Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(57)

“Your pussy feels so good,” he murmured. “I’m going to come in you so fucking hard.”

I gasped as he pulled out again, but I loved he way he manhandled me into the positions he wanted. He rolled onto his back and hauled me on top of him. I sank down onto his cock, reveling in the feeling of his thickness filling me.

He reached up and threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling my mouth to his. I rolled my hips to slide up and down his cock while he kissed me deeply. My tits dragged across his chest, his coarse hair tingling against my smooth skin.

Grinding him like this felt so good, I was teetering on the edge of climax in no time. I nipped his lip with my teeth and he let go of my hair to grab my hips. He thrust up, hard, as I rode him faster.

We were both lost in the moment, saturated with pure lust. His brow furrowed and he grunted, his cock thickening. I chased my orgasm to the brink, letting the tension overtake me.

Still grinding on him, I burst apart, my breathless moans filling the air. His cock throbbed, deep inside me, as we came together. It was magic, our bodies moving in sync, the waves of pleasure rolling through us both.

He pulled me down again, kissing me while my body trembled with the last pulses of my orgasm.

I slid off him and lay on the sheets, catching my breath. My eyes fluttered closed. I couldn’t move. He got up to deal with the condom, then I peeled myself out of bed to take care of basic necessities in the bathroom.

When I came back, he pulled me against him in the center of the bed, wrapping his arms around me. I rested my head against his shoulder, letting my arm drape across his chest. His skin on mine and the warmth of his body felt so good, I resolved to stop wearing pajamas to bed.

We lay together in silence for a few minutes. The rush of orgasm was gone, but it left a warm glow in its wake. I breathed him in and slid my fingers through his chest hair, completely relaxed.

“You know, maybe we should stop your dad from throwing this party,” I said, breaking the silence. “He’s going to spend all this time and effort for an engagement that isn’t real.”

Shepherd rested his cheek against my head. “True.”

“But the thing is, and maybe I’m imagining it, he seems so excited. Like this is fun for him.”

“It is. He was the one who planned all our birthday parties when Ethan and I were kids. He loves this stuff.”

“God, your dad is the cutest. What do you think we should do?”

He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me. “I think we play along. He’s spending my money, not his. And it’s giving him something else to focus on besides having cancer and trying to dig himself out of a financial hole.”

“That’s kind of what I was thinking, too.”

“I am going to get him to tone it down, though,” he said. “Dad has a tendency to go overboard. If we’re not careful, we might wind up with a two-hour fireworks show over Lake Union or a private concert by some old boy band.”

I laughed. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“He did. The fireworks were for my eleventh. I still don’t know how he got the city to issue the permits. The boy band was for Ethan’s thirteenth.”

“He got a boy band to play at Ethan’s thirteenth birthday party?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t have encouraged him.”

“Probably not.”

“Sorry.”

He kissed my head. “Don’t be. We’ll get through it.”

I nestled into him, enjoying the warmth of his body. His arms around me. I was floating on a cloud of sex-induced endorphins, wrapped up in bed with the sexiest man I’d ever known. We would get through it. It was going to be fine.

We were going to be fine. I hoped.





24





Everly





Shepherd had been right. Richard was really into this party planning stuff.

He sat at the dining table with his laptop, plus a mess of magazine clippings, post-it notes, lists, and menus spread out in front of him. He’d spent the last couple of weeks immersed in this party, happy as could be. Today, he hummed to himself, jotted down notes, held up samples, and seemed to come up with one new idea after another.

Svetlana sat across from him, resting bitch face out in full force. He’d invited her over for dinner, and I wondered if she’d known he meant dinner while planning Shepherd and Everly’s engagement party. Her plate of food sat mostly untouched in front of her. I was pretty sure her meal consisted primarily of vodka tonight.

I stood in the kitchen, pretending to be busy with something, stealing glances at them. It was hard not to laugh out loud. Richard looking happy as could be, asking for her opinion on invitations or declaring I have the best idea for the tenth time. Svetlana, arms crossed, legs crossed, glaring down at Richard’s jumble of party preparations.

How he was oblivious to her pouting was beyond me. But Richard did tend to see mostly what he wanted to see. Shepherd thought his sensitivity was his weakness, but I disagreed. It was his unbridled optimism that seemed to get him into the most trouble. He saw the absolute best in everyone and everything—even when it wasn’t really there.

Maybe I recognized it because I shared the tendency. It was probably why I’d been on so many bad dates. I always tried to see the best in people, and sometimes it got me into trouble too. That was part of why I liked Richard so much. I understood him.