Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(98)

“Oh. God. Zack.” I let my head tip back against the wall. “Zack.”

His hips stutter against mine. “Don’t,” he mutters. “Don’t say my name.”

I bite his ear, hard enough to make him flinch. “I’ll say whatever I damn well please.” I bite him again, pressing my teeth hard into his earlobe.

He groans, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

“You’re so…” he trails off.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I am.”

His grip on me tightens. He slams into me again and again, railing me so hard white stars flash behind my eyes, pleasure shaking my body like a rag doll. I’m so distracted, it takes me a few seconds to realise that there’s warm wetness touching my neck.

Is he crying?

“Zack.” I pull back, my vision hazy. “Hey. Hey. Are you okay?” He nods into my neck.

“Look at me,” I demand, but he doesn’t. I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His muscles are bunched and hard. He thrusts into me again, and I gasp, twisting. I can feel my release cresting up inside me, like a wave about to swallow me whole. “Zack. God. I’m going to…”

He presses his forehead against mine and seals our mouths together with a kiss, swallowing my cries as the pressure peaks and I fly over the edge.

This time, the climax isn’t fast or sharp. It’s soft and intoxicating, a rush of warmth that gets hotter and stronger as it rolls through me. I moan as the garden disappears around me, the stars and the moonlight and the soft glow of the lantern blurring into streaks of light that burn behind my eyes. Heat slips under my skin, sliding through my veins and burning in my stomach.

“God,” Zack mutters, pressing even closer. His massive body shudders over mine as he starts to come. Normally, he’s as loud as a bear when he’s getting off; but now he’s staying completely silent, his teeth clenched shut like he’s trying to fight the pleasure away. I cling to him, sighing, feeling our bodies shake together in the darkening garden.

Eventually, the feeling seeps away, but I don’t let Zack go. Slowly, he sets me back onto the ground, holding me upright as my heels sink slightly into the wet grass. I lean against him, catching my breath. My heart is fluttering in my chest.

What we just did shouldn’t be romantic. There’s nothing poetic about an illicit shag behind a building. But somehow, it is. I stroke my fingers through Zack’s hair, watching how the glass lantern strokes his skin in gold. He looks beautiful out here, unravelled and out of breath. Tipping my head up, I press my lips to his, breathing in his soft exhale.

“I love you,” I murmur. I don’t think before I say it. The words just slip out, easy as breathing.

Zack flinches. He pulls back, and I finally see his eyes. They’re bloodshot and puffy.

My stomach drops. I didn’t imagine it. He really was crying. Something’s wrong. Is it his leg? Did I hurt him? I reach for him, cupping his jaw. “Zack—”

He lurches out of my grip and pulls his dress pants back up, securing the button. He’s breathing hard.

I smooth down the skirt of my dress and wipe gloss off my cheek, watching him closely. “Maybe we should go back to the room,” I say softly.

He swallows convulsively and shakes his head. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says, his voice like gravel.

Cold slips down my spine. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he isn’t just talking about the wedding.

“You can’t do what anymore?” I ask carefully.

He waves between us, not meeting my eyes. “This. The lessons. The… ‘dating’. The kissing, and the shagging, and the fake couple bullshit. We can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I’m done.”





SIXTY-TWO





LAYLA





It takes a few moments for his words to sink in.

“So, let me get this straight,” I say slowly. A cold breeze whispers through the garden, sending goosebumps prickling over my bare arms. “You came here to sleep with me one last time, and then break up with me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his face a mask. “I had to… I had to check if I needed to end this. And I clearly do, if you think you’re in love with me.”

I study him as he tugs his shirt back into place, fiddling with his cuffs. I can feel my insides icing over.

“Give me back my key,” I say eventually.

His head jerks up. “What?”

“You have the key to my flat. Give it back. I don’t want you to have it.”

He looks at me like I’ve just slapped him in the face. “You’re mad at me,” he says hoarsely.

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

He shakes his head. “Layla, that’s not fair. You know it’s not.”

“How is it not fair? It’s how I feel.”

“You promised.” His voice gets louder, shaking slightly. “You said you understood that this wasn’t going to turn into anything. You knew this would just be lessons, you said you were fine with it, so don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like… I’m the villain here. Don’t look at me like I’m hurting you—”