“I actually don’t need water. Not right now.” Sam slowly unfolded his limbs from the chair. He stood in front of her, towered over her. She felt small and wild and- and- something that didn’t have words.
She knew what Sam wanted. It’s completely inappropriate. It has nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with anything that we shared before. It has nothing to do with us even liking or enjoying each other or wanting anything from each other.
She wanted it to mean something, but she knew that if Sam truly wanted her, wanted her like she’d always wanted him to, she wouldn’t say no. If that was desperate or pathetic or even disgusting, she was all of those things and she didn’t care at all at the moment.
“What do you really want, Sam?” She whispered as he stepped in front of her.
He trapped her between the sink and his massive form. She did the first thing she could think of and reached out to put an inch of space between them. She couldn’t handle the heat seeping into her, the heat of Sam. It flowed from his body so effortlessly into hers.
His gaze locked with hers and held it trapped. Amy felt like she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she didn’t even dare take a breath. Her whole world, all her teenage hopes, yearnings and dreams and all the fantasies that had carried on into her adult life had led her up to this insane moment. She’d never dared to let herself believe that it would ever happen. She waited, engulfed in silence, enraptured by Sam. He had the power to give her everything and because he did, he had the power to strip it all away. She felt like she was on a precipice, about to change her life forever.
“You,” he finally breathed. “I want you.”
Chapter 12
Control
Sam
“So this is really the reason you made that condition. Because you had this planned all along.” Amy’s eyes widened and her face drained of color. All except for two pink spots of red that bloomed over her cheekbones.
“No,” he grated out, annoyance permeating his tone. “This is not it at all. This was everything I was trying to avoid.”
“And yet you’re here now,” Amy breathed. “Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to devour me.”
That is pretty damn accurate. He gave his head a shake. He really didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d told himself for so long, not to do this. Not to get involved with her this way. Not to do or say anything that tipped his hand and let her know just how much she was a part of him, of his past, of his present, unfortunately of his future.
“I’ll leave,” he ground out, though it nearly killed him. “I’ll leave and we can forget I was ever here. I’m sorry…”
“No!” There was something in her voice, something raw and needy and damn close to panic. She gripped his face between her small hands and tugged it down to hers.
Searing intensity didn’t even begin to cover what he felt when their mouths slammed together. Their teeth clashed as they tried to consume each other, to devour each other. It was instant wild fire, a spark that turned into an inferno, an explosion. It was everything that should have been theirs all those years ago, but never was.
He ate at her mouth, nipped her lips, suckled her tongue, stroked it hard with his. Amy tangled her hands around his neck and dug her fingernails into the tender skin and corded muscle.
No. Not like this. He knew he couldn’t give himself away like this. Not when she was so good at playing the game. Not when he didn’t even know who she truly was. He couldn’t give up control, the upper hand. He wouldn’t have her like this, hot and heady where he lost it completely. No, he needed to hold his shit together.
In a swift instant, he broke the kiss, gripped her waist and hoisted her onto the counter. She gasped in surprise, her breathing after raspy inhales that matched his own. He spread her legs, his fingers grazing the warm silk of her thighs. His body jerked hard, involuntarily. He was unable to control his own reaction to even that simple touch.
His hands traveled further, up her thighs, until he found the blazing heat of her panties. He tried to keep his actions methodical, controlled, mechanical. He didn’t want to give anything away. She inhaled sharply as he pushed her dress up around her waist, exposing those black lace panties to his gaze.
God, she’s perfect. She was smooth and sleek under those panties, the black lace designs a barrier between him and her sweet pussy. Good. She needed to keep those on. He could do this, give himself just enough of her to hopefully sate the wild ache inside of himself. He could give himself just a taste, a taste to assure himself that he wasn’t missing anything. That Amy was just like every other woman. Just a taste, to banish the memory of her that had haunted him all those years.
He bent his head as he parted her thighs roughly with his hand. He wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t about being sweet or caring. It was about taking and taking until he no longer needed her. No longer needed to think about her. No longer wanted her.
It was better for both of them. She’d scream with pleasure and then he’d leave and that would be it. The rest would just be business.
The skin of her thighs broke out in goosebumps as his hand neared that lace again. She leaned back on the counter, parting her legs further, fearlessly giving herself to him. It’s not because she truly wants me. She’s just lonely. It’s just physical. It couldn’t be anything else for her. This is just fake. She’s doing this as perks to her little game.
He wasn’t sure if he believed himself. He wasn’t sure of anything except that he needed to stop thinking.
Sam wasn’t gentle or sweet when he bent his head. He knelt on the hard kitchen floor and nipped his way up her thigh. He bit her and was rewarded with little whimpers that made his head spin. When he finally got to those panties, he inhaled deeply and was flooded with the glorious scent of her. She was spicy, dark and musky. Lord, he couldn’t wait to taste her.
He knew he shouldn’t He should pull her damn skirt back down and run out the door. Except, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to taste her.
He kept that barrier of her panties on, but it didn’t matter. She was soaked right through them. She cried out as he ran his tongue over her, from the bottom all the way to her clit. The little bud was tight and straining against the lace and he gave it a flick with his tongue for good measure. Her hips bucked into his face.
Amy was so responsive, so sweet, so fucking delicious… he couldn’t help himself. He reached up, dug his fingers into her waist and nearly pulled her right off the counter. He ground his chin and mouth into her pussy, lapping at her through that lace barrier. It was sexy as hell, sexier actually, for the fact that she had her damn panties on.
She writhed against his face, her hips pushing into his mouth, begging, begging him for more. He wanted to rip off those panties and plunge his tongue inside of her, but he knew if he got that far, there would be no stopping him.
Instead he let his hand fall away from her waist. He skimmed the edge of her panties with his finger while he continued to drive her wild with his tongue. He lifted the edge, just enough, and moved them just a fraction. The feel of her without that barrier, smooth, womanly, dusky and sweet as honey, flowing over his tongue and down his throat, would have brought him to his knees if he wasn’t already there.
He couldn’t stop himself. He was wild with his need for her. It was all consuming, the fire that raged through him. He swirled his tongue through her swollen folds and then he brought his finger to her. He ran it over her, covered it in her juices, and plunged it inside. She went wild. Her hips ground hard against his hand while her inner muscles clenched tightly around his finger. She’s so tight. She’s so fucking tight.
His cock throbbed furiously inside his jeans. He wanted to tear them off and plunge inside of her, have that sweet tightness wrapped around his dick, bury himself up to his balls and fuck her until she screamed. No, fuck her until she screamed again and again and again. He wanted her coming all over his cock.
His and no one else’s.
Fuck. That wasn’t why he’d made his demands. None of this was the real reason he was there. He really did want to talk to her. He wanted to see if there was anything of the old Amy left. He’d justified what he was doing by having just enough to banish her, just enough to stop the ache.
It would never happen. He knew that now. He knew all along it wouldn’t work, but he had to have her anyway. She was addicting. He’d had her once and now he’d want her for the rest of his life. He’d never banish the ache. If anything, he just made it worse.
He broke away, stumbled to his feet and jerked down her dress to cover her. She was panting, her breaths loud and broken in his ears. He was breathing just as raggedly. His heart beat wildly and his cock nearly drilled right through his damn jeans.
I have to get out of here.
“I’m sorry,” he panted. “This isn’t right.”
He whirled, the taste of her on his tongue, the sound of her breathing still heavy in his ears. As heavy as his own heartbeat, filled up with her. She was there, pounding inside of his chest, inside of his head.
“Sam, where are you going! Please come back!”
He stalked right through the open concept place, glad that he didn’t have to find his way out. He could see the door from the kitchen. Just like he had seen her bed.
“Sam!” She called again, but his hand was already on the door handle. He couldn’t turn around. He didn’t stop.
He ripped open the door and stumbled down the stairs. He stalked through her gallery. She called to him again, from the top of the stairs, but he was already free, striding through the final door. He stumbled out into the street, his body, his head, his heart a complete mess.
One taste would never be enough. Now he’d want her for the rest of his damn life.
Chapter 13
Disaster Dates
Amy
After Disaster Date Number Two, she wasn’t at all sure that whatever plan she thought she had, would ever work out.
She’d wanted to call Sam a hundred times. Or text him, though that seemed completely inappropriate. What the heck could she write?
Come over and finish what you started? Come over because since you left, I can’t think straight? Come over because even though this is all fake, it’s suddenly feeling way too real? Come over because I still have unfinished business from all those years ago? Come over because I crave you? Come over because I can’t eat or think straight or do anything now? Come over because until you do, I’m going to be useless?
Nope. Texting was definitely out of the question. It would be just as bad if she called. So she did nothing. She waited and a week ticked by. She hoped that someone she knew would host something, even just a damn barbecue in their backyard or a small gathering at the pool. Nothing. A whole lot of fucking nothing.
While the invitations weren’t exactly pouring in, just as she thought, she was getting calls and emails for commissions. All of a sudden she was on everyone’s radar. The whole Sam running out of Samantha’s house the other night had actually worked in her favor. Everyone wanted to know who her fiancé was, why she’d kept him a secret and why they’d popped in for five minutes and left.
It seemed the ultimate irony that even though nothing had played out like she thought it would, her stupid plan seemed to be working after all.
Amy stepped back and stared at the giant canvas she was working on. It was actually for Samantha. She’d been the first to ask for new work, right at the house. It was what they were discussing when Sam beat a hasty retreat.
Samantha liked bright colors. Pinks and purples and golds. The giant rose forming on top of the droplets of paint and splatters stared back at her. She’d throw in flecks of gold after. For such a large piece, it didn’t take long at all to put it together. Then again, she’d had some practice.
She stared at the canvas for a long time, willing a burst of inspiration for her next piece. Nothing came. Her mind refused to process anything. But Sam. His face was always there, when she closed her eyes. Her body buzzed with the electric high that never faded. Not since he’d touched her. Not since she found out first hand, just how amazing it could be. His touch was everything she dreamed of. Everything.
When she bought the old brick building that served as her studio and later doubled as her living quarters, she’d installed one of those huge brass knockers on the heavy wood front door. She kept it locked most of the time. At least since she’d started living at her studio. She didn’t want customers walking through since she often didn’t bother to even get dressed in the morning. If inspiration struck, she rolled out of bed, grabbed her brush, and painted in her nightgown until well into the afternoon.
It finally registered, through the thick fog of desire that refused to leave her brain, that someone was banging on the door. That brass knocker was hammering away.
She turned, nearly dropping her brush and spilling her paints. “Fuck me,” she muttered under her breath.
Since she actually was dressed, even if it was only a shitty pair of jeans and an unflattering paint stained body suit, she went to answer the door.
She didn’t have an appointment, no clients swinging by. For a wild minute she thought it might be Sam, come back because he couldn’t stay away. When she pulled open the dear, heart leaping, it sank real fast at the sight of her ex-husband.
“Richard,” she choked, shocked to see him there.
He was, as usual, dressed in an impeccable black suit. He had on a pair of those square toed dress shoes, also in black. The keys to his expensive sports car danged from his hand. His hair was slicked back with the same hair oil he always used. Amy could actually smell it, the spicy, woodsy scent. He was clean shaven, his square jawed, too handsome face and snapping blue eyes always worked to his advantage. Wherever he went, he captured the attention of the female population.
Some things never change.
“Amy. I just- I just came by to see- uh- how you were making out.”
She nearly laughed at that. Making out. If only he knew. Or maybe he did. It was far more than probable that he’d already heard about her new fiancé. She didn’t expect him to show up at her damn doorstep when he heard. She thought he’d do the opposite and finally give up.
“Oh. Things are… great.” She looked down at herself and wanted to wince at her messy, paint splattered attire. She realized she was still gripping her brush in her hand. The pink paint on the bristles had hardened to the point where it wouldn’t drip. She still had the urge to ‘accidentally’ reach out and leave a huge splat right in the middle of Richard’s expensive suit jacket.
I can’t believe I once cared enough to pick that shit up from the dry cleaners for him. I can’t believe I cared at all.
“Painting, I see.”
“Yeah. Working on a commission.”
“So business is good then?”
“It’s fine.” She sighed. “Look, Richard… I honestly don’t know why you’re here. We’re divorced. That doesn’t leave a lot of common ground.”
His eyes landed on her and it was unnerving, how hauntingly blue they were. Once upon a time they had served to stir something in her heart. He smiled slowly, that grin that also used to serve to get him what he wanted.
Now she saw right through it. It actually disgusted her that he’d even try it. Maybe he was just so used to doing it he couldn’t help himself. It was a habit, trying to be charming. She wanted to throw up in her mouth.
“I was hoping you might have a minute to talk.”
“What?” She recovered her composure almost as quickly as it slipped. “No. No, I’m pretty busy. I have a few things I’m working on this morning. They need to be done.”
“What’s the rush? I only want a few minutes of your time.” He shrugged shoulders that he damn well knew were impressive.
“No. I’m- I’m getting ready for- uh- for a show.”
“A show? You haven’t had a show in- in years.”
“Yeah,
well, I’m having one again. I thought it was time.” She tried to keep a straight face, so that he wouldn’t see right through her bullshit.
“You’ve sent out the invitations?”
“Not yet.” She figured he’d find out too easily if she lied about that. “But I’m going to right away. I want to make sure I have everything done and ready first.”
“If you haven’t sent anything out then surely you can spare five minutes.”
She leaned against the door frame hard, mostly for support. “You know, Richard, I really can’t. Maybe I could have years ago, when we were still married. And I still cared. But not now. Any privilege you might have had to my time and my feelings is long gone.” She’d told him that before. She wished he could damn well get the hint.
“I see.” He glanced back towards the street, where his car was parked.
It was just her luck that it wasn’t busy. Usually there was a steady stream of traffic. At least then she could tell him he had better move his car before he got sideswiped.
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t come in anyway. It’s not a great neighborhood. Remember how much you protested when I bought the place? Your car will probably get keyed or worse…”
Richard was annoyingly unfazed. He gave her one of those sidelong looks and he shifted. He put his hands in his pockets in such a way that his jacket drew back a little, revealing how perfectly fit he was. And he was fit. Fuck, Richard still had the physique of a god. It was undeniable and she had eyes. Now though, instead of feeling the hot waves of lust she used to feel, she felt disgust. Disgust that she’d ever craved his body when he was giving what should have been hers, to other women.
“When are you having your show?”
God, why won’t he just leave? “A few weeks from now. I’ll be sending out the invites tomorrow.”
Richard slowly nodded. “Good. Great. Well, I’m happy for you.”
She rolled her eyes because she couldn’t help herself. She stepped forward and moved her hands to her hips. “You didn’t come all this way to tell me you were happy for me. You know about Sam. I know you do. I swear, Richard, we are over. You can’t come here and try and fuck things up for me. I’m happy. I know that kills you to find out that you’re not the only person in the entire universe, but you aren’t. I’ve moved on. I’ve moved way fucking on.”
Fake It: A Sizzling Hot Pretend Romance Page 7
