Page 55 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
Eek-thump. Eek-thump. Eek-thump.
This is not what I pictured my first night with Rory in bed with me like. I wanted to be naked. I wanted to be inside her, with my dick, or my fingers, or my tongue. I wanted her screaming my name.
I don’t know what makes me open my eyes again—does Rory’s breath hitch? Does she move? Or is it some imperceivable shift in the air?
Whatever it is, I look over and meet Rory’s wide eyes.
Rory
* * *
Morgan’s thrusting and humping, his biceps bulging and straining the hem of his shirt sleeve. His hair has fallen down over his forehead, his mouth parted, and his arms are braced. It hits me—so suddenly it knocks the laughter right out of me—that this view is rare. Intimate and yet not—if I were underneath him, I wouldn’t see the muscles working or the way his toes are clenched against the sheets.
And when our eyes meet, everything else fades. I can’t even hear the soft clunk of the bed frame hitting the wall anymore.
Morgan’s gaze drops to my mouth. I’m not smiling anymore, and I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from doing something stupid.
He doesn’t look long, just huffs a laugh and lets his head fall between his balled-up fists.
Eer-thunk. Eer-thunk. Eer-thunk.
And then there’s a different noise. A rapid thump-thump-thump on the wall and Grandma’s voice comes through. “Knock it off, you two! I know you’re faking it.”
The thumps happen again and then I hear something clatter and Grandma curse. Morgan breaks first, laughing and collapsing into the bed.
I relax too, half burying my face into the pillow. Our gazes meet, Morgan’s eyes sparkling.
I expected him to make this game sexual first, and yet I was the one who broke. I hold my breath, wondering what the next step will be.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I whisper.
Morgan doesn’t even blink. “What happened to your parents?”
Perhaps it’s because I was expecting something to ramp up the tension inside me, so the question—invasive, personal, and serious—actually makes me relax instead of tense up.
“We were in the car,” I say. “It was late. I was asleep. And we were hit by a drunk driver. I have a scar up here.” I reach up to my scalp and finger the slight bare line, the raised skin. “But I was on the passenger side. My dad was driving; he died on impact. My mom and little brother died in the hospital later.”
He hums and waits.
“The other guy survived. I was ten years old and—this might surprise you—I didn’t know my grandmother that well. She and my mom didn’t get along, and then she was my only family. Despite the distance, she came right away and sat with me in the hospital for three weeks. She was a force of nature with the doctors and lawyers, and I was just a scared kid.” I can feel the pressure gathering behind my eyes, so I roll onto my back, and Morgan takes it as The End.
“You’re lucky to have her,” he says.
I scoff. “Sometimes.”
He chuckles.
My turn. “What is your job? The other one.”
Morgan props his head up on his hand to see me better. “Kit has a cleaning service—two actually. One of them is the regular stuff—cleaning rentals in the area—the other is more of a party service. Two or three of us come to the house and clean shirtless.”
The side of my lip quirks up. “Didn’t I say you were a stripper?”
“We’re not stripping!” His protest is filled with laughter. “We have themes. Cowboys, firemen, bow ties . . . we’re very popular,” he says with mock modesty. “You have no idea how many bachelor and bachelorette parties we get, especially coming from the city.” He shrugs. “It’s all a good time.” He tips his chin up. “Tell me about the last person you dated.”
Apparently we’re not even pretending to play the game anymore—or maybe both of us want to pull truths out of each other.
