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

“How—are you lasting this long?” I demanded as I tried to get my breath.

“Easy. It’s how much I want you, how long I’ve wanted you. I’ve ached for you every minute. I could go all night, just making you come in different ways.”

“I’d like that, but I want you to come too. Show me how to make you feel good, please,” I said, looking over my shoulder. He slid out of me, let me roll onto my back and he kissed my lips again.

“Anything you do to me will make me feel good. You have to know that. The only thing holding me back is that I want to make it good for you. I want this night to be unforgettable.”

Damon took my jaw in his fingers, turned my head, caught my lips with his, unsteady with the rock of his thrusts but fierce and good, his tongue sensuous and consuming as he kissed me. His arms were around me, and I felt tears sting my eyes.

He drew away and turned me over. He pulled me back into his lap, “Like this, close as we can be,” he said, and positioned me so that his cock impaled me, penetrating my sensitive sex again, “Does that hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head. I was tender, but he wasn’t hurting me. I was wet again for him, and his fingers on my nipple, his tongue questing in my mouth made me wetter. I had to bite my cheek to keep from crying. I wanted to weep with how close I felt to him, how connected.

His stubble was rough against my jaw, his lips soft and hot. They made me shiver and cling to him. I was undone, ruined with pleasure and now broken down to the point that I couldn’t look him in the eye. He would know. He would see how much I loved him, how devastated this night had made me because it was everything I ever wanted. Because he was everything I wanted and couldn’t have. Not for real. Not beyond tonight.

Damon ran his hands up my bare back, kissed my temple and my cheek, moving in me with a slow, undulating rhythm that was almost hypnotic. “My beautiful, beautiful bride,” he said, his lips on mine. I felt tears slip down my cheeks, but I was powerless to wipe them away, powerless to do anything but hold on to him and kiss him back like my life depended on it. Like it was more than making love, like it was a last, bittersweet goodbye to the only man I’ve ever loved. I pulled away from his kiss and hid my face in his neck, my arms going around him tighter. With a jagged shudder that tore through his body, he tensed with short, deep thrusts. He came, pulsing inside me, a hot rush that stung at the same time it felt glorious. He stroked my hair, held me close, kept me in his lap.

“God, you’re my undoing, Trix,” he said raggedly, kissing my hair. “What’s wrong, baby? I saw you crying. Are you—did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, still burying my face, afraid to let him see me. He cradled me in his arms for a few minutes before putting me away, tipping my face up to meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Tell me,” he said, his voice urgent. I opened my eyes, saw the worry on his handsome face.

“I’m fine. I guess, it was too much. It felt—it’s stupid, okay? It felt real for a minute,” I mumbled, trying to say it lightly, a little sarcastically even. But it sounded anguished. I sounded like I’d been taken apart, like I was heartbroken.

“Who said it wasn’t real?” he asked “Look at me Trixie. Do you think this is a fling? This is you and me. I don’t grout tile with flings, and I don’t argue about Ghostbusters with flings. I do that with you. With my wife. I think about you when I’m at work, when I’m in the shower, when I’m going for a run. You. Nobody else.”

“I know we said that we’d be monogamous until the divorce, and I appreciate what you’re saying, that you’re doing that,” I muttered.

“No. Listen to me. Get this through your stubborn head right now. I am in bed with you because that’s the only place I want to be. Do you understand me? Do you think it’s like this with everyone else?”

“Unlike you, I haven’t had sex with everyone else,” I said wryly.

“I haven’t had sex with everyone else either. Besides, this doesn’t feel like any of that, and you and I both know it. This is—not what we bargained for when we co-signed a loan and went to the courthouse. We were supposed to be in name only. But the lines have blurred, and that didn’t start between the sheets. It started the night your zipper got stuck. There was something between us, chemistry. Then we started watching the Back to the Future movies, bickering about them, laughing together. You fell asleep on my shoulder.”

“What you’re saying is I should never have asked you to help me with the zipper. I should’ve cut the damn dress off and thrown it out,” I said grimly.

“Never. Not in a million years would I have wanted that to happen instead. I like where we’re at. It’s—”

“Oh my God, Damon. Are you getting hard again?” I said, surprised.

“Maaaybe,” he said with a sheepish grin.

I climbed off his lap and backed away, pulled the sheet up to cover myself. I saw, to my horror, that I’d left a love bite on his shoulder.

“I like you. I can’t help it. And if my body responds to having you near me and naked—that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“This is complicated. So complicated. Why did I let it get this way?” I moaned.

Damon crawled up the bed and stretched out beside me, naked and magnificent. He propped his head up on an elbow.

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