Faking It (UnReal #1)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  Then it was her mouth. That smart mouth that caused my pants to fill every time she threw a snarky comeback my way. It was a struggle to stare at her eyes and not her plump lips. Everything that fell from those lips, I wanted.

  I’ve been completely shaken by the effect she’s had on me ever since. It’s never been like this for me. I’ve kept to myself for so long I wouldn’t even know how to pursue a female. It’s probably why I royally fucked it up with her. From accepting her crude yet tempting proposition, to offering her money to pose for me. And nude for that matter.

  I shake my head trying to figure out what I am doing here. I wanted—no needed to know more about her. I blame my lack of sleep for propositioning her to not have any clothes on at the time. I’ve been in my studio painting her face since the moment she slapped me. Since the moment she woke me up. I didn’t need her to be nude for me to fill my ache to paint something so flawless. That was a selfish request—more like demand—that came off my tongue. After I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. But I couldn’t force myself to take it back.

  I’d made several calls to the hotel to find out who she was. I was hell-bent on finding her. But then, my luck turned and there she was standing in my foyer. Looking beautiful. And fucking perfect.

  I wanted nothing more than to walk up to her and touch her immediately. Her smooth porcelain skin teasing me. My knuckles bruised from the tightness of my grip, forcing myself to stay in place. It wasn’t until I saw the panic in her wide eyes that I felt compelled to go to her.

  The vulnerability she stirs in me is unnerving. It makes me feel weak. And I swore I would never allow myself to be that way ever again. But the thought that she will return in just a few short hours and I will have that whole entire body exposed for me puts me on edge. Her long legs that were made to wrap around a man. Or those doe eyes that I want to lose myself in. Fuck.

  I grunt, wiping my hands harshly down my face. I need to take a shower. I need to relieve some tension inside me in hopes that I don’t attack her. In hopes I can really get through this job.

  IT’S JUST A LITTLE before one in the afternoon and I’m standing at the bathroom mirror. Thankfully, I just got a wax, otherwise I may have completely backed out of this whole ordeal and sent my resignation letter to Cornelius. I'm inspecting myself, re-showered and in tiptop shape.

  “All ready to be painted!” I joke to myself. If I don’t find some humor in all this, the reality of what I agreed to will set in and my nerves will get the best of me. I keep reminding myself that this will be my little secret which I’ll take to the grave. He said no one would see it. He gets to paint me, and probably beat off to me for the rest of his life, but I get a signed contract and tons of money. How bad can this be? It’s not like he’s some creepy artist. I mean he is gorgeous. No, he’s more than that. I don’t even know if there is a word for how attractive he is. I feel my body heat rise just picturing his handsome face. The way his lips felt on mine. The taste of him as his mouth devoured me.

  “Shit.” I need to calm down. I walk into the sitting room of my suite and open the mini fridge. I know I said one full week, but right now I need something to calm my nerves. I open a tiny bottle of vodka and take a healthy swig. I toss the empty container, shaking off the nerves.

  “I can do this.” No biggie. It’s not like I’ve never let anyone see me naked before. Ugh okay, so maybe a few too many. But after this, new leaf! I have plans. And they include finding a man and settling down. No more wild escapades outta this girl. New Leaf nods in agreement as I run out of my room with exactly zero minutes to spare.

  The elevator dings as the doors open to the penthouse. I hesitantly walk forward entering the lush foyer. I call out Hunter’s name. He doesn’t answer right way and I turn watching the elevator slowly close. One, two, three… I count the seconds in which I should probably change my mind and throw myself in-between the closing door.

  I could probably still fit…

  “You’re late. Again.” His rich dark voice catches me. I whip around, plastering the most confident expression I can muster up on my face.

  I peer at my watch, which shows two minutes past one.

  “Excuse me? It’s only—”

  “Which is late. I’m starting to wonder if you’re even capable of being on time. I don’t have all day to wait around for someone who cannot manage a simple schedule.”

  Is he kidding me? I am two minutes late! A humorless laugh escapes me. “You know, I don’t need to do this. Your contract isn’t worth dealing with your arrogant attitude,” I spit out, twisting toward the elevator.

  He is on me in seconds. His strong fingers enclose around my biceps. “Wait,” he begs into my ear. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that rudeness came from. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.” He doesn’t release my arms until he feels me relax. I turn back facing directly into his intense eyes, which are silently pleading me to stay.

  “All right, I’ll stay. But lose the bossiness or I’m out of here.”

  “Yes, of course. Again, my apologies.” We stare at one another until the tension dissipates. “So, where do you want to do me?” Oh come on! “I mean…paint me, where do you want to paint me?” My face is blazing red. I would feel even more embarrassed at my poor choice of words if it wasn’t for Hunter’s pupils dilating, his hands closing into white fists. Clearly my word mishap has affected him and it is not going unnoticed.

  “Over there.” He clears his throat. “I will be out in one moment with my supplies. You may undress in the powder room, if you wish. Be ready for me.” He pulls his searing eyes away from mine and takes off down the hallway.

  Okay then.

  I walk over to the couch. I notice an ivory rug has been placed on the floor, the table removed from the area. Along the wall a smaller table sits, now covered in an array of fruits and a bottle of champagne. I walk over to the plush carpet and remove my shoes. Pressing my toes into the soft fur, I run it through the bottoms of my feet. I decided on a one-piece red wrap around dress, making it easier to take off and throw back on when I’m done. His command to undress reminds me of why I’m here so I grab the lace strand and pull, allowing the front of my body to be exposed. As the dress flows down my back, I hear a grunt of cuss words from behind me, triggering me to turn my head. While the dress falls completely to the ground, I watch Hunter. His stance is casual, as he leans up against the wall, hands in his pockets, but the look on his face is anything but as his eyes glare at my naked back.

  “Change of heart?” I tease trying to make light of this increasingly uncomfortable situation. He looks almost angered and a shot of disappointment shoots through me. I become nervous he doesn’t like what he sees because I’m pretty sure his mumble of “fucking kill me” isn’t a phrase that means I like what I see. Hunter finally clears his throat. “No.” His voice rough, he walks toward me holding an easel and a few supplies in tow. “Did you want some help?” I turn, offering to help him, but he halts immediately, dropping a few tubes of paint in the process. “That won’t be necessary. Please just stay where you are.”

  I can’t help but sense some nervousness peeking through his hard tone. Do I make him nervous? “So, where do you want me then?” I repeat myself, less word vomit, more trying to keep my voice steady, but fail. Hunter witnesses the change in my tone as well because he glances my way.

  “On the rug,” He points, coming closer. He sets his easel down just next to the couch, and drops his supplies across the cushions.

  I’m not sure how to take his clipped replies or his jumpy reaction toward me, but I am a woman and I know when a man is turned on. I try not to look, but duh, I do. I can tell from the seam of his pants that he is extremely hard. And by extremely, I mean I spy something extremely fucking huge wanting to jump out of his pants and say hello.

  “Okay then.” I draw in a deep breath trying to remain cool and collective. I am no stranger to the opposite sex. That’s no secret. And what I
just took a peek at has my insides aching to see more.

  “So, am I standing, lying?” I press for more direction. I’m not sure what he wants me to do. And he sure isn’t being very helpful. I’m about to suggest using more words and less gawking.

  “Um. I want you lying down. I want your back facing me, but I want your head tilted so I can see the la perfection de votre beauté.” The huh? “Sorry you lost me there, say that again?” He huffs in frustration, and drops the easel. He treads toward me, not stopping until his feet are touching mine. “It’s French for perfection of your beauty. Now lay,” he demands as I consider grabbing his face and sucking on the tongue those words just came off of. And holy bossy pants! In normal situations, being bossed around isn’t really my thing, but to hear those words pour out of his sexy mouth is totally hot. I refuse to reply because my voice will for sure sound unsteady. I nod instead and with his stare holding mine, I kneel in front of him.

  Just within eyes’ reach.

  And then I beg my needy hands to keep to themselves.

  “What now?” I ask, more like croak. Jesus something is seriously wrong with me! Thank God I’m not the only one affected by this because he quickly turns away from me. I watch as he discreetly attempts to adjust himself. His chest is heaving, his body wound tight. Calming, he turns back. Kneeling down on the ground before me, he begins to direct my body.

  “I want to you lay down. Have your elbow right here.” He traces my shoulder blade guiding my body down to the ground. His hands on my skin are rough, but warm. His touch careful, reverent even. Like a good little muse, I do as I’m told and rest my body on its side, placing my elbow where he wants it. I’m doing my best to act nonchalant while he touches me, but at the same time, I’m being distracted by the neon sign coming from my clitoral region blaring vacancy. Now facing forward with my back to him, an unfamiliar emotion washes over me. Insecurity. I mean my ass is technically on full display for him. And can we say another thank God for that recent wax anyone?

  “I want you to turn your face, like this.” Taking my chin in-between his fingers he turns my head, lifting it to just the perfect angle so I stare right into his eyes. And it’s in that moment that I feel a spark. That feeling that something strange is happening between us.

  “Christ, you are beautiful,” he proclaims not releasing my chin. His declaration causes my nipples to harden. My lips part slightly, the slow vibration starting from my chin shooting all the way down to my center. My thighs tighten, a small coating of nerves spread along my skin. Just the way he is looking at me has my insides on fire. He slowly releases my chin, but I don’t move. He takes his free hand and drags a single finger down my shoulder, alongside my torso. He makes it to my hip, and I swear, I am about to lose it. My breaths are coming faster with each seductive touch. He brings his full palm down and encloses it around my thigh. My eyes drift shut on their own accord, and I welcome anything he is about to do to me. He squeezes my thigh. His voice breaking me from my dirty visual of what I hope is to come. “Release your hold, Lexi. I need you relaxed. Can you relax for me?” I take a deep cleansing breath closing my eyes once again. God yes, he’s going for it. I mentally jump up and down. I’ll make excuses for what I am going to allow him to do to me later, but just the thought of his fingers drifting a bit farther down there. In there. His warm hand continues to grasp my thigh. I open my eyes and find his intense emerald ones assessing me and I offer him my “let’s do this” nod. “Yes,” I reply, trying to reign the excitement for what is about to come. Which will hopefully be me.

  “Good,” he replies casually. Then his hands are off me and he is retreating, standing and walking back to his art supplies.

  I’ve been lying on the floor in silence for the past hour, at least. After teaser boy taunted me with his thick long fingers, he went and got straight to work. I kept quite since I didn’t know what to say, besides telling him how rude he was for not following through with what I thought he was going for. And trust me, my bits and I are still pissed. After the lust-induced fog I was in cleared, it was another battle to reduce that fact that I was horny as hell. Unfortunately, I quickly remind myself that this is a business deal. He is paying to paint me, not to fondle me, or stick any of his delicious body parts in me. So sadly, the only sticking I should be worried about is sticking to the plan. New Leaf would want it this way.

  My elbows are starting to get sore, and I have to admit, I am bored out of my mind. After a few tempered signs go unanswered, I decide to try a different route. “Do you ever take breaks? Because my neck is starting to cramp,” I ask.

  His clenched jaw confirms the answer that’s coming. “No, I work until I’m done.”

  Shit. “Well how long is that going to be? I’m starting to cramp up over here.” I ask, a little bit on the whiny side.

  “When I’m done,” is all he gives me. He continues to work, clearly brushing off my request for a break.

  “Fine, then a least talk to me. I'm bored as hell. So where are you from? I thought I was told you were from France, but you don’t have an accent.” I try and start up a conversation.

  “I'm not and don’t move.”

  “I’m not moving. So did you grow up in the states then?”

  “Yes, stop moving.”

  “I’m not moving!” I fight. He immediately throws his brush into the water and stands. “Every time you speak your head moves. Your body moves. Your butt cheeks squeeze together. I can see your thighs are still clenching.” Um… Holy shit. He storms over to me and if he seriously didn’t want me to move, then he should have stayed put, because as he kneels down, my shaky nerves cause my elbow to give out and I drop onto my back. Not expecting me to fall, my perky breasts are now in perfect view of his very hungry eyes.

  His intentions—which I’m sure were to move me to where he wanted me—falter when I fall on my back, causing his hand to hesitate, hanging right over my aching breast. The popping vein in his neck tells me he’s trying not to look, but he loses that battle and takes in an eyeful of my full breasts.

  “Jesus Christ,” he groans as he battles with himself. I lay in silence unsure of what to do either. I really hope he takes a handful of my tit and shoves it into his mouth, but I also don’t want to look eager or piss off New Leaf so I don’t make the first move. I watch his green irises disappear as his pupils dilate in approval, his hand hovering just above my hard nipple. Oh baby, yes. Just a little bit closer, I purr to myself. His fingers are so close to my awaiting breast that I can practically feel the heat emanating from them. Just as I smell victory, he snaps his hand back and jumps to his feet.

  “What—what’s wrong?” I lift my body up facing him, his hands now frantically pulling at his hair.

  “Nothing, I just need a minute.” And then he walks back down the hallway.

  Well son of a bitch.

  I go back down on my elbows. I hear a door slam behind me and I huff, falling down onto my back. I need to get my shit together. Your vagina is not up for grabs here, New Leaf scolds my hormonal bits. Agreed! Well, kind of. I keep telling myself that I want to change but here I am begging to be manhandled by my client. Yep, reality check. He is my client. I cannot be throwing myself at him. Not that I am really throwing myself. But giving him the touch-me-in-every-single-inappropriate-place eyes is pretty much the same thing.

  Moments pass before I hear the door reopen and footsteps pad down the marble hallway. I sit back up to see Hunter looking a little disheveled but calmer.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he grumbles, walking up to his easel, fumbling with his utensils and refusing to meet my gaze.

  “No worries.” I reply, trying to grab his attention. The more uncomfortable he looks, the more curious I become. He seems hesitant to come any closer to me so I proceed to stand. “Is everything all right? Did I do something wrong?” I’m completely facing him when he finally makes eye contact with me and I notice it.

  The look of pure, solid lust.

  Uh oh.
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  His hands are back to rummaging through his wild hair. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Lexi,” he begins, “That’s just the thing. You are magnificent and I plan on painting every single inch of you. But the problem is I also can’t stop imagining how good it would feel to fuck you up against that window over there, for the world to see. To thrust into you over and over. I ache to feel how warm you are inside. To take your perfect breasts into my mouth and suck on them until I can see my marks marring your impeccable skin.” He exhales turning away from me again. I watch the muscles in his back tighten, his shoulder blades rising and falling with each heavy intake of breath. Lowering his head with a shake, he continues, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was inappropriate.”

  Holy inappropriate! As in inappropriate minus the “in.”

  I practically fall forward. Most likely because my vagina just tried to launch itself at him. Talk about word foreplay. My breasts perk up at his confession and I can almost feel his words caressing my skin. My body is buzzing at the power of his admission and the anticipation of where his mouth, his hands, and his body can take me.

  The new you will regret it. Oh, shut up, New Leaf.

  A night with this man, this powerful being, is something I know I would never regret. I can have it out with my conscious later.

  “It’s okay because I want the same thing,” I blurt out to his back, unsure of whose voice just said that. Not New Leaf’s, that’s for damn sure.

  He turns quickly, his eyes searing into mine. “What did you say?”

  “If I wanted the same thing, for you to fuck me, hard…and well, that whole bit about the window and the, um thrusting…” I trail off, managing to shut myself up. What the hell is wrong with me? I clear my throat and attempt to continue. “Would you? And still paint me?” Now, normally bidding for sex isn’t my thing, but for some reason, my mind and body are willing to grovel in fear that I might miss out on this opportunity. It’s clear that I want him. There is no denying that. My body is humming just being around him and I feel like together we could probably fuck each other into oblivion.