vibrator. Por
ter wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. I had time.
I kicked off my panties and climbed under my covers. I shut my eyes, trying to conjure my favorite fantasy.
Public sex.
I’d never done it, but I loved the idea of it. I pictured myself at the mall. Shopping in a skirt and extremely high heels. My faceless lover would come up behind me, grab my hand and pull me to some deserted back hallway. No one was around. I groaned, imagining as he spun me around, pushing me so I faced the wall. I could feel Porter’s hand slide slowly up my thigh.
My eyes sprung open.
What was Porter doing in my fantasy?
I shut my eyes and willed him away, replacing him with my faceless lover. His hand slid slowly up my thigh, before reaching my pussy. He loved to fuck me fast and hard, exactly the way I loved it.
I turned on my vibrator and slowly worked it between my legs.
Oh, God. Yes.
He flipped my skirt up and whispered filthy things into my ear, his breath hot against my neck. The sound of his zipper, and then, he’d push himself into me.
I moaned. He took me rough and fast, hitting me perfectly with each thrust. I was so close. Porter’s hot, thick cock pounded into me from behind. Porter again! Oh God, it might be wrong to fantasize about him, but at this point, I didn’t care.
I moaned against his hand covering my mouth, trying to quiet my loud moans. I loved the feel of him thrusting into me, the sensation of being taken. I loved how he filled me. I was so close. I was going to come.
The door flung open, and I gasped, lifting my head. Porter stood in the doorway, looking around.
Is that a gun—a fucking gun—in his hand?
Violence filled his every feature, as he assessed the room before his eyes landed on me. “Are you alone?” his voice remained low, straight to the point.
I nodded, unable to speak. Holy fuck. I worked to even my breath, desperately trying to look like I was waking up from a nap—and not like I had six inches of a vibrating dildo inside me.
Porter lowered his gun and shook his head. “Sorry, I heard a cry. Like you were being tortured. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I all but choked out.
He stopped, his eyes narrowed. I could tell he was listening. The faint hum of my vibrator sounded from under the covers, which barely covered my waist. The vibrator was doing it’s very best to get me off with its relentless movements inside me. I clenched my thighs together, hoping it would dull the noise.
It did, but that was almost my undoing. I fought my orgasm with clenched teeth.
Grey eyes met mine. Understanding dawned on them. “Oh, shit.” He exhaled, but he didn’t move.
Too late. I didn’t know if it was the sight of him—his rippling muscles covered in a plain tee, holding a big gun like he was ready to defend me to his death—or the fact that I’d already been on the verge, but my body said, fuck it. My thighs clenched around the spinning, vibrating dildo, and I needed to come.
My head fell back on the pillow, my neck and back arched as sensations rolled through my body. Wondrous, fabulous, intense sensations. A moan escaped me. As sick as it was, it was hotter with Porter standing there, watching.
A cry escaped my throat as my hips and back arched toward the ceiling. My whole body trembled and jerked as I tried to control the orgasm washing over me.
When I came down from the pleasure, realization sunk in. Heavy breathing and buzzing filled the air. I needed to make it stop. I reached down and awkwardly, so awkwardly, managed to turn my vibrator off.
Silence echoed between us. Mortification didn’t come close to describing how I felt. If a hole the size of Texas opened up and sucked me into the ground, it wouldn’t be big enough.
Porter stood stock-still. His intensity shocked me. Hot lust burned in his eyes as he took in the thin tank top covering my heaving chest and hard nipples. His skin flushed red, and he breathed hard enough that I could see his ribcage rise and fall.
My little show had turned him on.
“Porter.” My voice was hoarse and raspy, like rough sex personified, but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I should say something. Smooth this over. Crack a joke. Ease the tension. But words eluded me, and I couldn’t say anything but his name.
He swallowed. Hard. He was visibly fighting himself. Fighting this. Us. What would I do if he whipped off his shirt and approached me?
You'd welcome him with open arms, Beth.
Our gaze held. His resolve visibly wavering. If I made a move towards him, he’d lose this fight. Instead, I stayed silent. I didn’t know what held him back, but I didn’t want to get him in a moment of weakness. I wanted him to make that decision with his brain, not his dick.
He swore softly under his breath, turned, and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. I groaned, plopping my head onto my down feather pillow.
See that, Beth? Neither his brain nor his dick wants you.
Chapter 18
I took a page out of my mom’s book, who is the master of burying her head in the sand, and I pretended that Porter hadn’t just seen me in the most compromising of situations. I showered, styled my hair into a high chignon, and applied flawless makeup that made my blue eyes pop, and my lips look pillowy soft.
The Chanel dress I wore brushed the floor, the square line and nipped waist flattering my figure. The back dipped so low, I didn’t bother with underwear. The diamond drop earrings my grandparents have given me for my 16th birthday adorned each ear, and the strappy black heels caressing my toes were the highest I owned.
Porter was in the kitchen. I could hear him, and the last thing I wanted to do was face him. Did he still want to come to the gala or did he have his bags packed? I couldn’t blame him if he was done with this charade. This was supposed to be his safe haven, but so far, it had been nothing but a whole lot of drama and angst.
Time to face the music.
Walking into the living room, I focused on the black Chanel clutch, making sure I had everything I needed. The truth was, I needed a few more seconds before I had to make eye contact.
I lifted my head and froze. Porter took my breath away. Hand in one pocket, he looked fabulous in his bespoke tux. Mouthwateringly hot. I wasn’t usually at a loss for words, but my mind went blank.
“You look beautiful.”
I shivered as his eyes took me in. “You look beautiful, too….in a very manly, masculine sort of way.”
A long, wavering silence hovered between us. His jaw was tight as he stared back at my face. On edge. Maybe I should say something. About before. I wanted to, I mean, I really wanted to, but the words stuck in my throat, and I was barely getting air into my lungs as it was.
My phone buzzed.
“The car’s here.” I turned in relief.
We didn’t speak as we made our way down to the car. The driver held the door open for me. I took a deep breath as Porter made his way to the other side. I really needed to break the ice. This tension between us was practically vibrating the air. No pun intended.
The vehicle moved.
Porter spoke from beside me. “I apologize for coming into your room unannounced.”
Coming.
He didn’t mean it like that, but good God, that word would never be the same.
Too embarrassed to look at him, I focused out the window. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t intentionally mean to…uh….”
“Show me the grand finale?”
The grand finale, is that what he called it when I orgasmed in front of him?
Yeah. That.
“Yes.”
“That’s what made it so damn hot.”
My head whipped around, noting that the heat had returned to his eyes. “I’d have thought that was a bit high on the kink factor for you.”
Grey eyes held mine. “It turned me on, but as far as my kink meter goes, it didn’t even register.”
Oh, wow.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re kinky?”
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“For some women, I’m out of their comfort zone.”
“Now you have my attention.”
It was his turn to look out the window. “I’m not for everyone.”
“You’d be hard-pressed to find one woman who agrees with that statement.”
He met my eyes again. “Felicia and I weren’t compatible.”
The idea was ludicrous. They were both so beautiful in their own right.
I bit my lip. “How could you two not be compatible?”
“She preferred things a bit… tamer.”
I worked to keep my mouth from dropping. Felicia looked like her calling in life was to have wild sex. How could she possibly be tamer than him? Porter was the all-American guy, with his healthy, athletic glow and blue jeans and tees. He drove a pickup truck for crying out loud! He looked like he invented the missionary position. I was supposed to believe he was the kinky one?
“Exactly how kinky are you?”
“The women I’ve met prefer to be in control in all aspects of their lives. And most of them have trouble relinquishing that control in bed.”
I worked to keep my breath even. “And you?”
His pause killed me. “I get off being completely in control when I have sex.”
My stomach whooshed like I was racing down a roller coaster. I had a vision of him holding my arms above my head. Perhaps tying them to the bedpost. Doing every dirty thing he wanted to my body while I lay there, restrained, only able to take.
Heat traveled over my body. This conversation was turning me on. I was clenching my thighs together, and I had to work to relax them. My throat dried as I spoke. “So, do you have some sort of red room, like Fifty Shades of Grey?”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “I don’t need toys or for my partner to call me ‘sir’. I like to be in charge.”
Something hot and electric crackled between us. I tried to deny it, but I couldn’t ignore the way I worked to breathe like a normal person. “And that’s a problem?”
His eyes darkened. “For some.”
If I was an addict, this conversation was my drug of choice. I couldn’t get enough. “What else?”
He weighed me. Measured me. “I like a good dose of dirty talk.”
