“Did it work?”
“Sorta. I kept choosing guys who weren’t boyfriend material, but I stopped trying to make them my boyfriend. I stayed in control. I missed that feeling of intimacy, believing I could trust someone. But it was better that way. Easier.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“Sleeping around?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“I don’t like thinking about you with other guys.”
She chews on her bottom lip. Her blue-green eyes flare with concern.
“But, no, I don’t care that you used to sleep around. It doesn’t matter how many people you’ve been with before.”
“It’s not that many.”
“It could be a thousand or one. Wouldn’t matter to me either way.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I know her well enough to know she’s telling the truth. Those guys didn’t matter to her. They had her body, yeah, but they never had her head or her heart.
And the ones who did, who manipulated that younger, more trusting version of Leighton—
If I ever meet any of them, I’ll punch their douchebag faces.
“That’s incredibly evolved of you,” she says.
“Learned from you.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not there. I get sick thinking about you and Penny.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.” She finishes her last bite. Pushes her plate away. “But I’m getting better. Thinking about it less.”
“Me too.”
She pushes herself to her feet. “I want to shower. But I have to do my hair first. And I don’t want to waste our time together.”
“I’ll help.”
She raises a brow. “I don’t know.”
“You think I’m not capable.”
She moves closer. Reaches down to run three fingers through my locks. “Tell me these are natural.”
“Natural?”
“That you’re not doing at home perms?”
“At home whats?”
“Perms!” She makes that ugh noise. “Men have it so easy. No makeup. No chemical treatments. No high heels.”
“You don’t need any of that shit. You look fucking amazing right now.”
Her cheeks flush. “Thank you. But I like that shit.”
“Then don’t complain.”
She flips me off.
I grab her wrist, bring her finger to my lips, suck on her fingertip.
Her knees press together. “I will do my hair before I fuck you.”
“While you fuck me?”
She shakes my head. “In my shower cap? No. Wait.” She giggles as she pulls her finger back. “I’m skipping too many steps. You can’t see me in a shower cap.”
“I bet you look fucking amazing?”
She shakes her head.
“Twenty bucks.”
“Who are you, Dean?”
I shudder. “Never say that again.”
“Or?”
“Or I’ll punish you.”
“You’re not doing a good job convincing me.”
I take my last bite, chew, swallow. “Or I won’t punish you.”
She laughs. “That’s better.”
“What if I wear one too.”
She brushes my hair up my head, first the right side, then the left. “Hmm. I think you’ll look more ridiculous than I will.”
“I wore a cap on swim team.”
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“You have pictures?”
“I was twelve, you perv.”
She laughs. “How about you recreate it for me later?”
“Sure.” I press my lips to hers. “In Hawaii.”
Her lips curl into a frown. It’s a quick thing. A second, and she’s smiling again. “Okay. Come with me.”
I follow her to the bathroom.
She places the lid on the toilet seat, motions for me to sit.
I slide my arms around her waist instead.
She leans into my touch. “I will send you home.”
“You won’t.”
“Are you testing me?”
“I need a reason to hold you?”
In the mirror, her eyes catch mine. “Okay. Stay there. One step back. Be good.”
I release her. Step backward. “Good?”
“No funny business.” She reaches for the hem of her tank top, bends her arms to pull it over her head.
“This is entrapment, baby.”
She shrugs is it? “I don’t want to startle you. But I’m about to put on something even sexier?”
“Than you topless?”
She folds her arms over her chest. Her expression gets shy.
It’s fucking adorable.
God, there’s something about seeing take no prisoners, I get off on showing off my tits Leighton shy.
It’s hot.
And sweet.
I’m not sure whether I want to fuck her or hold her.
Her ass brushes against my crotch as she bends at the waist.
That answers that question.
My fingers curl into her hips.
“After.” She swallows hard. Her breath gets erratic as she opens the cabinet, pulls a shoe box from it. She rolls from her hips to rise. Sets the box on the counter.
“You’d turn me down?”
She bites her lip. “I had this idea.”
“Yeah?”
She pulls the lid from the box, finds an old Inked Hearts t-shirt stained with half a dozen different colors, dons it. “I never got to give you that lap dance.”
My cock stirs.
“I thought we could do that after.”
Conscious thought flees my brain.
“If you’re into it.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not too trashy?”
“Isn’t that the appeal?”
“Well… I guess it’s obvious I like showing off my body.”
I nod.
“You could try to look surprised.”
My thoughts return with my laugh. I wrap my arms around her. Plant a kiss on her neck. “Does it turn you on, the thought of being my personal stripper?”
Her nod is heavy.
“Then I fucking love it.”
“Okay.” Her blush spreads to her chest. “What do you want me to wear?”
“Same shit you always wear.”
She arches a brow. “Not a schoolgirl outfit or something?”
“No.”
“But isn’t that the fantasy?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Leigh? You are my fantasy.”
Chapter 33
Leighton
My hair is dyed and blow dried.
My makeup is perfect.
Ryan is waiting for me on the couch.
Nerves rise up in my throat. I curse my past self for her suggestion. Stripping before sex is one thing.
Announcing an intention to put on a show is another.
Yes, I want to erase the ugly memory of Ryan pushing me off his lap.
I want to watch his eyes go wide with pleasure as I tease him mercilessly.
But I also want to live to see tomorrow.
My heart thuds against my chest.
My breath catches in my throat.
I’m still wrapped in a towel, in another room, and my stomach is all butterflies.
Can I really do this?
I suck a breath between my teeth. Exhale slowly. I have to. I want to, yes, but I also have to.
I have to prove to myself that I can.
I have to have him under my trance.
It feels so fucking good, being with Ryan. Whatever we’re doing—eating breakfast, dying my hair, taking shower cap selfies, trashing a shitty TV thriller while we wait for the dye to set—I’m where I belong. I’m happy. Satisfied. At ease.
But now that I’m putting on a show…
I hang my towel on the rack. Slide into my sexiest thong—a la
cy black thing. Pull on a black mini skirt and that tight white crop top he loves.
Not that he’s ever told me he loves it.
More that he stares at my tits enough I know he loves it.
My nipples peek through the sheer fabric.
It’s sexy as hell.
I look good. But then that’s never really been a question. I have the occasional moment of insecurity. What girl doesn’t? But I’m happy with my appearance. I may not be the most gorgeous girl in the world, but I’m in shape. I take care of myself. I work my angles.
Deep breath.
I slide on my black slingback pumps and I step into the main room.
The curtains are down. The string lights twinkle in shades of red and pink.
Ryan’s eyes go wide as he takes me in. “You look amazing, baby.”
“Thanks.” My gait is unsteady. “Could you get the Bluetooth speakers?”
He nods. Reaches for the speaker to turn it on.
It’s three steps to the dining table. I pick up my phone. Stream the first song that comes to mind.
My favorite band. The one with the breathy, tortured singer. I introduced Ryan. He constantly teases me about just how broken the lyricist is, but he can’t hide how much he loves it.
They’re our band.
A heavy guitar riff fills the air.
Then it’s the singer’s breathy vocals.
I can’t remember what he’s saying. But there’s no ignoring how much he sounds like he’s in the middle of a fuck.
Ryan’s eyes meet mine. “Perfect.”
I nod as I take a step forward. With the lights off and the music blaring, my tiny apartment feels like a private room in some club.
At least if I keep my eyes on Ryan.
I swing my hips, strutting slowly as I approach him.
His gaze travels up my body. From my shiny heels, to my short skirt, over my bare midriff and my low-cut white top, to my red lips.
To my eyes.
There.
My knees brush his legs. His jeans are rough against my skin.
I stare back at him as I slide into his lap.
My hands go to his shoulders.
I use them for leverage to grind against his crotch.
He stares up at me.
His pupils dilate.
His cock hardens.
Fuck, that feels good.
I bring my hand to his cheek. Run my fingertips along his jaw. Slide the pad of my thumb into his mouth.
Rock my hips in figure eights.
He sucks on my digit as I rub against him.
Fuck, the friction of his jeans against my lace panties—
I’m on fire.
I’m buzzing.
Every part of me wants every part of him.
This is supposed to be to tease him. But, fuck, I don’t have a single hint of upper hand.
I need to tear off my clothes.
I need to come.
And make him come.
I bring my hand back to his shoulder. Push myself up.
Slowly, I peel my top over my breasts.
Ryan brings his hand to my side. Slides it over the curve of my waist. Over my breast.
He rubs his thumb over my nipple in time with the music.
My eyelids flutter closed.
I pull my top over my head and toss it aside.
He stares into my eyes as he toys with my nipple.
Fuck, he’s so in control.
I love it, but I need to be the one leading this.
I wrap my hand around his wrist and bring his other hand to my chest.
Slowly, I lower myself onto his crotch.
I circle my hips, grinding against him as he toys with me.
His blue eyes fill with need.
When I can’t take it anymore, I shift off him. I spin on my heels.
Fuck.
My full-length mirror is set up at the wall.
My reflection stares back in her fuck me heels and her impossibly short skirt.
His eyes connect with mine through the mirror.
I look back at Ryan as I unzip my skirt and push it off my hips.
It falls at my feet.
I kick it away.
Then I back myself onto his lap.
I stare at our reflection as I grind against him.
As his hands go to my hips.
I spread my legs wider.
His hand knots in my hair. He pulls my head back until my neck is pressed against his lips.
“Fuck, Leigh.” He nips at my neck. “You’re gonna make me come.”
My sex clenches. I want to make him come. But not yet.
I rock my hips, rubbing my ass against his crotch. I’m in his lap in a thong. He’s naked under his jeans.
But there’s still way too much fabric in the way.
I bring his hands to my chest.
He sucks on my neck, toying with my nipples as I grind against him.
I get lost in our reflection.
My hair falls over my ears.
His locks fall over his face as he sucks on my neck.
He works me with those expert hands.
My thighs are light against his dark jeans.
Watching is too intense. I have to close my eyes. My body hums with electricity. My sex aches. My nipples throb.
I need more.
I need everything.
Still, I grind against him until the song shifts to the next.
This one is heavier, harder.
I take his hands and pin them to the couch.
Slowly, I stand.
I watch him through the mirror as I slide my panties off my ass.
I keep them around my thighs as I roll at my hips.
There. My fingers touch the ground.
I’m on display for him.
He lets out a low, appreciative groan. “Come here.”
I rise. Step out of my panties. Turn and slide onto his lap.
I grind against him.
Only his jeans in the way.
And, fuck, the friction of the denim against my clit—
“Mmm.” My hand knots in his hair. I stare into his eyes as I draw figure eights with my hips.
He stares back, as needy and desperate as I am. “How long is this dance?”
“Three songs.”
He shakes his head.
I nod. It feels so good, torturing him, pushing him to the edge.
Watching desire fill his eyes.
His hand goes to my inner thigh.
Fuck, I want that.
But not yet.
I take his wrists. Bring both hands to my chest. Lean down to whisper in his ear. “Watch.” I motion to the mirror as I turn.
He does.
He stares at our reflection as I grind against him.
As he toys with my nipples.
As he pushes me to the brink of what I can take.
The song shifts into the next. It’s softer. Slower.
I match its pace, but it’s torture.
My sex screams for attention. For him.
He’s so fucking hard.
The chorus fades into the verse.
Into the next chorus.
My eyelids flutter closed.
He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending a pang to my sex.
He does it again.
Verse.
Again and again.
Breakdown.
I open my eyes. Turn to face him. Stare at him as I grind against him.
This is my dance.
I’m still in control.
I plant a slow, deep kiss on his lips.
Then I shift off his lap.
Onto my knees.
I unbutton and unzip his jeans.
Fuck.
I brush my lips against his cock. But the tease isn’t enough. I need him coming. I need release.
I take him into my mouth.
His hand knots in my hair.
His gaze goes to the mirror.
> Mine follows. God, he’s a genius, setting that thing up at a forty-five-degree angle.
I watch his cock strain my dark lips.
Watch his hand knot in my purple hair.
I’m naked, on my knees for him.
And it’s so fucking hot.
Feminine power fills me. He’s mine. He’s under my spell. Under my control.
God, I need him to be mine.
I take him as deep as I can then I pull back and do it again and again.
Ryan tugs at my hair, pulling me off him. “I’m coming inside you.”
My sex clenches.
“On the couch. On your back.”
We’re on the next song, but I still want my control.
I crawl onto the couch, but I don’t get onto my back. I plant on my hands and knees. “Fuck me. Now.”
“Not until I taste your cunt.”
His fingers curl around my thighs. “Ass up.”
I raise my hips. Lower my shoulders.
He holds onto my legs as he brings his mouth to me.
I watch him plant a long, slow lick on my clit.
It’s weird and intoxicating, watching him work me.
Tension builds in my sex as he licks me.
His nails curl into my thighs.
He goes harder. Faster.
“Fuck.” I rock my hips, pressing my sex against him. “Fuck me. I want to come with you. Please.”
“Fuck, Leigh.” He nips at my inner thigh.
My sex aches from emptiness. “Please.”
His groan is low. Heavy.
He pushes himself onto his knees.
His hands go to my hips.
Slowly, he pulls my body onto his.
I stare at our reflection, watching his cock fill my cunt.
He drives into me with deep, steady thrusts.
My tits bounce.
His hand knots in my hair.
The other slides between my legs.
He strokes me as he fucks me.
Pleasure builds quickly. It’s intense watching our bodies join.
A few more thrusts and I’m there.
“Fuck. Ryan.” I squeeze the fabric of the couch, but it does nothing to stave off my orgasm.
With his next thrust, I go over the edge.
My sex pulses as I come.
I groan his name again and again.
Then he’s there.
His cock pulses.
He thrusts through his orgasm, groaning my name as he comes.
When he’s finished, he untangles our bodies and pulls me into his lap.
“You’re fucking amazing.” He presses his lips to my neck. “I ever tell you that?”
Pretend You're Mine Page 23
