My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

“I’m not fearless, Trix. I was scared as hell. But I couldn’t leave a man to burn to death in that inferno.”

“I know you couldn’t. I know you’re a hero, Vance. But I’m not one. I can’t handle it.”

She buried her face in my neck again, holding on tight. I pressed her against me, held her for my comfort as much as for her own. I reminded myself I wasn’t going to push her, wasn’t going to pursue her. So I disentangled myself or started to.

“I know I smell like smoke. I better go have a shower,” I said, clearing my throat. My voice was rusty from the smoke I’d inhaled, and I was trying to peel her hands from behind my neck. Finally I ducked my head to get out of the circle of her clinging arms, and she bumped her lips against mine.

“Don’t go. Don’t do anything right now. Please, Damon. I almost lost you tonight,” she said, breathless. I saw her eyes, dark and desperate. I remembered the impact of her body that sent me reeling. I felt her wrapped around me, one leg hooked around my thigh, both arms around my neck, plastered against me. She had given me my opening, had come to me, and I would be damned if I turned her away when she felt more essential than air at that moment.

I grabbed her hips and lifted, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, her strong thighs holding on tight. I dipped my head and took her mouth, spun around so she was against the door. I kissed her, my tongue in her mouth, her sweetness blocking out the bitter smoke that had filled me, taking the taste of fear and death from my mouth and filling me with her instead. I groaned, taking more of her mouth, plunging my tongue deeper. I drew back, nipped her lip with my teeth and got a tiny moan from her for my trouble. She was delicious, she was cold water after the fire I’d survived, she was fresh air dispersing the thick smoke. She was everything clean and pure and bright wrapped around me, clinging to me like she’d never get enough.

“I need you,” she whispered against my ear and kissed the pulse point just behind it, her tongue hot and sweet on my skin.

“I’ve always needed you,” I answered her, playing it cool be damned. I’d nearly been killed, and my wife was waiting for me, afraid and hungry for me. I’d give her all of me, hell, I’d do more than that. I’d do anything she asked.

I pressed her into the door, my mouth going to her neck, sucking and licking, leaving a love bite where her neck met her shoulder and making her arch into me. I dropped to my knees and draped a long, bare thigh over my shoulder. I put my mouth between her legs, my tongue hot and wet through her cotton panties. Her hands were in my hair, and I gripped her thighs like she was my anchor to this earth. The sweet taste of her sex as I pushed aside her panties was intoxicating, like drowning in the sea and not caring at all. I was on my knees, worshipping her body, and the miracle was she was allowing it.

13 Trixie

He started so softly, his questing mouth wet on my panties, then his finger pushing them aside. The brush of his finger on the slick flesh of my sex made me dizzy all at once. Then he took first one tender lip and then the other between his lips, kissing, licking, sucking. My knees were so weak. I tossed my head back and forth against the front door, my nails scoring into the wood behind me. He turned his head and kissed the inside of my thigh, then higher, then tongued my pussy again, and I started to wail. My keening, high-pitched cry started and got louder and louder until I drove my hands into his hair to steady myself, tugging at his scalp, riding his face. I knew my slickness was soaking him, and knew he didn’t care. He had a grip on my thigh that might leave a mark as I bucked my hips in desperation.

“Oh yes, yes, please, Damon. Please fuck me!” I said, shameless and needy.

He slid a finger inside me, stretched me and pumped in and out as I writhed, desperate to be filled by more than one long finger. He caught my clit between his lips, laved it with his tongue and lapped at it, sucking, flicking it until I ground my crotch into his face, arching up on one tiptoe and clutching his hair, riding his face until everything splintered apart, and I screamed my climax. Weak, I sank to the floor, to my knees.

Damon pulled me across his knees and held me. “You are so sexy,” he said. I mumbled a sound that wasn’t even a word at all, and he chuckled. “Now that made me feel like a hero. I made you speechless.”

I let him cradle me against his chest right there in the floor beside our front door. I held on to his t-shirt, breathed him in, acrid smoke and all. I started to cry a little, and then I sat up, straddled his jean-clad lap and wrapped myself around him like a monkey and clung. His arms went around me and he held me close, synced up our breathing and stroked my hair.

“I’ve got you, baby. You didn’t lose me,” his words were meant to soothe me, but I shook my head, weepy and sweating, hectic.

“I could have. It could happen any day.”

“It could happen to any of us, at anytime. You could step off the curb—” he broke off, buried his face in my neck for a change. “I could lose you, too, you know.”

“If you hadn’t come out of that building.