Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
We stood there in complete silence. I worked to steady my breath. I think I’d shocked him or broken him or something .
“Say something, please.” I was near begging.
But he didn’t speak.
I didn’t think I could handle it if Porter was pissed at me. For some reason, it was imperative to me that he didn’t hate me for my latest transgression. Or any transgression, really.
We stepped off the elevator and walked to my apartment in silence. Inwardly, I freaked out. Would Porter leave? Had he had enough of the games I was playing with my family?
I could fix this. I’d just call Yates and tell him that I’d lied. It’d be an easy fix, and maybe I could convince Porter to stay, although, I didn’t really want to examine why that was so important to me.
In the living room, Porter turned around and inspected me. For longer than was comfortable.
“What…are you thinking?”
“I think we should talk strategy if I’m going to be your fake fiancé.”
My breath caught in my throat .
Shocked, “You’re going to pretend to be my fiancé?”
He shrugged and eyed me speculatively.
“Why would you do that?”
“Not sure.”
“Okay…” I felt uncertain about how to proceed. “What kind of strategy were you thinking?”
“Do you think Yates will tell anyone?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“So, we keep up the pretense with only him.”
“Okay.”
“And we keep this to ourselves.”
My breath rushed out of my throat. “Agreed.”
“We’ll remain friends. Our secret.”
Translation: no more kissing.
Just two friends. One helping the other one out. I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed about that, but I wasn’t surprised either.
“Agreed.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “And before it goes too far, when you’ve got your situation with Yates sorted out, we’ll quietly end this.”
“Good plan.” I nodded vigorously. Those were good terms. Terms I could live with. “Yes.”
We stood there, staring at each other. I wasn’t sure how I was even meeting his eyes.
“So, do I need a tux for tonight?”
The gala.
The fucking gala.
It was my turn to do the slow blink as I processed what he was telling me. “You want to come tonight?”
“Might as well.”
“Okay. Yes.” I searched for my phone. “I know a really great tailor that can have you fitted with a rental. It might cost extra for the rush, but they’re the best.”
I pulled out my phone and found the address. I wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “I’ll call there. They’ll be expecting you.”
Hard-to-read grey eyes met mine. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. I had no idea why he was helping me out like this, but I was unbelievably grateful.
“I’ll shower and then head out.”
“Okay.”
I called the tailor and gave him my credit card after Porter left. I flopped back on my bed. I debated calling Emily, but I had too much to say and doubted I could articulate any of it. This situation was getting complicated, but if it meant Yates would get off my back, it would all be worth it.
How had things gotten to this point? Porter had stood up for me, to my mom of all people. He would make an awesome boyfriend. Why would Felicia leave him? What could possibly have happened between them that she would leave without even saying goodbye?
I’d been living with him for a short time, and so far, I hadn’t seen anything wrong with him. He was tidy, generous, and thoughtful. He also rocked a hot-as-sin body, and judging by the bulge I had seen last night, there were no size issues in ‘that’ department.
Maybe he was bad in bed?
I thought about the near kiss between Porter and me and immediately dismissed the thought. There was no way he could be bad in bed. Last night, he had effortlessly flipped me around in bed, indicating that he knew what he was doing.
I wanted to find out for myself.
Which was my dumbest idea yet. Porter had made it clear that we’d remain just friends. He was helping me out with this bizarre favor. And we shared a mutual friendship with Jackson and Emily. So, I needed to tuck my libido out of sight. I needed to control myself. I would not get drunk and throw myself at Porter. And I would refrain myself from embarrassing him and myself.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. The best way to ensure I didn’t throw myself at anyone was to take care of business myself. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out my trusty vibrator. Porter wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. I had time.
I kicked off my panties and climbed under my covers. I shut my eyes, trying to conjure my favorite fantasy.
Public sex.
I’d never done it, but I loved the idea of it. I pictured myself at the mall. Shopping in a skirt and extremely high heels. My faceless lover would come up behind me, grab my hand and pull me to some deserted back hallway. No one was around. I groaned, imagining as he spun me around, pushing me so I faced the wall. I could feel Porter’s hand slide slowly up my thigh.
My eyes sprung open.
What was Porter doing in my fantasy?
I shut my eyes and willed him away, replacing him with my faceless lover. His hand slid slowly up my thigh, before reaching my pussy. He loved to fuck me fast and hard, exactly the way I loved it.
I turned on my vibrator and slowly worked it between my legs.
Oh, God. Yes.
He flipped my skirt up and whispered filthy things into my ear, his breath hot against my neck. The sound of his zipper, and then, he’d push himself into me.
I moaned. He took me rough and fast, hitting me perfectly with each thrust. I was so close. Porter’s hot, thick cock pounded into me from behind. Porter again! Oh God, it might be wrong to fantasize about him, but at this point, I didn’t care.
I moaned against his hand covering my mouth, trying to quiet my loud moans. I loved the feel of him thrusting into me, the sensation of being taken. I loved how he filled me. I was so close. I was going to come.
The door flung open, and I gasped, lifting my head. Porter stood in the doorway, looking around.
Is that a gun—a fucking gun—in his hand?
Violence filled his every feature, as he assessed the room before his eyes landed on me. “Are you alone?” his voice remained low, straight to the point.
I nodded, unable to speak. Holy fuck. I worked to even my breath, desperately trying to look like I was waking up from a nap—and not like I had six inches of a vibrating dildo inside me.
Porter lowered his gun and shook his head. “Sorry, I heard a cry. Like you were being tortured. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I all but choked out.
He stopped, his eyes narrowed. I could tell he was listening. The faint hum of my vibrator sounded from under the covers, which barely covered my waist. The vibrator was doing it’s very best to get me off with its relentless movements inside me. I clenched my thighs together, hoping it would dull the noise.
It did, but that was almost my undoing. I fought my orgasm with clenched teeth.
Grey eyes met mine. Understanding dawned on them. “Oh, shit.” He exhaled, but he didn’t move.
Too late. I didn’t know if it was the sight of him—his rippling muscles covered in a plain tee, holding a big gun like he was ready to defend me to his death—or the fact that I’d already been on the verge, but my body said, fuck it. My thighs clenched around the spinning, vibrating dildo, and I needed to come.
My head fell back on the pillow, my neck and back arched as sensations rolled through my body. Wondrous, fabulous, intense sensations. A moan escaped me. As sick as it was, it was hotter with Porter standing there, watching.
A cry escaped my throat as my hips and back arched toward the ceiling. My whole body trembled and jerked as I tried to control the orgasm washing over me.
When I came down from the pleasure, realization sunk in. Heavy breathing and buzzing filled the air. I needed to make it stop. I reached down and awkwardly, so awkwardly, managed to turn my vibrator off.
Silence echoed between us. Mortification didn’t come close to describing how I felt. If a hole the size of Texas opened up and sucked me into the ground, it wouldn’t be big enough.
Porter stood stock-still. His intensity shocked me. Hot lust burned in his eyes as he took in the thin tank top covering my heaving chest and hard nipples. His skin flushed red, and he breathed hard enough that I could see his ribcage rise and fall.
My little show had turned him on.
“Porter.” My voice was hoarse and raspy, like rough sex personified, but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I should say something. Smooth this over. Crack a joke. Ease the tension. But words eluded me, and I couldn’t say anything but his name.
He swallowed. Hard. He was visibly fighting himself. Fighting this . Us. What would I do if he whipped off his shirt and approached me?
You'd welcome him with open arms, Beth.
Our gaze held. His resolve visibly wavering. If I made a move towards him, he’d lose this fight. Instead, I stayed silent. I didn’t know what held him back, but I didn’t want to get him in a moment of weakness. I wanted him to make that decision with his brain, not his dick.
He swore softly under his breath, turned, and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. I groaned, plopping my head onto my down feather pillow.
See that, Beth? Neither his brain nor his dick wants you.