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I squished my brows together. What was he getting out of it other than extreme sexual frustration? I’d been surprised by his self-control, though, by how he could pull back when necessary. When I’d woken up today, I’d felt his morning wood poking into my belly. Problem was, if his dick had rubbed anywhere lower than my waist. I’d have leaped out of the bed shaking like a leaf.
Why was I so freaked out by the prospect of penetration? I’d done my research after being diagnosed, and I’d found out that my condition might have stemmed from a phobia. I had no clue what, why, when or how. Before my first attempt at having sex with Ian, my ex, I was really confident and looking forward to it. But I should have realized something was wrong beforehand. I’d never wanted to get myself off by inserting a finger, never let anyone touch my pussy, and I couldn’t use tampons because of the pain.
Sighing, I went to my closet and stared at the gorgeous dresses Camila and I had shopped for this morning. She’d been beyond surprised when I’d told her about Pierce and me, that we were an item. “You’ve gotta be fucking with me, honey,” her eyes had widened. “Foxy? The man who put the ‘ho’ in manwhore?!”
“He’s changed,” I said by way of explanation. “He promised never to hurt me, and I believe him.”
“Hmm. I don’t wanna rain on your parade, sweetie, but promises have a way of getting broken.” Her mouth had turned down at the corners, and I’d pulled her in for a hug. Camila had suffered the loss of the love of her life, which was why I wasn’t mad at her lack of enthusiasm for my hooking up with Pierce.
I took the gowns from the closet and laid them in my suitcase. Apparently, there would be a press release that Pierce and I were dating. Engineered by Jake, of course. I’d protested to Pierce, saying that the publicity when we broke up would be like a tsunami. He’d reminded me that when our ‘dating’ came to an end, it would officially be me who broke us up, not him. It was part of our agreement, which we’d discussed over breakfast, along with his pledge not to fuck anyone while we were together.
I finished my packing, then went downstairs. I rubbed my hands down my pant legs. Tonight, Pierce and I would be hanging out on our own. We no longer needed Joe to chaperone us as we were a couple and my so-called boyfriend had sobered up. A smile brushed my lips. He’d shown surprising strength of character. I’d thought I knew him, but it was the rock god I’d known, not the real Pierce. Or maybe I was kidding myself and he’d revert to his bad old ways once we hit the road? My stomach tightened. I freaking hoped not...
I pushed open the kitchen door. Pierce was leaning against the counter. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey, sweetheart. Our chicken tikka masala arrived. It’s warming in the oven.” He licked his cupid lips. “Are you all packed?”
“Yep.” I poured a glass of water. “How about you?”
“All sorted.” He scanned me through his midnight blue eyes, his gaze lingering on my cleavage.
Gah, I knew I shouldn’t have worn this tank. It had shrunk in the wash, but I’d already packed the others. “Stop ogling, creeper.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“I’m your boyfriend. I’m allowed to ogle.” He winked.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re my FAKE boyfriend.”After we’d finished eating, we decided to chill for a short while on the decking. Pierce had brought his guitar and sticks out here and was noodling in between drumming on the sides of his ripped jeans-clad legs.
“I’ll miss our mountain bike rides.” I glanced toward the canyon. We’d gotten into the routine of hitting the trails most mornings.
He followed my gaze. “Yeah, me too. When did you start biking?”
“In high school. Me and a group of friends.”
“Did you date much then?” He looked me in the eye.
I squirmed in my chair, guessing where this was going. Pierce had taken on the role of my sex therapist, whether I liked it or not. He wanted to know my history. I chewed the edge of my thumbnail, debating with myself.
Unexpectedly, almost with a whoosh, the personal doors I usually found so hard to open just wouldn’t stay closed. Not with him. “I dated the baddest boys in my classes and broke every curfew my parents set.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I think I drove my mom to her early death… and all for nothing.”
“Nothing?” He stopped his thrumming, inched his chair closer.
“I never let any boy get past second base.” And I didn’t. Hands and lips above the waist was as far as I’d ever gone. Until Ian.
