My Fake Husband by Black, L. (lightest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

her over on her stomach and raise her hips. I love seeing her like that, her creamy ass, her flushed sex exposed to me. My cock twitches in response to the pretty sight. I slide the wet head of my cock along her slit and she rocks back into me, just like I want her to. Then I plunge forward, filling her, feeding every inch of my long, hard dick into her slick, tight folds. The sounds she makes are filthy and delicious, and the rock of her hips shows me how much she wants more. I buck into her, giving her my all, sliding my hands up her back, around her stomach, plucking at her clit until she cries out and clutches around me, making me come with a final hard pounding thrust, spilling inside her with a roar of my own.

Our bodies slick with sweat, I turn her over tenderly, kissed her lips. She winds her arms around me, and I hold her for a moment. Then my cock grows hard against her again, and I settle her on top of me. Show her how to ride me good and hard until we both shatter again, her inner muscles throbbing around me, her hair in a tangle across her face. I sit up at the last moment and cover her mouth with mine as my climax pours out into her tight pussy. It shakes me to my core, the greatest sexual pleasure I’ve ever known, with a woman I care for so deeply.

I leaned my forehead against the shower wall, panting from my climax. I wanted her so much it was making me insane. At least I could take care of the temporary insanity on my own. She’d made it clear that this was business, that we weren’t to blur the lines in that way. Not even when it was all I wanted. She was concerned with her business, with securing the loan. I wouldn’t make demands on her. Even if I had to take three showers a day.

It didn’t help that we had fun together. One afternoon I was home early and caught her streaming the second Back to the Future movie. I got some microwave popcorn ready and flopped down on the couch beside her to watch. Pretty soon, we were debating which of the trilogy was the best.

“They went to the Old West. It’s stupid. They were just cashing in on the franchise at that point. You cannot beat the Power of Love musical sequence when he’s on the skateboard in movie one,” I maintained.

“How can you even say that?” she said, “Doc is the best character in the series! He deserves his happy ending.”

“Uh, false! The DeLorean is the best character, bar none. No argument. The DeLorean makes the series. If it had been a fucking Camaro, nobody would’ve wanted a sequel. It’s the gullwing doors and the overall coolness.”

“So, you always wanted that car?” she said dubiously.

“Well, yeah,” I said, “Didn’t you?”

“No, but I had a little crush on Marty.”

“Uh, he did the mouse voice in Stuart Little. We had to watch it in grade school. You were crushing on mouse-voice?”

“He was cute in these movies,” she shrugged.

“I don’t know if I can even look at you right now,” I said, mock offended.

She threw a handful of popcorn at me, and I caught a piece in my mouth, crowing my victory.

We watched the last two movies together. She fell asleep with her cheek against my arm during the third movie, which she had proclaimed was her favorite and yet she nodded off at 7:30 trying to watch it.

If I let her sleep against me for a while, it was just to be a good friend, obviously. It wasn’t because the fact she felt safe with me made me feel so damn strong, so protective. Like I was a real husband, and she was my real wife. When she stirred, she woke suddenly, realizing what she’d done. She bolted from the couch, staggering and half asleep, talking about needing to make a salad or something for supper.

“I ate a bowl of popcorn while you were asleep. P.S. I was right about the third movie—total cash grab when the idea was tired.”

“Then you don’t understand the quality of the third movie. You must be heartless.”

“You have thought way too much about this,” I teased. “Now go get some real sleep. You’re obviously wiped out.”

“I will. Hey, thanks for watching with me. It was fun,” she said a little shyly.

“It was. Let’s do the Die Hard series this weekend when I’m not on call at the station,” I said, feeling weirdly excited about Netflix and no-chill with my own wife.

11 Trixie

Longest two weeks of my life. Sure, things were going fairly well, as long as I didn’t think about the fact that Damon couldn’t so much as pour a glass of juice without a surge of lust nearly knocking me off my feet. He was nothing but kind and respectful and helpful. He’d even lent a hand in cleaning up the back room at the shop. In short, Damon being wonderful wasn’t making me any less attracted to him.

It was deeply distracting. I’d started making dinner on nights we were home, pasta or a salad, once I’d made a pot roast because my mom insisted I make him a real meat and potatoes supper. I liked sitting at a dinner table with him, hearing about his day and telling him about mine.

“Brody keeps sending me sex tips, messaging me teen magazine articles about your first time and how not to be nervous. Is Laura doing the same for you?”

“No, thank God, but my mom offered me some back copies of Cosmo with diagrams in them. Either they legitimately think we don’t understand how tab A goes in slot B, or they’re completely savage.”

“Savage, no question,” Damon said. “This pot roast is fucking fantastic.”

“Thanks. My mom’s recipe. I used a bay leaf and everything. It