Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  Mark rises from the chair. “I’m around all next week if you want to chat.”

  Julian nods. “Sure. Good seeing you.”

  Mark acknowledges me with a two-fingered salute. “Ashley.”

  I tilt my head in his direction and give him a weak smile. He strikes me as the kind of man who thinks he’s made more of an impact on someone than he truly has.

  After Mark leaves, Julian asks, “Did I miss something between you two?”

  I give him a weary sigh. “Typical male bullshit. I was nobody until he discovered we were together.”

  Julian purses his lips and nods slowly. “Then he won’t be getting that interview he wants so badly.”

  “Julian, no. This is an important issue. He didn’t say anything overtly asstastic. He’s just a creep.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind as I consider his request. There are tons of reporters who could tell that story.”

  I’m touched that he’s offended on my behalf. Makes me proud that past me always thought he was crushworthy. Present me wholeheartedly agrees, even though I know nothing will come of this infatuation.

  After the ballroom lights dim, the event passes in a blur of monologues, applause, and acceptance speeches. I recognize many of the actors called to the podium, but they’re over one hundred feet away, so I can’t do much more than marvel that we’re in the same room. By my side, Julian leans in every few moments, saying something in my ear, reaching for the bread basket, or exchanging a look when we react to a joke on stage. Being this close to him is both easy and unbearably stimulating.

  When the ceremony is over, we shuffle out with the rest of the attendees, a clump of bodies plodding along until the funnel disperses. Julian hands the valet his ticket, and we wait under the concrete awning that covers a third of the circular driveway. The chill in the air makes me shiver. Noticing, Julian removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

  “May in LA is cooler than I thought it would be.”

  He smiles. “LA tip: Always bring a sweater.”

  “So noted,” I say, my teeth chattering as though I’m trapped in a blizzard.

  Julian purses his lips. “Shit, you’re so cold.” He opens his arms. “Bring it in, Ash.”

  I don’t hesitate to burrow into his chest, and with his jacket covering my shoulders and back, I’m now cocooned in Julian-made warmth. His body stands like a pillar that won’t budge, until I dare to place my arms at his waist and he contracts against my touch.

  I don’t retreat. Instead, I deepen the contact, curling my fingers around him and squeezing.

  Julian’s car pulls up, and he practically leaps out of my embrace. Saved by the valet.

  With his jacket still draped over my shoulders, I slip into the car, and Julian closes the door when I’m settled inside. Watching him through the windshield as he strides to the driver’s side, I chew on my bottom lip, frustrated with myself for pushing him where he doesn’t want to go. It’s not fair to him. I mentally slap my hand and channel Carter’s typical admonition: Stop being a brat, Ashley.

  For a few seconds, Julian stares at the steering wheel, gripping it with both hands.

  “Ready to go?” I ask.

  He jerks his head before turning it in my direction. “Yes. Sorry. Was just thinking about something.”

  “What’s that like?”

  He laughs. “You know full well what that’s like. I’d be surprised if your brain ever shuts off.”

  “True.”

  In fact, it’s currently working at full capacity, alternating between imagining lusty, sweaty, no-holds-barred sex with Julian and suppressing my dirty thoughts as I know I should. So fine, we’ve decided not to act on our attraction to each other, but why should I be the only one tortured as a consequence? Isn’t there some fun to be had here? Then I remember Sooyin’s theory that Julian is pretending to be interested in her to keep his attraction to me at bay. Testing her hypothesis would be amusing, wouldn’t it? “So tell me about Sooyin. What’s your plan there?”

  He glances at me sideways and swallows before he answers. “Plan?”

  “Well, yeah, if you’re interested, what do you intend to do about it?”

  He clears his throat as he turns the steering wheel, his gaze trained on the road ahead. “I like her. But I’m not going to push. I . . . uh . . . I’m just going to let things happen naturally.”

  Such bullshit, Mr. Hart. “If you need any tips on how to approach her, I’m here for you.”

  In a rare safety violation, Julian removes one of his hands from the wheel and slaps it on his thigh. “You’re precious,” he says, his deep, rich voice laced with laughter. “I think I can handle it on my own, thanks.”

  I shrug. “Okay, but you’re missing out on the opportunity to learn some closely held secrets about what women really want.”

  He perks up. “Now I’m intrigued.”

  “Ha. I knew you would be.”

  He motions for me to get on with it. “I’m waiting.”

  “Okay, where to start. Oh, I know. Many guys send flowers to let a woman know they’re thinking about her. It’s sweet. And yes, we appreciate them. But do you know what works even better than that?”

  “What?”

  “Pick. Up. The. Fucking. Phone. Call her. At random times. Not every day or, Jesus, definitely not every hour, but when you can. Just to say ‘Hey, hello, I’m thinking of you.’ That’s the best kind of foreplay, and guys don’t do it enough.”

  “It goes both ways, you know.”

  “Of course it does.”

  We reach his condo, and he drives into the underground parking lot. After easing the car into a parking space, he asks, “What else?”

  I climb out of the car and wait for him to lock it. “Okay, here’s one I encounter more than I care to. Not every woman wants a serious relationship.”

  He stops short and throws his hands over his chest, pretending to be shocked. “What the hell? Are you serious?”

  I clip him on the shoulder. “Yes, I’m serious. Sometimes women want someone to hang out with. They’re not always looking for a life partner. And I find guys act in ways designed to avoid a long-term commitment when half the time the woman doesn’t want one either.”

  “Is that the story of your love life?”

  “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”

  I hand him his jacket, my gaze automatically zeroing in on the way his shirt stretches across his chest as he slips his arms inside.

  We pass Benny on our way through the lobby and wave at him.

  Stepping into the elevator, Julian waits at the threshold until I enter. “Okay, this has been an eye-opening discussion. Give me one more.”

  My last tip comes out with much thought. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

  He swallows before he speaks. “I’m not clueless, so I can guess where this is headed. It’s not a race to the big finish, right?”

  “Exactly. Sure, sometimes a quick bang does the job. Other times, you can’t help yourself, and it’s got to be all-consuming and clumsy and so rough the guy’s dangling belt buckle digs into your thigh and you notice scratch marks the next morning. But mostly, we want to be savored. We want to know that you’d happily spend the entire day making us shudder and gasp and cry out in pleasure and that your face between our legs is a fucking joy, not a chore.”

  The elevator dings, and I step off. But when I turn back, Julian’s still inside, his keys in one hand and his face pointing to the ceiling.

  I laugh. “I’ve blown your mind, huh?”

  He drops his chin to meet my eyes, and I’m unprepared for the force of his stare. It’s stormy, needy, hungry. His gaze drops to my mouth before he pushes off the wall and stalks my way. He’s not being coy. Far from it. He’s telling me in no uncertain terms that he wants me. Goose bumps dot my skin, and my heart bangs against my chest like a stampede of horses is trampling over it.

  I don’t wait for Julian to reach me. Instead, I rush toward him, and whe
n our bodies meet in the middle, I throw my arms around his neck and press into him. He braces my face, and I rise on my toes, desperate to get my lips on his mouth.

  Before his mouth comes down on mine, he asks, “Ash, what are we doing?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, nor do I give him one.

  Not in words, at least.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julian

  ASHLEY AND I are kissing like the world is on fire and this is how we want to take our last breaths. I gently suck on her bottom lip as I pull her close, and she gives me a delicious moan that I’ll remember forever. I’m a kid charging through the schoolhouse doors for recess, and her mouth is my playground. Good Lord, my fantasies were underwhelming compared to this. We tug on each other, hands grasping for purchase, until I grab her ass and lift her against the wall, my erection pressing against the junction of her thighs.

  The whoosh of the closing elevator doors reminds me that we’re outside my home and any one of my neighbors could find us.

  With my chest heaving and my cheek resting on her chest, I whisper, “We need to get inside.”

  Ashley caresses my back, her touch feather soft. “Yeah.”

  She slides to the ground and rights her clothing, while I search my pockets for my keys. They’re not there, though, and then I spin around and discover them on the floor outside the elevator. Dropping them is atypical, but so is what just happened. I swipe them up off the ground and open the door.

  Ashley glides inside, and I follow her seductive trail. The door isn’t even closed when we reach for each other again. She slips her hands inside my jacket, ghosting her fingers up my back as she nuzzles my jaw. I spin her around and use my lower body to press her against the nearest wall, and then I’m on her, unleashing all the want that has kept me up at night for more weeks than I’d care to admit. My lips are everywhere, trailing soft kisses over her bare shoulders, along her collarbone, under her chin.

  Through it all, she whispers words of encouragement that make my gut clench in anticipation of being inside her. “Julian. Yes. God, I want this. So much. Please.”

  All day. All night. Soft and slow. Rough and fast. Whatever she wants, and however she wants it. I’d like that for her. But what the fuck am I doing? Think, think, think. She’s Carter’s sister. And I resolved not to do anything that would make him question whether we should continue to work together. With all my talk over the years about not doing anything to blur the lines between our personal and professional relationships, I’d lose all credibility if I tried to pretend that dating his sister doesn’t qualify. I’m not rocking the boat; I’m upending it and smashing it into a thousand pieces against a rocky shore.

  But it’s hard to care about all that when this amazing woman is nuzzling my neck and making soft, breathy noises against my ear.

  She lifts the skirt of her dress and guides my hand to the thin waistband of her underwear. “Touch me, Julian.”

  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

  Her breath is warm against my face, and I lean into her, unable to resist the promise in her eyes. Even so, I try. “I’m not sure we should do this, Ashley. It’ll complicate everything.”

  My efforts to approach this rationally disintegrate when she whispers, “Do you want me to do it for you? Would that make it easier for you to let go?” She nips at my earlobe, sending a jolt that pulses through my body. “If you want this, give me your hand.”

  I’m powerless to deny her, mesmerized by the strength and passion in her voice, so I give her my hand, and she draws it inside her panties, threading her fingers with mine so we both can give her pleasure. The heat of her pussy is like a siren’s call, and my dick swells against my fly. With her gaze boring into mine, she presses against my fingers, guiding one of them to skate over her slick folds. “I want this, Julian. Just this once.”

  I harden even more at the prospect of replacing that digit with my cock. But this isn’t the time for contemplation, because she’s not done with me. Not even close.

  “More?” she asks.

  I groan at the thought of what’s to come. “God, yes.”

  She circles two of my fingers and pushes them inside, letting out a long moan that never seems to end. She’s taking what she needs, and I’m more than happy to give it to her. Her other hand clasps my shoulder, and she buries her face in the crook of my neck. “Yes, Julian. Do something. Please.”

  An invisible hand slides up my chest and tightens its fingers around my throat, forcing me to choke out words that are best left unsaid. “You’re incredible, Ash. Fucking perfect. Keep going—just like that.”

  She lifts her head, narrowing her eyes into slits. “You want to absolve yourself of responsibility? Pretend it’s me and only me making this happen? I won’t let you.”

  Without preamble, she withdraws her fingers and stares at me defiantly. I don’t react, in part because I’m dying to know where she plans to take this. And partly because . . . I’m just dying, teetering on the edge of control, loving the feel of her pussy and tying myself in knots over it.

  “Touch me, Julian. All by yourself.”

  Unwilling to deny her request, I brush my fingertips against her clit, and then I slide my digits inside her, stroking her slowly. When she rocks against my hand, setting her own urgent pace, I know she wants to come like this. My mind is racing with the implications of what we’re doing. This is Ashley. My fucking fingers are inside her, and she’s so wet, they’re practically gliding on ice. If that weren’t enough, she’s generating so much body heat, she’s making me sweat, too.

  I’m vibrating. Everywhere. And my toes are flexed so tightly in my shoes that I’m sure to cramp up at any moment.

  “It’s so good,” she moans against my ear. “But I need more.”

  I should stop, but the selfish corner of my brain convinces me that I can’t leave her dissatisfied. Seeing her this way, her mouth open and glistening, her eyes glazed and unfocused, fuels me. I use my feet to spread her wider, then I dip my leg between hers. I slide her hands up against the wall, caging her torso with my frame. “Ride my thigh,” I murmur against her jaw. “Make yourself come.”

  I draw back slightly, fascinated by the way her golden brown eyes darken. Without a word, she slips her arms around my neck and lowers her body. She’s writhing against my thigh, undulating in a slow and steady rhythm, and when she appears to hit the right spot, she throws her head back, a sensuous goddess consumed by lust. “Oh God. Yes, yes, yes.”

  What the fuck was I thinking? This isn’t any less tempting. Now instead of envying my fingers, I’m jealous of my quads. My mouth lands on her throat, and I suck hard. She’s sweet and salty, like pretzels dipped in chocolate.

  “Oh,” she says, a note of surprise in her voice. She lowers her head and cradles the sides of my face. “More, damn you. I won’t get off like this.”

  The challenge in her voice compels me to prove her wrong. “You will.”

  I reach in between her thighs, push her panties to the side, and spread her lips, flexing my thigh so her clit rubs the muscle there. Then I grab onto her ass and slide her back and forth against me, creating the friction she needs.

  She digs her fingers into my arms and buries her face against me, her cheek smashed against my shoulder. Her mouth hangs open as she cries out her pleasure, shouting yeses and ahs that tell me she’s coming. And it is such a fucking turn-on. I have nowhere to put my passion, nowhere to go for my relief, and the pleasure I feel from watching her orgasm intensifies as a result, as though I’m coming vicariously through her. After letting out several high-pitched cries, she collapses against me, breathing harshly in the aftermath.

  My phone is vibrating in my pocket, but I ignore it, choosing to massage her thighs instead. Eventually, we straighten, and I help her smooth her dress, neither of us looking at the other. The enormity of what we did hits me in waves. We can’t go back. It happened. And we can’t go forward, either. But fuck I want an encore, and next time she won’t be riding my thigh
.

  My phone vibrates again.

  “Answer it,” she says softly. “I’m going to freshen up.”

  I pull it out of my pocket and answer, grateful for the lifeline but unable to focus on the call until Ashley slips out of the room.

  “Julian.”

  Unfortunately, it’s Quinn, and my lingering erection bids a hasty retreat. “Yeah, Quinn. As requested, I introduced myself to Brielle. She was friendly, and I think we’re on her radar now.”

  “Good. But that’s not why I called. I didn’t send you to the awards to get on your soapbox about diversity again. Alienating our clients costs us money, and people in this industry talk, so pull your shit together when you’re in public, okay?”

  “David, I was doing my job, cultivating a connection with an influential reporter—”

  “I don’t care. I’m not sure how many ways I can tell you the same thing. You can think it if you want to, but don’t share it when you’re on my dime. Got it?”

  And then I hear the dial tone. Motherfucker.

  I drop the phone on the couch and toss Quinn out of my head. I’ll deal with him on Monday, when we’ve both had a chance to calm down. I need to address a more pressing issue anyway. How do I explain to Ashley that I let my attraction for her override my good judgment and it can’t happen again? What do I say that won’t make her feel like I’m rejecting her? Is there a way to make clear that I’m not thinking only of my own needs and wants, but hers, too?

  I trudge down the hall as if I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office, and when I’m outside Ashley’s bedroom, I mentally prepare myself to knock and say what I need to say.

  But Ashley beats me to it, swinging open the door with purpose and stopping short when she sees me. “Oh, shit, Julian. You could lose a man part tiptoeing around like that.”

  Unable to meet her gaze, I stare down at the floor, fumbling for the words to make this right. “I . . . thought we should . . . uh, talk. You know, about what just happened.”

  “Oh good,” she says.

  My head snaps up at her easy, friendly tone.

  She’s wearing a hint of a smile. Before she continues, she takes a deep breath, and then it all comes out in a rush. “That was a mistake. You know it, and I know it. I mean, you’re Carter’s best friend, and that’s just awkward. Not to mention he’s your client, and I know how difficult it is for you to manage both sides of your relationship. So yes, while your thigh is the stuff that nonpenetrative sex dreams are made of, let’s consider this a mutual momentary loss of our common senses and agree never to speak about it again.”