Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband (I said Yes #4)

17. Sterling

Chapter seventeen

Sterling

T here’s no stopping what Weland has awoken with that kiss.

And I’m not talking about the monster in my pants. I’m talking about the monster inside me. The good monster that feels just lovely and peachy because it’s lovely and peachy and wonderful to be kissed like this. Her hands at the nape of my neck feel wonderful. Her body pressing against mine ignites a fire that spreads through my bloodstream and goes straight to my cock, but to be fair, it also goes to my brain. Also, to be fair, it nearly shuts my brain completely off.

Her soft, flowy floral blouse is no match for me, buttons and all. My fingers make quick work of it, and she gasps when I send the silky fabric gliding down her shoulders and then her arms. I replace the fabric with my fingers, running them down her arms, and then I switch, feeling the soft, silky curve of her hip, then her belly, and then the top of her jeans.

This whole thing is just for show, right? Because I’m having a hard time remembering that. What I’d like to show is Weland. Show her a good time. With my mouth, my hands, my body.

She still has her hands wrapped around my neck, and as I brush the waistband of her jeans, she leans in, and the tips of her breasts hit my chest. Tips. As in nipples. Oh my god, her nipples are going to pierce through that plain black cotton sports bra. If it’s designed to be functional and not lovely, it’s not doing a very good job of that because I love the way her breasts look in it. Full and pert.

She angles into me, and I deepen the kiss, tasting her lips with renewed passion. I try and keep my dick away from her because I like to be a gentleman, but she bumps up against it, and the satisfied whimper she makes just about sends me straight out of my skin.

I love the way she’s breathing out of her nose and kissing me at the same time, so she doesn’t have to come up for air. I love the hot blasts of air I keep getting. It sounds like a funny thing, like a puffing and chuffing horse, but it’s not like that at all. There is nothing about Weland that isn’t absolutely wonderful and delicious, soft and curvy, hot as the fires of hellaciousness, and perfect.

She rocks into me, moaning against my lips when she rams the juncture of her thighs up against the bulge in my jeans. I see stars and give her a groan in return to rival a troll that just got stung with a pitchfork in the arse.

As if she remembers, oh right, we’re supposed to be putting on a show, and that means exaggerating, she reaches around and grabs my butt cheeks. Through my jeans. I gasp in shock, and she grins at me.

“I like this. You have a perfect rump.”

Then, she grabs my hands and puts them on hers. “So do you, Miss Bull,” I groan.

“That would be Mrs. Hopeschord. Don’t slip up now.”

Thinking about her as my wife is another thing that puts me off balance. I’m already rocky, but then Weland plants her hands on my chest and shoves me down onto the bed. She falls on top of me, straddling me and kissing me wildly.

“Give me that shirt, you sexy beast husband.” She balls her hands into my shirt and rucks it up my chest. I pick myself up just enough for her to slip it over my head. She licks her lips and rubs her palms over me, and it shouldn’t be hot, being touched like I’m a freshly baked monster cookie bar that’s just come out of the oven, but she’s slaying me here.

I’ll be her monster cookie bar, and she can lick me any day.

Weland makes the tiniest noise of appreciation in her throat and rocks her core against mine. She has to sit down to do it, and I let out a hiss that sounds like a punctured tire. It sounds like I’m dying. I might be dying. But it’s a great feeling. I’d like to die a little more if it’s like this. It might just happen because when she does it again, I can’t breathe.

I grasp her hips and rub her against me, jeans against jeans, my cock against her sweet, warm center that I can’t get at because of fucking jeans against jeans . Regardless, it’s wonderful. My head falls back against the bed, and I do it again. She does it again.

“Should I stop?” she pants. “Or maybe less friction. Probably less friction. It’s just for show anyway.”

“It’s just for…oh god. Please don’t stop.”

She grinds against me again, and that’s it. No matter what I just said, I have to make her stop, or there is going to be an incident in the pants. This isn’t high school, and I’m supposed to have more control than this.

I grasp her hips and roll her over in one smooth motion. She has no danger of being flattened or crushed by my weight, but I don’t think she’s worried about that because she grasps my hair and crushes our lips together. I take my time kissing her sweet mouth, and then I use my need for oxygen as an excuse to come out of the kiss and trail kisses down her jaw, her neck, and her chest. When I get to the cotton sports bra, I don’t stop. I kiss over the smooth black fabric until I reach her nipple. Then, I suckle it into my mouth. The cotton tastes like her. Fresh and sweet. Mountain air, a crisp stream in spring, the first snow in winter, the salt of the ocean, my favorite dessert, and those tacos we had for dinner. All good things.

“Sterling,” she moans. And then she goes for her pants, tackling the button frantically and trying to peel them off.

I kiss my way down her belly. In case you were wondering, my favorite dessert happens to be cherry pie, but I bet she tastes sweeter. I’m going to taste her. Sweet heavens and stuffed olives, I’m going to taste her.

We both tug at her jeans, getting them off. She spreads her sweet legs for me, her lovely, creamy skin glowing in the light of the lamp she turned on. I have no idea what kind of shadows we’re casting, and even though that’s all this is, it’s time this show is over.

When I flick the light to turn it off, Weland freezes. She thinks the show is over, and not in the way I’m thinking.

There’s no way I’m going to stop now, not when she wants me to keep going. Not when she reaches for me hesitantly, like I’m going to toss the covers over her, stuff pillows between us, kiss her forehead, and tell her that was a great performance for my creepy cousins who need proof about our marriage being legit. Thanks for playing along, sweetheart. Goodnight.

No. Just no.

“We can still just go to bed,” I tell her. I don’t want to push her. I would never do anything to hurt her. Correction: I’ve already done enough to hurt her and muck with her life.

But Weland is strong. She’s surprising and amazing. She steals my breath and amazes me in every possible way. “This isn’t for them,” she says as her hands twine through my hair. “It’s for us. We wanted to figure out if this would work before they ever showed up.”

“But they necessitated the marriage in the first place.”

“Sometimes we find that the things that curse us also bind us together and become a blessing.”

“That sounds like my new favorite song lyric,” I say to her.

Of all the things I’ve said, that makes her freeze. “What’s it like living in Nashville, in the heart of everything? Actually, no. What’s it like the second you hear something you know is going to change the world and everyone who ever hears it from that moment on? What’s it like being the one to put that out there into the world? Music that people live by and swear by, music that people play at their weddings and funerals and every other stage of their lives?”

I wish I had words for that. I don’t. But I can kiss her. With the wonder of kissing her, I can show her how it makes me feel. Honestly, I didn’t think anything in the world would ever approach that feeling, and then I met the woman I’ve technically been married to for the past four years. I finally met my wife, and kissing her makes me feel that way. Kissing my way back down her breasts, over her belly, and lower. That makes me feel the heart-speeding breathless wonder.

Her hands come down on mine when I kiss nearly to her panties. I think she’s going to stop me, but she helps me peel them off instead. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” she whispers.

I think it would be undignified to let out a bellow of laughter at this moment, so I do what she did earlier when she was trying not to laugh. I snort-laugh.

Except, when I realize Weland is completely naked from the waist down, I can’t make any noise. I settle myself between her legs and then position them over my shoulders. I think this is what gives my life meaning. Being here with a woman I could treasure if I let myself. She’d let me. I already know she would. If we were a fit, that is. Not just physically but in other ways. I’m not kidding myself that just because we’ve been able to make the past few days work, it means we could make the next however many years of a future together work, but small steps. I’m not saying they won’t work either. How would I know what it takes? I’ve never had someone there to rely on. I’ve never let myself trust, not even when it comes to family. I’ve never had someone in my corner other than Smitty and the people at the label who have my back, but I pay Smitty, and the other relationships are also working ones.

Weland opens her legs for me, and she’s totally naked. It’s pitch black in here except for a few small glints of light coming in through the blinds, but it’s enough to outline her in a faint glow. Perfection. She’s an angel crash-landed from the heavens, and here I am, overthinking things.

It doesn’t take much for me to turn my brain off, at least right now. That’s actually a talent I haven’t been able to master—turning things off when I want to. My brain is usually always going, going, going. But not right now. Right now, there’s just Weland in front of me, glistening wet and ready. She smells absolutely divine. I know it’s incredibly cheesy to say that my mouth waters in anticipation of tasting her, but that’s exactly what happens. I’m kneeling on the bed, which keeps my cock from drilling a hole through both my jeans and the mattress. I don’t need to take Weland’s bed out too. Sacrificing my pants is more than enough.

I inch closer, pressing a kiss to the crease of her silky thighs. Her legs tremble and open just a little bit wider, and I inhale the wondrous scent that is all her.

I don’t know why I freeze up, but I just do. Maybe because I’m having a hard time believing this is happening, and it’s happening to me. It’s a good thing, and good things in my life are generally very short-lived. I don’t want this to go the same way. I want this to last. Oh, look, my brain just turned itself back on again, and it’s whirring so darn fast that the rest of me can’t keep up, which is probably why I feel paralyzed here.

There’s a momentary pause, but Weland doesn’t get offended that I’ve stopped. She doesn’t ask me what’s wrong with her pussy or if there’s an issue with my tongue being broken.

Instead, she inhales.

And then she sings.

She sings, and it’s sweeter than angels, sweeter than tacos or the deliciously guilty late night deep fried chicken run I treat myself to every once in a…well, not often enough. She’s sweeter than anything I’ve ever heard. I’m sure it’s her song she’s treating me to, one that she wrote. It takes me right back to the first time I ever heard her sing. Right back to that video on the internet that had me so amazed, I would have asked her to marry me right then and there even if I didn’t need a wife.

I’m kidding. I think.

As I wait for her to finish, I stroke my hands up and down her thighs. It might be the weirdest thing anyone else has ever done, and seriously, I really hope my cousins don’t have night vision goggles and a wiretap going on, but I think the beefy security dude Smitty hired will take care of that right quick and clear them out if they did.

Soon, Weland finishes, her voice tapering off. Silence filters through the room for just the briefest heartbeat before I lean in and press a kiss straight to her clit.

Her hips instantly follow my mouth up and then press back down when I kiss her again. I follow it up with a lick, and her hips go wild. Her belly trembles, and she thrashes her head on the pillow, moaning. “Don’t stop. For the love of cheesy meatballs, don’t stop.”

I want to obey, so I don’t. I kiss her, lick her, and tease her with my fingers. She loves it. She lets me know exactly where she’s most sensitive, where she wants my tongue, and where she wants pressure or not so much pressure, more teasing or less. She doesn’t have to tell me with words because her body does it all for me. She’s soaking wet, her hips riding my touch. She’s so sensitive that it blows my mind. I don’t want her to come yet because I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to stop giving her pleasure. I don’t want to stop discovering what she likes and giving it to her exactly the way she wants it.

I’ve been missing out on this for a lifetime.

I’ve been missing out on this for the past four years, and I didn’t even realize it.

I lick over her folds, teasing her entrance with my tongue. She gasps when I plunge it inside, and I probably gasp too. Because she’s delicious . I know I shouldn’t, but I go back up and tease her clit into my mouth, suckling at it while she pants and arches off the bed, her hips bucking a little more frantically and wildly. I bring two fingers to her entrance and tease her there. I won’t plunge them in. I don’t want to take her all the way yet.

She lets go of my hair and grasps the sheets, curling claw-like fingers into them.

I can’t help it. I have to do it. I have to let her come because I want to experience it with her. I want to be the one taking her there. I want to see her body racked with pleasure. I want to hear her come apart. I want to feel it happening around me. I’m the one who can’t wait.

I slip two fingers inside her and suckle her clit hard. It takes a few seconds, but then her climax hits. She wheezes breathlessly and bites down on the sound as her walls clench around my fingers. I can feel her feet digging into the bed as her legs clench around my shoulders.

I lick at her gently, hyperaware of every single noise and movement she makes. She’s incredible. More than incredible. She’s the entire world right now. I don’t have words for what that feeling was like hearing a song that is going to change everything for that very first time, and I don’t have words for this either. I want to show her, but I’m ending up in the same wordless spot of amazement. Maybe this is where I was always meant to be.

She goes limp around me all of a sudden once the pleasure has passed. I kiss my way back up her belly, going in reverse mode until I meet her mouth. Then, I take my time there. The fact that she’s not shy about tasting herself makes my dick roar like an untamed beast but tamed he’s going to be, at least for tonight.

I can see how sleepy Weland is. She’s pulling me down and twisting me to the side. She wants to be held, and darn it, I’m going to give her everything she wants. If only because I darn well should after not being here for the past four years.

“That was the best non-show I’ve ever had the pleasure of being a part of,” she whispers.

Her eyes flutter shut, and her breathing evens out. She’s asleep before I can even pull the sheet over her.

I nestle down next to her. I’m only half holding her as she’s on my one arm. No doubt it will go numb in short order, but I refuse to mind. I close my eyes, but my body is still buzzing. There’s no couch tonight and no dog, but there is the warmest, loveliest woman in my arms. I can already sense tonight will be another one of those mostly sleepless nights.