Page 98 of The Fake Out
I’m grossed out by what Connor did, but my body is still humming, twitchy and agitated from watching the video before Rory got here. “I’m okay.”
Rory being here, his fresh scent teasing my nose and his hands on me, it’s making it better.
“You being here is helping,” I admit.
He closes his eyes, letting out a pained exhale. “I’m feeling really jealous right now, Hartley, and I feel like I’m going to do something stupid.”
Wicked delight curls inside me, and I bite my bottom lip. “Like what?”
“Like send you a video of me jerking off.” A muscle tightens in his jaw. “I’m sorry.” He looks away, and it’s the same remorse from when he gifted me the weekend away with Pippa. “I went too far.”
I make a face, confused, before it hits me: I didn’t respond. He sent the video and I disappeared.
“I didn’t respond,” I say on a sigh. “Shit.”
Oh god. Hazel, you asshole. Of course he thinks he went too far.
His tongue pokes in his cheek. “If you want to go back to the way things were before, we can.” He looks down at me with such earnestness my heart cracks open.
I can’t believe I ever thought Rory Miller was an asshole. He’s not. He’s just not.
“I just watched it,” I blurt out, pressing my thighs together. I can still feel how wet I am.
His gaze sharpens, fingers flexing on my shoulders. “Really.”
“You didn’t go too far.” I sound breathless, and I can’t get enough air as our eyes hold.
“Two years, I watched you with that prick.” His eyes flash. “I hate that he still thinks he has you.”
“He doesn’t.” I’m not sure what we’re doing here anymore but I have an overwhelming need to prove to him that Connor doesn’t mean anything.
Between the strange friendship we’ve developed and the flirting that feels like fun, things with Rory are so different than they ever were with Connor.
My skin’s prickling. The last two weeks of photos and flirty texting have driven me to the brink of horniness, and now I want to do something about it.
Ineedto do something about it.
Lifting up on my tiptoes, I kiss him. My hand flattens on his chest, rubbing slow circles over his heartbeat as I walk him backward to my bed, giving him light, sweet kisses.
“Sit down and close your eyes,” I tell him when the backs of his knees hit the bed.
His features are strained like he’s holding himself back, but he gives me a funny smile, and that playful spark is back in his eyes. “Why?”
“Do it.” I push against his flat stomach. “You’ll be happy you did.”
He drags a breath in and smiles like I’m killing him before sitting on the edge of the bed and closing his eyes, propping his elbows on his knees. In my closet, I find my favorite piece he sent—a pale pink lace bodysuit, sheer and delicate and soft with tiny straps.
My clothes swish against my skin as I take them off, and I pull the bodysuit on with care. Like the last time I put it on, it feels like a dream to wear. It’s the perfect size, like it was made to my measurements, and against my skin, the lace is luxurious.
“Don’t peek.”
I turn, and he’s resting his chin on his palm, gaze hot and intense.
“I’m not,” he says, eyes raking down my body.
Goosebumps rise across my skin. As I approach, he pulls me between his legs. His hands come to my hips before sliding down and into the bodysuit, palming my ass, and I sink my fingers into his hair.
I try not to think about why I want to comfort him so badly, why I want him to realize Connor’s nothing to me. I’m not thinking about my rule and what this means. I’m not breaking it. I’m not getting attached. I’m just letting myself enjoy this one tiny moment with a guy I know I’ll have fun with.