Page 12 of The Fake Husband
He alternates between sucking on my clit and flattening his tongue on it and dragging his tongue repeatedly along the slit. I'm getting closer and closer to the edge, but when he shoves his tongue into my pussy, my whole world screeches to a halt. In and out, in and out, exactly how I want his cock right now.
It feels so sinfully good.
"River, please don't stop. Please, I-I'm?—"
My orgasm hits me like a freight train, gushes of molten heat wash over me. My vision whites out, and a sound gets ripped out from my throat—something between a whimper and a loud moan.
But River isn't done. He laps up my juices until I'm nothing more than a quivering mess. By the time I look down, half his face is glistening, and a smirk tugs on his lips.
"O-okay. My turn."
I have no idea where I got my second wind so quickly, but this time, I kneel again and waste no time taking him into my mouth. My hands work on the other half while I tighten mymouth around him, sucking and licking him like my favorite ice cream.
My pussy continues to clench, and without breaking eye contact, I drop one hand and slide it between my thighs. My clit is still sensitive, so I push a finger inside me instead. River's eyes widen.
"Fuck, Nad. You're killing me."
I don't stop or change my rhythm, not even as River digs his fingers into my scalp, guiding my mouth. His thighs tighten, and his breath becomes harsher. He's close.
"Nad, fuck. I?—"
River doesn't finish because the first spurt of his come shoots into my mouth, then another and another, his hips move, trying to push deeper. With him still looking at me, I swallow every drop and make a show of wiping my chin with my thumb and sucking on it.
We know we've crossed a line. That we're off-limits to each other. That whatever this is might be wrong.
But in this moment, everything feels so right.
===
4
RIVER
Nadine has both hands on her hips, facing the French doors, wearing one of my shirts. She's looking at something in the courtyard that I know for a fact is just more terracotta and a potted fern.
She's been standing there for a few minutes. Before that, she reorganized the complimentary toiletries by size, and before that, she stood in front of the dresser, running her fingers along the edge, looking for a hidden camera. She tried watching something on TV, but ultimately gave up because nothing held her attention. She also tried scrolling through her phone, but declared she was on vacation; therefore, the only time she'd take her phone out was to take photos.
I'm on the bed, watching the ceiling fan wobble and finding it all extremely entertaining. After an eventful day or night, Nadine is almost always guaranteed zero sleep.
Back in college, after a successful presentation, she repainted her room in black. Two hours later, she scrubbed it clean.
"That fern's probably been there since Tuesday," I say, interlocking my fingers behind my head and crossing my legs.
She turns. "What?"
"The fern. You've been staring at it for a while. Are you planning on stealing it?"
"Steal a fern? No! Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. You've been ogling it for quite a while. Either you like it, or you don't like where it is and want to put it somewhere else."
"You mean redecorate at 2 AM? Who does that?"
I zero in on the ceiling, the side of my mouth twitching. "Oh, I don't know, probably the same woman who debated whether to file chickpeas under C or B for beans."
Nadine rolls her eyes, but she chuckles. "It should be under C. If I just classify it as B, then the fact that the chickpeas, kidney beans, and lentils sit next to each other would tickle my brain."
"I know. You forgot I was there the whole time you debated with yourself. Hearing both sides of the conversation was more entertaining than any TV drama."
