by Brill Harper
“I love the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“I love looking at you.” I swipe my hand across his chest and down, his muscles jump reflexively under my hands. “I love touching you, too.” My hands continue to rove over the mountains and valleys of his cut torso, the soft, downy happy trail showing me the way to where I want to be.
Then he flips us again.
“I got you, now.”
“I guess you do. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Always need to challenge me, don’t you?” A dimple flashes and he bites my nipple. The surge of pure animal desire courses through me. “What am I going to do about it? Stella, I’m going to do everything.”
My body is humming at his promise. Christopher buries his face in my panties, sucking my pussy through the material. His mouth so hot I squirm. I want him inside me. I want everything.
“I need you in my bed this time.” He gets off me, and I miss the weight of him instantly. He pulls me up and grasps me tightly in his strong embrace. Kissing me while he walks backward to the hall. Thankfully, he pulls me into the guest room. I’m not sure I could do it in my boss’s bed. “Get on the bed. And finish getting naked.”
I oblige with no argument because he is stripping his pants while he watches me. I didn’t get to see him our first time. It’s not a complaint, just an observation.
He squeezes the tip of his cock before I get a good look. It can’t be that he’s trying to not come already, can it? Is he that worked up? What I can see has me salivating.
He’s thick and heavy, sprouting proudly from a dark nest of curls. He’s leaking with desire, the tip of him glistening. That confident smile on his face is cocky, and he gives himself a few long, unhurried strokes knowing I’m watching.
He opens a drawer and grabs a box, putting it in easy reach.
Christopher looks at me and murmurs appreciatively. He crawls onto the bed, lowering his face, spreading me open. “This pussy. Fuck.” He grips the back of my legs tighter and licks the sensitive bud. A tremor runs through me, and he buries his face in my body.
The licks, the sucks, the bites, the kisses are not controlled. The man is feasting on me and the noises he’s making are clearly those of a happy man. He thrusts his tongue inside me, and my muscles tighten. Christopher proceeds to edge me, seriously edge me, until I lose track of time. I can’t tell you my name. I don’t know what day of the week it is. I don’t think gravity applies to me personally any longer because I’m floating and all I know is his voice, his breath, his mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you now, baby.” He lays his cock against my center, so I feel its girth, its length.
He presses against my opening and then pushes in, slow. He takes it slow, slower than I want, to be honest, and lets me get used to him. Christopher feels so big and solid. I’m intensely full. I think I can hear colors and taste sounds.
He starts picking up the pace, pushing deeper into me, rubbing against me just right. He’s getting both my G-spot and my clit on his strokes, and I wasn’t sure I even had a G-spot.
“You’re so tight. You feel amazing.” Christopher’s eyes turn hard with lust, and he crosses over into something more primal. I wrap my legs around him as he grabs the back of my head and kisses me ruthlessly. I taste myself in his mouth. His thrusts are deep and perfect.
Light flashes behind my eyes as I leave the planet and hurl into space. Christopher’s eyes squeeze closed, and he shudders, calling out my name.
The weight of his body on top of me is the only thing keeping me from floating away. He kisses my face, my hair, the spot above my hair, and gently rolls off me.
“Stella?”
Please don’t make this awkward. “Yeah?”
“I see stars.”
“Me, too, honeybuns.”
He pinches me. Then pulls me closer. “I need a nap and a shower.” He rolls to his feet and takes off the condom. “C’mon.” He pulls me out of this bed. “You’re a very, very dirty girl, and I have some ideas about what I’d like to do about that in the shower.”
“I don’t think I can walk.”
“What if I make it a bath instead of a shower?”
I have been in Doc Anderson’s tub when I housesit for her, and it’s worth finding the will to walk. “You want to take a bath with me?” I ask, remembering my fantasy from earlier.
“Stella, I want to do just about every damn thing with you.”
I know he’s talking about sex stuff, but for just a second, I wonder what it would be like if he meant more than that.
Though I’m good with the sex stuff, too. Don’t get me wrong. I have a feeling this guy could push all my boundaries there too.
Chapter Sixteen
Christopher
My “girlfriend” stumbles out of my room, squinting against the sunlight of the kitchen. She’s sexy and disheveled and my heart thumps irregularly just looking at her. “I smell bacon.”
“You smell bacon, waffles, coffee and,” I walk her over a cup, putting it into her hands while I kiss her jaw, “delicious. You smell delicious.”
She grunts. “I smell like your soap.”
The memory of her soapy and wet, the water sluicing over slippery skin in the tub, is getting me hard again. “You smell like you. And me. And sex. And my soap. Delicious.”
She’s still squinting at me and who could blame her? I don’t know what I’m saying or doing either. I’m not feeling like myself, exactly. Like some of her starlight is trapped in my chest.
It’s warm and bright, hardly reason to complain, even if the feeling is foreign.
“You made me breakfast?”
“I did.” I gesture to the table and plate us up. “You’ve cooked me plenty of dinners over the last few weeks. It was my turn.”
She drinks her coffee, and I admire how well her cup doesn’t match her dress because she’s not wearing a dress. She’s thrown on one of my t-shirts, and the sight of her in my clothes, in my temporary kitchen, in my borrowed life, is undeniably arousing.
I drag my attention back to her face, and her lips quirk up on one side. “Doc, are you having impure thoughts about me?”
“Yeah, I really am.”
She dips her chin and smiles. It’s a shy, sweet smile and my heart stutters. This woman is going to send me to the cardiologist. “When did I cook you all these dinners you speak of, by the way? I opened a jar for you last night, but that doesn’t really count.”
“I’ve been eating all your frozen dinners, remember? My favorite was the stroganoff. It’s really good.”
She’s trying to hold back a grin. “Yeah? You’ve been eating my cooking? And you liked it?”
“I love your cooking, Stella.”
She’s too endearing when she does her little “aw, shucks” face. But she’s pleased with the compliment, and I really should dole them out more often.
In the next few days. That’s all we have. Don’t forget this is temporary.
I join her at the table, watching her drown her waffle in syrup, resisting the urge to criticize how much sugar she’s about to consume. I need to pay more attention to how often I go straight to critical with her. It’s not just because she’s sensitive to that with the way she feels about her family. It’s also that I don’t like that about myself. The overly critical part of my personality is unattractive.
I want very much to be attractive to Stella.
Which is not smart. We’re short-term. But right now, this morning, I don’t want to think about next week or the future. For right now, I’m eager to live in the present. Something I’m not very good at.
So, I watch her enjoy her soggy waffle and commit this feeling of utter contentment to memory.
“I...haven’t made breakfast for anyone in a really long time.”
She stops chewing and slugs down some coffee. “Really?”
I don’t know why I told her that. It seems foolish now. I guess I wanted her to feel like this is spec
ial. To know this, whatever we have, is different for me.
“Well, thank you. It’s great.” She looks down at her plate. “Nobody’s ever made me breakfast before.”
My heart does that tumble again. It’s not even graceful about it. More like a four-year-old executing their first somersault. “Devon not the breakfast-making type? I’m so surprised.”
She does this half laugh thing that tells me she’s not feeling funny. “Devon and I didn’t do sleepovers.”
I reach for her hand.
Devon. That stupid fuck. How could he not have taken better care of Stella? “Devon is an idiot. He didn’t deserve to wake up next to you.” To lighten the mood, I add, “Watching you drool on my pillow is going to be the highlight of my day.”
My sweet, suddenly shy Stella looks up at me through her eyelashes and grins. I can’t stop myself from cupping her face in my hands and kissing her the way I’ve never kissed anyone. It’s not hot or even sweet—it’s seeking. I want to know her. I want her to know me. I need to taste her secrets and give her new ones.
My secrets. Our secrets.
I’ve wanted her from the first time I touched her. But now I want more than her body. But I don’t understand what that means.
We pause, our foreheads resting on each other and this peace steals over me. Peace I usually find only when alone in my kayak on still waters.
There is a rightness singing in my blood. She’s the one is the chorus.
That can’t be right, can it? This woman who makes me crazy can’t possibly be the one who could keep me sane. Keep me grounded and balanced and in the center of contentment.
I open my eyes and look into hers. Does she feel it? Can she see right through me? Does she know where my mind is going? My heart?
Does she care?
She pulls back and stands up abruptly. “I need to go. Get home and change. Don’t want to be late for work. My boss is a real bear about stuff like that.”
She’s out of my kitchen before I can say a word.
And what would I say?
Stella
PERRY HATES HER OFFICE and has always done as little work as possible in it. Instead, she always practically lived in Coffeehouse, taking client meetings in the very back until they sort of made it her office for her. When it came up for sale, she snatched it up and still does most of her business in the café in addition to owning it.
Coffeehouse is rich with texture and scent—dark roast, brown sugar, loose-leaf tea, ginger, and lemon polish on old wood. It feels like the inside of a wooden boat with its low ceiling, brass and dark wood, floors that creak, and a sense of age and history that takes you to a different time.
At this moment in time, however, Perry is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You want me to what?”
“I want you to remind me that this is going to end badly. Very badly. Please.” Because it’s been going way too well the last few days. Other than me bolting from breakfast the other day anyway.
She pushes my cold brew coffee at me.
“Dr. Anderson comes back on Tuesday. I need to hold on to my heart for a few more days.” Just get through the wedding.
“Perry,” one of her employees interrupts us at the table. “Phone for you.”
“Take a message, please. I need to sort this girl out.”
I take a drink of my coffee until the barista moves on. “Year of Stella,” I remind her.
Perry rolls her eyes. “The Year of Stella is stupid, and so are you if you let him go. You guys have been boffing for days. And he told you he thinks you’re good with kids. And he likes you the way you are. Stella, he’s your boyfriend now. Why do you want to push him away?”
“Fake. Boyfriend.”
“Nobody looks at fake girlfriends the way your fake boyfriend looks at you. He’s got it bad. Just go with it. Stop trying to mess it up.”
I rub my rose quartz worry stone, but don’t feel the usual effects. “He’s leaving soon.”
“Seattle is not that far way. It’s hardly even a commute.” She pulls my coffee away. “I changed my mind. Don’t drink this. You need to relax.”
“I need to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Did I tell you he’s coming to that? Because he is. And after, he’s going to Ironwing with the guys.”
“That’s weird.”
“Yes, I know. Can we get back to my problem now?”
“So, what happens after the wedding? Have you and Dr. Doolittle talked about it?”
I pull my coffee back across the table. “Not since before Tuesday night. We haven’t talked at all about the fake part of our relationship. We just...”
“Boff.”
“A lot,” I add. “It’s been amazing. I mean, yeah, the sex, but just all of it. I like him too much, Perry.”
“I fail to see how this is a bad thing. Why won’t you let yourself enjoy it?”
I make eye contact, the real kind where we really talk, with her for the first time since I sat down. One has to be careful with looking into her eyes—she ferrets out secrets too easily. She knows me too well. She’s smart, beautiful, big-hearted, and big-haired. If she had a penis, I would have married her when we were still in high school so no other guy could have gotten her.
She sizes me up. “Oh, Stella,” she says. “You’re in love with him.”
“I don’t want to be.” I set my jaw, but determination doesn’t win when it comes to my stupid heart. “I think I am. I know I am. Oh, shit. This is awful.”
“Baby, no. It’s really not.”
“Christopher could rip my heart to shreds. He’ll hurt me worse than Devon did.”
“Or...”
“Or what?”
“Or he could love you back. And make you happy and take good care of your heart.”
“That’s asking a lot.”
“It really isn’t.” She reaches for my hand. “You’re a wonderful woman. You deserve love. You deserve to have everything you want in this life. And think about how happy you can make him. You take care of people. You’re funny and smart and pretty. Why don’t you just try? With Christopher? Just...love him. See what happens.”
I sit back in my chair. “Sure. What could go wrong?”
I could fill an encyclopedia with all the things that could go wrong.
Perry steals my coffee and finishes it. “Do you want me to come over tonight?”
“I thought you had a date?”
“I’d cancel for you.”
She’s looking sweet and innocent, but I know her too well. “Speaking of being scared of relationships...”
“It’s a first date, not a relationship.”
“Go on your date. Keep an open mind. Just...try. See what happens.”
“No fair using my words against me.” She looks at the time on her phone. “I have a bajillion messages to return today if I’m going to cut out early and get ready for my date. You sure you don’t want me to cancel it?”
“Positive.”
She gets up. “Okay, then.” She kisses the top of my head. “I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.”
“Love you,” I tell her.
“Love you back.”
If only she had a penis.
Chapter Seventeen
Christopher
I’m pretty sure that nobody wants to be at this bachelor party. Leo looks miserable. He’s been texting all night, and since I’ve learned that he met Dixie via a wrong number text, I’m assuming he’s talking to her. That he’d rather be with her. I would also prefer to be elsewhere, and by that, I mean upstairs. Where Stella is.
We’re all here to keep Megan happy, and it doesn’t occur to anyone that she wouldn’t even know if we all left. She’s not even here.
Megan is wily and she is determined. I can see why my Stella made me up, even for a short reprieve. Though I’ll never admit that to her. It’s easier to let Stella keep thinking that I’m just keeping up appearances. If she knew that not only do I not blame her for this pretend relationship,
but that I’m also kind of enjoying it...well, she just can’t know.
She absolutely cannot know that this is the best relationship I’ve ever had. That I laugh more with her than I have in years. That her little quirks are like undiscovered treasures that I enjoy finding. That I’m starting to like a little color and shine in my life.
Leo approaches me with a fresh beer. “You doing all right, man? Megan told me to make sure you had a good time.”
I take the beer even though I don’t want it. “I’m doing great. I’m more worried about you. How are the nerves?”
Leo smiles. “I haven’t got any yet.”
“Is that right? I figured all grooms panicked the night before.”
“I’d have gotten married the night we met if I had my way.”
He’s really in love with her. It’s nice to see someone so sure about love. I better stop this line of thought. “I was afraid there might be strippers tonight.”
“I made the guys promise no naked women. Or nearly naked women. No women at all. No shots for me, either. I don’t want to be miserable on my wedding day. No shortage of sex jokes tonight, though.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
He claps me on the back. “I should go make the rounds.”
I send him on his way and think about my exit. I’ve stayed long enough that it looks like I’m serious about Stella and wanting to be part of his family. I wonder if she’d like to come over when she’s done doing whatever she’s up to tonight. We’ve spent the last three nights together, and I fingered her to orgasm in the car between the rehearsal and the following dinner earlier tonight. I might be addicted to her body, and that’s probably a bad idea. We’re having fun, but it feels like it could slip into something more serious too easily.
And neither of us want that. She made that clear when she made her hasty exit the other morning at breakfast.
I’m about to text her when I smell something close to Axe. Do people still wear that?
