Page 101 of The Match Faker

“I know.”

“That’s…”

“I know…”

“You raised your sister,” I remind her. “You don’t want a baby. And you’re not even pregnant.” I throw my hands up in the air.

She lifts her chin, unwilling to break. “I never said it made any sense.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the time, before placing it on the table beside my door where I put all my mail. “Well, if you’re feeling sad, there’s only one way to make you feel better.” I stroll past her toward the bed, unbuttoning my shirt as I go.

“What’s that?” she asks, her voice rightfully suspicious.

I sprawl on the bed, my legs spread wide, leaning back on my hands. Her gaze lands on the exposed skin and hair of my stomach and chest as she slowly follows me.

“We’ll have to resurrect Yasmin.” When she gets close enough, I hold out my hand. She takes it for balance and sets one knee on the mattress, then the other. She hikes up her long skirt until her thighs are exposed.

“You’re right.” She splays her hand over my stomach, up to my chest.

I hold her hand over my heart, pressing my skin to her skin to mine. “Should I be someone else, too?” I ask. It only seems fair that if she has a sex role play character, so should I.

She pauses, midway through pulling her hair out of its bun. She leans over me, her hair falling around us, a silky shroud. “Absolutely not,” she says, resolute, against my lips.

“Why not?” I whisper.

She pulls her shirt over her head, unhooks her bra, holds her breasts in her hands, nipples peeking between her fingers. As she grinds against the growing bulge in my pants, I raise my hips to meet her. My mouth waters to taste her where she teases me, her fingers plucking and pulling, caressing where I want to suck her most.

“Why not?” I ask again, my voice hoarse, my dick hard, my heart thumping. She could break me into a thousand jagged pieces and I’d still get hot for her, love her.

She smiles, softly, running her hands through my hair. “Because in every possible plot, you’ll always be my Nick.”

THE END