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“Give me those moans, baby. Let me hear you.”
Baby.That was enough to draw one from the depths of my chest as pleasure knotted tighter and tighter in my core.
“There you go. Let me hear how good it feels. Let me hear you let go.”
I gasped, and then sound collided with skin as a scream tore from my chest. My body spiraled like a firework into release, bursting into a million pieces as my body clenched over and over again.
I knew anatomy and chemistry and all of the scientific explanations for what happened to my body just then, but none of them felt sufficient to describe the experience. None of them felt enough to describe what he did to me.
“Oh my god,” I breathed out, too weak to care how satisfied I sounded.
Decker chuckled huskily. “Better?”
I inhaled and then exhaled slowly, a happy shiver running through my body. “Yes.”
“Good.”
My eyes popped open, picking up the thread of strain in his voice.“What about you?”
I hadn’t heard him…join me…on the phone. Not that I was aware enough to hear that, but I was pretty confident he hadn’t been masturbating at the same time, though I was sure he needed to now.
He let out a ragged laugh. “I’m not afraid to open up to you, Reese, but it won’t be over the phone,” he replied, and I was about to argue something about fairness and equality when he added, “I want you. Fake relationship or not. And if I’m going to come to the sound of your voice, it’s going to be with my cock buried inside you. Anything short of that is a kind of torture I don’t deserve.”
My jaw snapped shut, and I swallowed everything I’d been about to say.
“Good night, Reese.”
“Good night, Decker.”
The call ended, and I stared up at the ceiling. The only question that should’ve been running through my mind waswhat had I just done?But I didn’t think that at all. Instead, all I wondered was,how do I make it happen again?
Maybe in the morning, I’d wake up with more sense than to want anything real with my very fake boyfriend.
ChapterSeven
DECKER
“Are you still doing okay, Mom?”
My eyes flicked to the rearview, meeting Reese’s from the back seat. Her chocolate irises swirled with hunger for an instant before they snapped back to her mom who was riding shotgun in my truck.
“Of course, honey. How else would I be doing? I haven’t moved from the front seat in the last hour and a half,” Arlene replied sweetly, shooting me a wink as she chuckled.
“We’re almost there,” I added.
Arlene was in good spirits this morning for obvious reasons. One, Reese had caved on the road trip up to Yellowstone. And two, I was here. Recovered from the mysterious illness that had kept me away from the house for almost a whole week.
I was pretty certain Reese gave her mom a story or two when she would leave the house that she was coming to visit me. She hadn’t though, but she also hadn’t completely pushed me away. At first, she called because she said her mom insisted she check on me. Then I’d call to check on her—to ask if I was feeling better yet. Every call, we’d talk for a while about our days. What I was working on. How her mom was doing. She talked a lot about seeing the hospital here compared to where she worked in the city. But inevitably, the conversation ended with the same set of questions.
“And how am I doing, Reese? Am I feeling better yet?”
She’d hum and answer, “Not better enough. Not yet.”
“And how about you?” I’d pause and ask. “Do you want to feel better?”
“Yes.”
And then I’d close out my night by talking my girl—myfakegirlfriend—through an orgasm. Every time I heard her come, I felt like a goddamn king. This woman was so strong, so independent, so unwilling to let her guard down. But she did it for me. Well, at least, for my voice. And damn, that felt so good.
