8. Felicity
EIGHT
FELICITY
His words send a jolt of pleasure straight through me. Watching him stroke himself to my body does something I’ve never experienced before. I’ve never felt desired by a man, let alone believed they could be attracted to me in this way.
And Damien makes me feel hot and heavy and all the kinds of things you only read in romance books.
I pump two fingers inside myself as his strokes become more frantic. Wetness beads along the tip of his dick, which is aimed towards me. Each pounding beat of my heart matches the rhythm he’s set, and my fingers match that pace.
It’s not the fact that I’m fucking myself that has me growing wetter or pressure building, but watching him.
“Fuck,” he groans, “I’m so close. Tell me what you feel right now.”
I tighten around my fingers, the walls of my pussy fluttering, belly tightening with my impending orgasm. “T-tight,” I stutter, gasping. “C-close.”
He moves onto the bed, now kneeling between my legs. If he finishes, it’ll be on me, and that somehow only makes me feel…more.
“You are doing so well,” he murmurs, gently grasping my knee. “Just a little longer.”
I don’t know if it’s his touch or the fact he’s repeating the same words from earlier, but the precipice of my orgasm hits, and I fall over the edge with a cry.
A rush of warmth floods me as I buck off the bed, the tightness of my core trapping my fingers inside of me.
Throughout it, though, I can’t pull my eyes off Damien.
He curses, dick jerking in his hand as his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s holding himself. “Can’t hold on.”
“Just the tip and you can finish inside me,” I say in a rush, pulling my fingers free.
Damien’s fiery eyes find mine, but he plants a hand by my chest, moving himself between my thighs, and swipes the tip of his cock through me before stopping at my entrance. Every touch is electrifying, and heightens when he pushes into me barely an inch.
“Oh, fuck, you are so hot,” he groans, bowing his head. His hand still moves between us, but I’m locked in place.
This is the closest I’ve had to sex, and it’s with my fake husband. Worse, he is going to come inside me without having actually screwed me.
Feeling just the tip has me fluttering again, and gasping when he jerks and something spurts inside me. Damien’s movements slow as he releases a low groan, and only when he stops can I breathe again.
“Felicity?” he asks gently, moving so he’s hovering over me, yet staying exactly where he is in my pussy.
I swallow hard and meet his eye. “Yes?”
The corner of his lips quirk in the kind of smile that has my heart stuttering. “I think this is the least stressed I’ve seen you all day,” he murmurs.
A shiver rolls down my spine, but I don’t know how to respond. All I thought when I started was that maybe I could unwind before he got out of the shower, since I knew sleeping with him so close would lead me to an anxious spiral, but I’d just lost track of time—and him.
Damien runs his dark gaze over me. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll never come down from this high. I think I might need another shower since the first one clearly didn’t work.”
My cheeks warm, and I suck in a breath. “I think I’ll need to clean up, too.”
His stare drops to my pussy, and with ease, he pulls out. I catch sight of his tip, which glistens with our combined release. “Oh, you most certainly do,” he murmurs. “But it’s so fucking tempting to push it all back inside you.”
As if to prove his point, he swipes his fingers over me, making me freeze. The tips of his fingers circle my entrance, picking up his cum, before pushing it back into me. “Damien!”
“God, I love the way I sound on your lips,” he murmurs, curling his fingers. “Say it again.”
My breaths come faster as I stare at him. “Damien.”
To my shock and pleasure, he slides a third finger inside me. I’ve never felt so full in my life. “You’re so tight and warm,” he groans as he sets a deliberately slow pace.
A silent cry falls from my lips as my hips move to match his pace. Any words I could have uttered die on my tongue as waves of pleasure roll over me. Damien takes his time, stroking my insides until he’s happy with my response, and only then does he add pressure to my clit.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, circling my clit before rubbing it. “Oh, you enjoy this, don’t you, sweet wife?”
I’m not sure if it’s his name or something else that falls from my lips when I cry out, but the power of this orgasm has me seeing stars.
It leaves me wondering what I’m going to do when this is all over, because it can’t last.
I wake up to a heavy, strong arm wrapped around my middle, face buried in the crook of my shoulder, and sunlight streaming through my windows.
It all comes back to me slowly; the courthouse wedding turned real ceremony, handling all of Damien’s friends and Bradshaw for hours to prove our lie to be some sort of truth, coming back here and…
And falling asleep with Damien after we both found release to one another.
My eyes open fully to the mess of the cottage.
The makeshift bed I’d made him lay completely untouched, instead housing the rest of his belongings.
After my second orgasm and him going to clean up, it’s a blur.
I’m pretty sure he came back with a wet washcloth to clean me of cum, and then eventually crawled into bed beside me.
Though, I’m pretty sure I invited him to stay in bed with me.
I can almost still feel him between my thighs, even though we didn’t go any further. Just his fingers alone left a pleasant ache between my legs. I can’t imagine what his dick would do.
My cheeks heat as I smack a hand to my face. No, absolutely not. This has to be the last time we do this. We can’t…we can’t cross this boundary again. It could be so dangerous.
This is going to end. In a few years, we’ll divorce.
In a few months, he’ll probably move out to their new property and refocus all his attention on the lodge while I work on getting the inn back up and running.
In a few weeks, I’ll have the money to fix everything, and Bradshaw won’t even know, because by then, he’ll be gone, too.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Damien groans, his arm tightening around me. My heart and belly flutter from the way he holds me. It’s a feeling I can’t help and yet know I have to tamper down on, even though it hurts.
God, it hurts so much. After spending a whole day watching his friends fawning over their partners and seeing what real love could look like, getting to experience even a fraction of it—fake or not—just reminded me of what I’m missing.
I want real love, and knowing I won’t have that until…
It helps me push his arm off me gently and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Damien doesn’t immediately stir, but when he does, his arm moves again around my middle, making me shiver.
“Too early,” he grumbles, splaying his hand over my stomach. “Just come back to bed.”
Sickness pools in my stomach. “It’s already late enough,” I murmur, placing my hand over his. “I need to go check on the inn.”
He groans again before finally releasing me. “Right. There are people in there. Shit.”
I swallow hard and force myself to stand. “I’m going to have a quick shower.”
Without looking at him, I stride to the closet, grab a dress, panties, and bra, then duck into the bathroom. Somehow, his smell is everywhere, and it forces a lump into my throat. I can’t escape him, and I don’t know if I can. If I want to.
I shower as quickly as I can, careful to wash away any remnant of him and what happened last night. It’s both heartbreaking and a reminder that this isn’t meant to last.
By the time I leave the bathroom, he’s already gone, but in his place is a plate of cut fruit and a muffin, warmed from the microwave, and a slip of paper telling me he’s gone for a run.
For a moment, I imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every day.
Dangerous as it is, I bask in that thought while I eat, and pray I don’t get lost in the dream. Because if I do, I know: I’ll fall in love with my fake husband.