18. Sophie
Sophie
“Stop being afraid of what could go wrong, and start being excited about what could go right.” — Tony Robbins
T here’s a persistent ringing noise somewhere behind me, and I feel a small, frustrated groan build in my throat. Why is there an alarm clock in my house? I thought I got rid of those blasted things weeks ago when I quit my old life.
Unconsciously and mindlessly, I stretch my arm out, trying to find the thing that is trying to wake me from the best sleep I’ve had in years. “Off,” I mumble to myself, trying to burrow back into the warm cocoon I’ve been in.
My nose drags against the pillow, and I stop…because that’s not my pillow.
Not even close.
My eyes snap open so fast it hurts, and the first thing I see through the loose strands of my hair that fell over my eyes is a large, tattooed arm in front of my eyes.
Or rather, underneath my head. Or around me.
Oh, hell …it doesn’t matter how I word it!
I’m using my fake husband’s arm as a pillow!
The fake husband who is apparently using me as his stuffy toy, because now that I’m semi-conscious I feel a weight of his strong leg over my hip, wrapping fully around me until the foot of that same leg is stuffed in between my legs.
His other arm is wrapped tightly around my waist. My naked waist, since apparently hugging me like a Koala bear over my T-shirt wasn’t an option and he sneaked past it.
Theè mou, that means…a shift my butt just slightly…yep! My butt cheeks are pressed against his morning erection and dear Lord… I stifle a moan…what an erection it is.
No wonder I was warm. I have no idea how we got here, but knowing Clover, he’ll freak the heck out when he realized how we’ve been sleeping. I didn’t need to spend more than a day with the man to understand that he’s got some attachment issues.
Meaning, he doesn’t want any. In any sense. Emotional or physical.
Slowly, I start pulling away from him only to freeze when the arm around my waist tightens. And not only that. It tightens and moves up, up, up…until his large fingers wrap around my small breast, his calloused palm scraping against my pebbled nipple.
I look down, my mouth agape at the sight of my shirt bunched up as his hand holds on firmly to my boob!
Oh, fuck…
I stifle another moan when he squeezes me. Hard. Sending delicious sparks through my body and directly into my center. My now wet and throbbing center.
The sound of the beeping alarm is long forgotten as is my plan to move out of his hold before he wakes up.
“Mmm.” A deep grunt fans over my neck, sending a new wave of goose bumps as Clover burrows his nose into my hair, tightens his hold while pushing his hips into me .
Oh, sweet …I can feel the size and the length of his dick through my thin lacy thong.
I can even feel his throbbing vein that runs through his cock, pulsating into my flesh.
Don’t move, Sophie. Don’t freaking move! Because I swear just one shift of my legs—hell, one breath—and I might come. I really, really might have an orgasm just like this. Just from my fake husband holding me.
And squeezing my aching breast.
And grinding his hard hot cock into my ass.
“Is anybody going to get that alarm? It’s been beeping for hours now!” Grace’s shrill voice sounds from the closed door, breaking through my haze.
I freeze. Even more so than I already was.
Clover sucks in a sharp breath behind me. “Is it just me or did I really hear Grace Colson yelling from the living room?” he asks, his raspy, morning voice laden with sleep.
Great, even his voice is dripping sex this morning. Just great.
“It’s not just you.”
“Fuck.” He sighs, exasperated, but makes no move to…well, move .
“Um, Shrek?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you can let go off my boob?” There’s a long, tense beat and then…
“Oh, fuck!” Clover whisper-hisses as his body attempts to jerk away from me, but the problem is, it’s so wrapped around me that he takes me right along with him, shifting us so now I’m lying on my back on top of him with his cock digging even deeper into me.
“Well, that didn’t work.”
“Am I the only one who can hear the blasted alarm?” Grace yells once again.
“Jesus Christ.” Clover sighs and this time, slowly, dislodges me from his body. “What is she doing here?” he whispers, turning off the said alarm.
Sure, let’s totally ignore the elephant in the room right now and talk about my insane friend .
“Well—” I start to tell Clover that I did warn him last night, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“About what?”
“To tell me, ‘I told you so.’ It’s too early for that.”
I smile. “No problem, husband. I’ll wait another thirty minutes before doing it.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He gives me a thumbs up, and I laugh, the sound still raw from sleep and other things that are entirely his fault as I tilt my head to the side to look at him.
Theè mou, I slept pressed against that work of art.
“Jesus…it’s just as colorful in here as it is in the rest of the house,” he says, taking in my room in daylight and I smile.
“I thought you’d like it better than the other rooms. Look, the walls are painted your favorite midnight blue.”
“And what about the spiky-looking chandelier and the yellow polka dot curtains?”
I wave him off. “It’ll grow on you.”
“Highly doubt it.” He clicks his tongue.
“Sophia Levidis, you better get your butt out here, or I’ll expecto patronum it out of there,” my best friend kindly threatens.
Ignoring her, I address Clover. “Sooo, are we going to talk about it?”
“Nope,” he says, clearly knowing what I meant. Instead, he pushes the blanket off his body, swinging his legs to the ground. “I need to get to work. God only knows what these hippies did while I was out yesterday.”
I swear, I don’t mean to look but my eyes just slide over his beautiful back, strong shoulders and that trim waist that leads to simple, snug boxer briefs and gulp. Why is my fake husband so hot?
“Sophie? Did you hear what I said?”
“Huh?” I snap my eyes away just in time for him to turn his head around.
“I said, I’ll go get some of my clothes from my parents’ place today. Do you have that spare key that came with the new door? ”
God, how can he be all business right now when I’m practically burning from the inside out?
“Oh, yeah. I do.”
“Okay, and give me your phone number. I guess I should have it.” He throws his phone across the bed toward me, and with a snicker I input my number, internally laughing at the name I put myself under.
“There.” I throw it back to him and get up. “Now, let's face the music.” I start toward the door, but Clover stops me.
“You remember to keep this between us?” he asks in a low voice.
“Don’t worry. It won’t be a problem.”
And that’s the truth, because I’m pretty sure If I’d admit that I somehow started falling for my fake husband in the span of one day, I’d get admitted to the psych ward.