My Big Fat Fake Wedding(57)

Before she can answer, I thrust my cock into her slowly, desperately wanting to go hard but at the same time relishing the feeling of her giving way to me. Her pussy’s so tight, hot velvet that grips my head and shaft even as she pushes back into me.

I have to stop halfway and pull back, letting Violet adjust as I let go of her hair and reach around her, cupping her teardrop-shaped breasts. “Mmm,” she moans as I squeeze and tug on her nipples, pushing in with my cock as I do. “Fuck, you’re killing me. More.”

“You feel so good, honey,” I rasp in her ear, knowing it’s as much an admission as her pleas. In this moment, she fucking owns me. As my cock nestles all the way inside her, she hisses, and I pause, holding totally still. “You okay?”

She bucks, and I can feel her body adjust. I ease up on her breasts, massaging lightly and letting her feel me, knowing she’s safe until she hums in pleasure. “Give it to me.”

I pull back, thrusting again and letting my body take over as I listen to her. Every time she cries out, I hear nothing but pleasure, her breasts swaying and shaking in my hands as I stroke deep and hard, in and out of her body.

For at least this moment, we aren’t adversaries, aren’t frenemies. We’re two souls tangled up into one big knot of past, present, and future.

Finally, I can’t hold on and let go of the grip I have on my control, grabbing her waist to pull her tight as I speed up.

Violet pushes back into me as we start fucking each other, meeting stroke for stroke and leaving me breathless. The deep well of sexual passion inside her thrills me. She matches me, challenges me, both of us driving the other higher and higher until we’re trembling. Sweat drips down our bodies as we balance on the knife edge of ecstasy, not wanting to tumble over because it feels so good but at the same time, unable to stop ourselves.

Violet’s fingers dig into the cushion, and she screams, her pussy clamping tightly around me, and I unleash myself in a mighty roar, slamming deep inside her to release the torrent of heat that’s been building inside me. My balls pump again and again into her while she cries out, screaming her orgasm in tandem with mine until we’re both spent and my legs can’t hold me up any longer.





Chapter 14





Violet —Thursday—9 Days Until the Wedding





Despite getting only a few hours of sleep, I wake up with the dawn, and immediately, I feel like things are never going to be the same again.

I’m lying with my head on his chest . . . on the sofa. Despite Ross’s protests that sleeping on the too-small surface is impossible, after last night’s torrid sexual poundings, we were both out like lights. And I have to admit, I’m incredibly comfortable naked atop him, listening to his soft snores, his arm thrown over his eyes as he lies with his other leg falling to the floor.

With him laid back and unaware, I can’t help but take advantage and look down to the thick cock lying between his legs. Even now, soft in his sleep, I can’t believe he was able to fit it all inside me. Oh, yes . . . yes, he did, and if my lust-clouded memory serves me correctly, I gave as good as I got. I pushed back into him and begged him to pound me harder by the end.

Now we’ve crossed a line I never, ever thought I’d cross with Ross. And while, yeah, teenage me is jumping up and down for ticking the biggest box off her bucket list, adult me is drowning in doubt.

I just slept with my best friend’s big brother. The tormentor I hated. The boy I lusted after before I even really knew what desire was. The fake fiancé that I’m going to marry.

So I just jumped pussy-first into a whole new world of trouble. This was supposed to be a business arrangement only, not a ‘tear a hole in the sofa cushion with your fingernails as he sends the third orgasm exploding through your body while you fake being in love’ sort of arrangement. That’s just cray-cray.

But the craziest thing of all? I like it. I like it a lot.

It’s like before this wasn’t serious, but now it’s gotten real. Very real.

For me, at least. And isn’t that the million-dollar question? I’m not a casual sex person, usually, but with at least six months with Ross looming on the horizon, I wonder if I can be. Can I have sex, fake being in love, get married, and then walk away when the time is right without being broken? Can he?

Though questions are still rolling through my head, my bladder is telling me that regardless of any moral boundaries I might have obliterated, I’ve got some physical needs to take care of. I quietly slip off the sofa and hurry to the bathroom, where I freshen up.

“Good morning,” Ross says quietly behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. I arch my back, pushing my bare ass back against another part of him that’s woken up as he slides his right hand up to cup my breast and pinch my nipple lightly. “Mmm . . . so that wasn’t a ridiculously vivid sex dream last night.”

“No,” I say with a small smile, turning my head to look up into his eyes. “But thanks for confessing that you wanted me first.” I can’t help the tease as it slips from my tongue.

With a grin, I tell him, “We can’t right now . . . I’ve got an early client, and it’s just luck I woke up in time.”

Part of me, a big part of me, wants Ross to ignore what I just said and bend me over the sink so we can watch in the mirror as he gives me a very big good morning. And though I hate to admit it, I want him to make me say ‘please’ again because damn if he didn’t make it worth it.