I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, rubbing myself against his cock until his breath hitches. He’s been having his way with me and I’m loving it, but there’s no way I’m letting him have all the fun. I reach down and grip his cock, pumping it slowly. He groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck as I work him over, my thumb swiping over the head.
He presses a kiss against my ear. “Fuck, you feel good, baby.”
“You have condoms, right?”
He reaches over and blindly grabs one from the nightstand. I take it from him, impatient now, and try to rip it open with my teeth. No such luck. He laughs as he takes it from me, opening it with ease and rolling it on his cock. “I got you.”
I trace over his tattoo. Does it mean something, or did he just get it for fun? Now that I think about it, his brother has a tattoo in the same place. Maybe he got it with him. The thought is unfairly adorable.
If we were really dating, I’d ask. But that’s the kind of question that comes from a girlfriend, not a hookup. And if there’s anything I need to remember, it’s that this is not for real. This is just to scratch an itch we’re both feeling. Even if he calls me princess and makes me see stars when I come.
He rolls us over, so I’m on my back, and nudges my legs apart with his knee. I oblige him, gripping his arms to steady myself as he lines up. A muscle in his arm jumps as I squeeze. He rubs his cock against my entrance, getting the tip wet with my slick.
“James.” I gasp as his hand brushes my still-sensitive clit. “Don’t tease.”
He looks down at me, something unidentifiable in his gaze. “I won’t, Beckett.”
He pushes in. A little at a time, his face taut with concentration, leaving me rapt as I watch the intensity in his eyes. Beckett. He called me by my full name. Not Bex, not “princess.”
Beckett.
It makes my toes curl, even though it shouldn’t.
By the time he finally settles all the way inside me, I’m arching my back, legs wrapped tight around his hips. He stays still for just a moment, but true to his word, he doesn’t tease. He’s thick as fuck; his fingers helped, but I still feel a delicious stretch. He pulls out almost all the way, the drag of his cock exquisitely slow, before thrusting his hips forward.
“Is this good?” he asks as he builds up a rhythm. “Tell me if I need to do something different.”
I nod, my grip on him tightening.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes,” I say, the word intermingled with a cry as he hits the spot inside me that makes me want to melt. “Keep going. Please, just don’t stop.”
“Good girl,” he praises as he snaps his hips forward. His hand finds my clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. “What a good fucking girl.”
I close my eyes, lost in the tsunami of pleasure that’s hitting me from all angles—his huge cock inside me, his talented fingers, the power with which he’s pleasuring us both. When he lowers his head to my breasts again, I come, the orgasm and my voice ripped from me all at once. He holds me to his chest tightly as his rhythm gets erratic, finally finishing inside me with a low groan.
For a few minutes, we don’t say a word. I can feel his heart pounding, just like my own is, and it’s comforting, knowing he needs a minute to breathe as much as I do. He makes to move off me, but I shake my head, digging my nails into his skin.
“I like it,” I mumble. “You’re like a sexy blanket.”
He laughs against my neck. “I don’t want to squish you.”
“Mm. You are pure muscle.”
“Don’t you know it.” He stays put, his hand stroking through my sweaty hair.
Eventually, though, he does move. I sit up as he goes to take care of the condom. As much as I hate the thought of getting dressed and driving back to campus, I know I need to do it.
He comes out of the bathroom, running his hand through his hair, and smiles when he catches sight of me curled up against the headboard. That smile has no right to be that charming. “Hey. It’s pretty late.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “Thanks, I’ll go change and be out of your hair soon. Text me about the game, okay?”
He walks over to his dresser and takes out a t-shirt. Instead of putting it on, he tosses it to me. “Stay. It’s late, I don’t want you on the road right now.”
“It’s a ten-minute drive to campus.”
“A lot can happen in ten minutes.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I have to get up early for my workout and morning practice tomorrow, so you’ll have plenty of time to get where you need to be. Stay, okay? We can watch something together, or just sleep if you’re ready for that.”
It’s so tempting to say yes. I don’t have an early class tomorrow, so I could take it easy. And what girl says no to a guy asking her to spend the night? Usually, the complaint is that guys won’t offer cuddle time.
But it’s dangerously couple-like. Domestic. And as much as I want it, I know I can’t have it, even if it’s just a night of pretending.
I reach up and kiss him softly before I slip out of the bed. “I can’t.”
He watches as I gather up my clothes, slipping back into what I wore when I first arrived at his place and then tucking my dress and shoes into my bag. I know I probably look all rumpled—I don’t even want to think about what a mess my hair is—but I can’t bring myself to care. With a bit of luck, Laura will be asleep already or spending the night with Barry.
“Call me when you get to your dorm room,” James says eventually. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and walks to the door with me. “Okay?”
“I can just text you.”
“Call.”
His voice holds a surprisingly serious note, so I look up at him. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“You won’t be. I want to make sure you get home safe.”
I wait for him to open the door and send me out into the night, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me, clearly waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll call you.”
“Good.” He leans in, hesitating for half a second before kissing me on the cheek. “We can talk about the game tomorrow.”
As I drive home, only one thought echoes in my mind: I just slept with my fake boyfriend.
19
JAMES
“Sweetie!” my mother calls.
She’s still halfway across the parking lot, but her arms are open, ready to pull me into a hug. I jog over, letting her wrap me up in her arms. We FaceTime every week, but nothing beats seeing her for real. I hug her back, breathing in the familiar floral scent of her perfume, as she smacks my cheek with a kiss. A Sandra Callahan hug is like nothing else in the world. I’m halfway in game mode already, but can’t help relaxing a bit. I know not everyone has a good relationship with their parents, but I’m fortunate to have two awesomely supportive people in my corner, and in my siblings’ corners. I still feel bad that Bex was intimidated by the thought of them. Yes, we have a lot of privilege, but my parents are good people, and they use their money for good, too. If I’m half as successful as them in my career and my life, I’ll consider that a job well done.