Chapter 21
ETHAN
Iwake to darkness and the sweet torture of Piper pressed against me.
She’s been shifting restlessly for the last ten minutes, each movement sending shockwaves through my already compromised self-control.
Her back moulds to my chest, my arm draped over her waist, and every time she moves, her body brushes against mine in ways that are definitely not helping my situation.
I’m desperately cycling through unsexy thoughts. Freddie’s protein shake disasters. That statistics exam I bombed sophomore year. The time Troy tried to impress Delilah with parkour and ended up in the ER. But my body doesn’t give a shit about my noble intentions.
She wiggles again, pressing back as she adjusts, and my cock responds with enthusiasm.
“Pip,” I groan into her hair, which smells like vanilla and trouble. “You gotta stop moving.”
“Sorry,” she whispers. “Your bed is weird. There’s like, a crater in the middle.”
“My bed is perfectly broken in,” I argue, but then she shifts again, her entire body rolling against mine, and I can’t suppress the sound that escapes.
She freezes. I can practically hear her processing, putting together the equation of my reaction plus what’s currently pressed against her.
“Oh.” Her voice is small. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” I lie through gritted teeth. I’m so hard it hurts, pressed against the curve of her ass, and she’s apologizing like she committed a crime. “Just... give me a minute.”
But instead of staying still like a reasonable person who isn’t trying to kill me, she turns in my arms. The streetlight filtering through Greg’s leaves on the windowsill catches her face. Without her glasses, she looks softer, vulnerable. Her eyes are huge and dark and focused entirely on me.
“Ethan,” she says, and her hands come up to rest on my chest.
Every nerve ending in my body goes on high alert. “Piper.”
She doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, her hands start moving. Slow. Deliberate. Tracing the planes of my chest like she’s mapping code, finding patterns in muscle and skin. Her touch burns through my t-shirt.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She looks up at me, and the expression on her face steals my breath. It’s fierce. Determined. Like she’s solved a particularly complex algorithm and is ready to execute.
“Getting what I want,” she says simply.
Fuck. Me.
The words hit like a system override. Every cell in my body lights up, real arousal flooding through me—not just the automatic response to friction, but genuine, desperate want. The kind that makes you stupid. The kind I haven’t felt since before Paige turned me into a cautionary tale about trust.
“Piper,” I manage, catching her wrists before her hands can venture any lower. “Are you sure? This isn’t just—the wine, or listening to Troy and Delilah, or—”
“It’s not about anybody else. It’s about me and you,” she interrupts, twisting her wrists free. Her hands resume their journey, skating over my ribs. “I’m done waiting. Done being passive. Done pretending I don’t want things.”
“And you want...?”
“You,” she says simply. “I want you. Unless—” Uncertainty flickers across her face. “Unless you don’t—”
I flip us before she can finish that ridiculous sentence. She gasps as her back hits the mattress, looking up at me with wide eyes as I hover over her, weight on my forearms.
“I want,” I assure her. “God, Piper—I really want you. But not if you’re going to wake up tomorrow and regret it. Not if this is just about forgetting Miles.”
She reaches up, traces my jaw with fingertips that tremble slightly. “This isn’t about him. This is about me finally going after something real instead of chasing shadows.”
“This is real?”
“Does this feel fake to you?” She deliberately arches up, pressing her body against mine, and I have to drop my forehead to her shoulder to maintain any semblance of control.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” I mutter against her skin.
“I’ll make it worth it,” she promises, and how is this the same girl who was nervous about her fairy lights five hours ago?
I lift my head to look at her. Really look. Her hair is spread across my pillow like spilled ink, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from earlier kisses. She’s looking at me like I’m something precious, like I’m worth wanting, and it’s been so long since anyone has looked at me like that.
“If we do this,” I say carefully, “it changes things. The fake dating, the arrangement—”
“Fuck the arrangement,” she says firmly. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
Something in my chest cracks open at her words. “Thank god.” I breathe out, and then I’m kissing her.
This kiss is nothing like the performative one at the party. This is just us—desperate and messy and absolutely real. She tastes like stolen wine and determination, and when she nips at my bottom lip, I forget every reason this might be complicated.
My hand finds the hem of her tank top, slides underneath to find warm skin. She arches into the touch, making sounds that threaten to short-circuit my brain.
“I’ve thought about this,” I admit against her throat. “More than I should.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is breathless, hands tangling in my hair. “What did you think about?”
“How you’d sound.” I press a kiss to her pulse point. “How you’d taste.” Another kiss, lower. “How you’d feel.”
She shivers. “And?”
“Better,” I tell her honestly. “Everything’s better than I imagined.”
She pulls me back up for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. Her tongue slides against mine with a languid heat that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. Like we have all the time in the world.
When I trail my hand down her stomach, feeling the flutter of muscles beneath warm skin, I pause at the waistband of her cotton shorts. She lifts her hips in clear invitation, the movement sending a bolt of electricity straight through me.
“Please,” she says against my mouth, her voice cracking with need. “I need—I want—”
“I know,” I murmur, slipping my hand beneath the fabric, past the elastic of her underwear. “I’ve got you.”
She’s so wet, so ready, slick heat coating my fingers as I explore her.
The knowledge that I did this—that she wants me this much—nearly breaks my control.
When I touch her properly for the first time, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves, she gasps, her whole body arching off the mattress, pressing into my touch.
“You’re so beautiful.” I marvel, watching her eyelids flutter, her lips part. I memorize what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, the exact pressure that makes her dig her nails into my shoulders. “So perfect.”
“Ethan,” she whimpers when I slide one finger inside, her inner walls clenching around me. “Oh god.”
“Just feel,” I encourage, adding a second finger, stretching her gently, finding a rhythm that has her clutching at my shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations in my skin. “Take what you need.”
She’s stunning like this—uninhibited, chasing her pleasure without shame or hesitation.
Her hair fans across my pillow like spilled ink, her skin flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest. Nothing like the girl who was afraid she’d forgotten how to want.
Every sound she makes, every way she moves against my hand, hips rising to meet each thrust, pushes me closer to my own edge.
“Close,” she gasps, her breath coming in short pants, thighs trembling on either side of my hand. “I’m so—don’t stop, please don’t—”
“Never,” I promise, curving my fingers just right while my thumb presses circles exactly where she needs it, and she shatters, her back arching, my name a broken cry on her lips as pleasure ripples through her.
Watching her come apart in my bed, my name on her lips, I know I’m absolutely fucked. This was supposed to be fake. Supposed to be simple.
But there’s nothing fake about the way she looks at me as she comes back to herself, sated and soft and still wanting. Nothing simple about the way my heart pounds when she pulls me down for another kiss.
“Your turn,” she murmurs against my mouth, and yeah.
I’m definitely fucked.
In the best possible way.
Her hand slides down my chest, mapping every ridge and plane with deliberate attention. She’s unhurried, almost clinical in her exploration—like she’s committing me to memory, storing data for future analysis.
“Pip,” I warn as her fingers trail lower, skimming the waistband of my boxers. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she says, voice steady despite the flush spreading across her cheeks.
Jesus.
I swallow hard as she hooks her fingers under the elastic, tugging down with newfound confidence. The cool air hits me first, then her warm hand wraps around my length, and even more blood rushes to my cock. Her touch is tentative at first, experimental, gauging my reactions.
“Like this?” she asks, eyes locked on mine as she strokes.
“Yeah,” I manage, though it comes out strangled. “Just like that.”
She smiles—not the careful one she uses at the diner, but something wilder, more primal. Pleased with herself. With the power she has over me.
Then she’s sliding down my body, positioning herself between my legs, and holy fuck—the sight of Piper Renner looking up at me from there is enough to make my heart stop.
“I’ve been thinking about this too,” she admits, her breath ghosting over sensitive skin. “About tasting you.”
Any response I might have formed dies in my throat.
When her tongue traces a slow, deliberate path from base to tip. The sensation nearly blinds me, pleasure so intense I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing her.
“Fuck,” I hiss, watching as she explores me with the same methodical attention she gives everything else. Learning what makes my breath catch, what makes my hips jerk.
When she finally takes me into her mouth, the wet heat of it almost undoes me. Her inexperience is obvious in the hesitant way she moves, but there’s something unbearably erotic about her determination to figure me out, to catalog my responses.
“You’re incredible,” I tell her, one hand gently cupping her cheek, feeling myself against the inside of it. “So fucking perfect.”
She hums in response, the vibration sending electricity up my spine. Her confidence grows with each reaction she pulls from me, with each gasp and curse that falls from my lips.
“Pip,” I warn when I feel the familiar tightening, the edge approaching too quickly. “I’m close—you should—”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, lips swollen and slick. “You taste so good.”
When she takes me back in her mouth, deeper this time, I lose the battle.
Release hits me, vision whiting out as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
She stays with me through it all, swallowing like it’s nothing, her eyes never leaving mine, and the sight of her taking everything I give her pushes me beyond rational thought. So. Fucking. Hot.
When I finally come back to myself, she’s curled against my side again, looking pleased with herself in a way that makes my chest tight.
“That was...” I trail off, still catching my breath.
“Was it ok?” she asks, suddenly uncertain again.
“Devastating,” I correct, pulling her closer. “Absolutely devastating.”
She grins, hiding her face against my shoulder. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
I say honestly. “You’re a natural.”
“I read a lot of romance novels,” she admits, voice muffled. “Research.”
I laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re amazing.”
“So are you,” she says, trailing her fingers across my chest.
I prop myself up on one elbow, studying her face in the dim light. “Did you... I mean, was it good for you too?”
She hums thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Your fingers were... adequate.”
“Adequate?” I gasp, clutching my chest in mock horror. “Did you just say adequate?”
Before she can respond, I roll us over, pinning her beneath me, her wrists gently trapped above her head. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating as she looks up at me.
“Adequate?” I repeat, lowering my mouth to her neck. “I’ll show you adequate.”
I nip at the sensitive skin below her ear, and she squirms beneath me, a giggle escaping her lips.
“I meant it as a compliment,” she protests weakly, still laughing as I trail kisses down her throat.
“Adequate is what you call a mediocre cup of coffee,” I murmur against her collarbone. “A C-minus paper. Not what I just did to you.”
Her laughter fades into a soft gasp as I release her wrists to slide my hands under her tank top. “Maybe I need a reminder,” she challenges, arching into my touch.
“Maybe you do,” I agree.