Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(72)

I continued to hold the dildo in place, but I didn’t feel confident enough to move it. Even though I couldn’t see him, Julian’s gaze seared my skin. I knew he was watching me, drinking me in.

“Slide it inside,” he gave a husky command.

My throat bobbed as I lowered the toy. I was so aroused it slipped right into me, and Julian emitted a raspy growl.

“You look incredible right now.”

I moaned, instinctively moving it slowly in and out. Julian’s weight returned to the bed. Softly, he pushed my hand away and took charge, pushing it in deeper, harder. My sighs filled the room as my head fell back. All I could hear were his masculine sounds of approval, all I could feel was him skilfully fucking me with the sex toy.

What new world was this?

It didn’t even feel wrong to do this in my childhood bedroom. Everything with Julian felt right, so right it scared me. Emotions threatened to push to the surface when he pulled off the blindfold.

“This was a bad idea. I need to see your eyes,” he said, taking my mouth in a passionate, hungry kiss. The dildo fell away when Julian pushed inside me. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, hands moving between our bodies to rub my clit. I came quickly, harshly, and while he was still inside me.

My sex clenched around him and Julian spanked my thigh. His face was a picture of male need, as he pushed in and out, seeking his own release. “That’s my girl.”

The possession in his eyes hit me like a sledgehammer. It was only when he came that I realised he hadn’t been wearing a condom. I gasped as the hot, silky feel of him filled me up. His body fell on mine, totally spent. Several moments of silence passed between us before he swore under his breath. He’d clearly come to the same realisation as I did.

I rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ellen. I don’t know what came over me.”

My voice was gentle. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m not on any contraception, but I can get the morning-after pill. It’s not a big deal.”

He moved away from me to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, internally berating himself.

“It’s not okay. It was reckless.”

“Julian, nobody died. It was both our faults.” I reached out to touch him, but he shook me off.

“Ellen, I’m a sex worker, do you understand what that means?”

All of a sudden, my gut dropped. I peered at him questioningly. “Surely, you get tested?”

“Yes, I do, and I’m clean, but you don’t know that. You need to be more careful.”

“Julian, you’re not just some man I picked up off the street. I know you and I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t be so trusting.”

“Why not? You’re clean. I’m clean. There’s nothing else to worry about.”

He stood now, looking down at me with such conflict and contrition. “I never do that,” he said shamefully. “When it comes to protection, I don’t ever let my guard down.”

I stood too and came to wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, we’ve been growing closer, more comfortable with one another. It’s only natural that our guards would slip.”

He sank into my hug and buried his face in my hair. I pulled him over to the bed, where we crawled under the covers. This time, he wrapped his arms around me, but he was quiet.

His silence gave me a bad feeling, but I tried not to dwell on it, and after a while, I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up and my bed was empty. For a moment I had a dreadful suspicion that Julian had gone, decided this arrangement was too much for him and left.

But then I heard the front door open and shut, and feet pad up the stairs. Julian was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower.

“I went for a walk and got us breakfast. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I bought coffee and croissants. We’ll stop by the pharmacy after we eat and get you the morning-after pill.”

I felt a little bashful when he spoke so casually, but then, there was no reason for embarrassment. We were both responsible adults, and we knew what had to be done. After breakfast and our trip to the pharmacy, I showered, did my hair and makeup and put on my pale pink chiffon dress. It was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and nipped in at the waist before fanning out into a swishy, A-line skirt. I loved it so much. It was neither an Elodie nor an Ellen outfit, but something new entirely. I’d bought it online only a week ago and was delighted when it arrived and fit perfectly.

I left my hair down and clipped it to the side. Julian wore a suit, and as always, he looked good enough to eat. I fiddled with my necklace.

“Here, let me,” he said, and came to stand behind me. He took the thin gold chain, his knuckles brushing my collarbone as he clipped it in place. “There you go. Perfect.”

He stared at me then, just…taking me in. He was smiling, but there was something sad in his eyes.

I reached up to stroke his jaw. “Are you all right?”

He exhaled a somewhat shaky breath. “Yes, weddings make me emotional, that’s all.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “Big softie.”

In spite of Shayla’s red colour scheme, the wedding ceremony was beautiful. The hotel was once a stately manor, and the reception room let out into the most gorgeous landscaped gardens. Julian and I sat at a table with Nick and Cameron, Shayla’s niece, Katie, who was actually pretty cute, and Shayla’s sister and her husband. They kept arguing over whether or not to call the babysitter and check in on the kids. I thought it was nice how they worried.