Playing Pretend, page 12
I glower as I pivot, bumping right into Rome’s chest.
“Where are you going?” He grabs my hips, steadying me. “I haven’t had a dance yet.”
“You can have all the dances you want tomorrow.” The warmth of his body seeps into mine, tempting me with the thought of more. “I’m tired. I’m calling it a night.”
CHAPTER 11
Piper
I place my room card against the security panel, Rome hot on my heels. “I really think you should go back to the party. You could share all those so-called moves with Cassidy. You’d be the highlight of her life.”
“What if I only want to be the highlight of yours?”
I roll my eyes and shove the door wide. “You rarely go on vacation. If you’re not interested in the party, then go to the bar. Take some time for yourself.”
He huffs a laugh and follows me inside. “Funny, ’cause that’s exactly what I was doing this morning when you walked in on me in the bathroom. You weren’t so happy about the way I took advantage of that time.”
The memory flashes straight into my frontal lobe. Every corded muscle on full display—the curve of his ass, the clench of his fist, the hard length in his hand. “Do you ever think of anything other than—”
“All work and no play makes Rome pent up and problematic.” The door claps shut behind him, the harsh click of the lock making the room feel ten times smaller.
“I would’ve said perverted and overindulgent,” I mutter.
“And I could’ve said hard and horny, but I was trying not to embarrass you again.”
I swing around with a smile. “Aww. Look at you, expecting praise for the slightest show of modesty.”
“And look at you, finally suppressing a blush through a conversation regarding my dick.”
On cue, my face warms. Bastard.
“Wait a minute.” He cocks his head, staring at my cheeks. “There it is.”
“You’re such a prick.”
He grins. “And you’re such an easy trigger.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious.” I stride for my suitcase, busying myself with a search for clean underwear and the shirt he gave me to sleep in. “Remind me to never discuss what you do when you’re alone.”
“All I do is think about you, little Pip.” He chuckles.
“On the topic of reminders…” I turn to face him, clothes in hand. “Do I need to give you another lesson on the rules? We’re inside our suite, so drop the boyfriend act.”
He leans his shoulder against the wall. “Yes, ma’am.”
I hate that he looks unbelievably gorgeous standing there all calm and casual, his eyes a commanding force.
I take a second to indulge in the possibility of burning the guidelines to ash. If I let the charade bleed into our room, would he kiss me? Would he stalk over here and throw me to the bed? A kiss not only born of hunger, but affection. One where my toes curl and my stomach disintegrates.
I clear my throat. “I’m taking a quick shower.”
“I’ll have one when you’re done.”
I hide in the bathroom for a second time, and just like earlier, my body hums for him. I wash off my makeup. I glide the floral-scented soap over my skin, avoiding my nipples and between my thighs.
I can’t touch where I tingle most. I’ll combust.
When I finish showering and brushing my teeth, I pad from the bathroom in my makeshift nightgown, finding him seated at the small dining table, his laptop open in front of him. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, his hair ragged as if he’s been raking his fingers through the strands.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just returning emails.” He closes the laptop and pushes to his feet. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to turn the lights out.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.” I continue to the bed, fling back the covers, and start rebuilding the pillow fort. “I’m hoping to fall asleep as soon as I’m horizontal.” Or at least I’ll pretend as much. I’m done with tipsy conversations that spill into dangerous territory. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He frowns, but concedes with a flick of the nearby light switch, plunging the room into darkness. “Night, Pip.”
“Night.” I climb into bed, attempting to force myself to sleep while he uses the bathroom. It’s a ludicrous request though when my body continues to hum on multiple frequencies. Especially when my nipples won’t quit beading against the soft cotton of his shirt.
It seems Rome isn’t the powder keg in this situation. I am.
I keep my eyes closed when the bathroom door clicks open. I remain statuesque as his padded footsteps approach. And I bite my bottom lip like a goddamn shark as the opposite side of the mattress dips from his weight.
The proximity only makes things worse.
The darkness gives my mind a backdrop to project memories in stunning technicolor.
Think about work. Think about the drive home. Think about homelessness and starvation.
Nothing works. I can’t quit my fixation on him, palming himself. On what happened in the pool. On the pleasure. The ecstasy. The bliss.
The faint peppermint scent of his shampoo hovers on the edge of my senses as the minutes tick by. His relaxed breathing grows deeper, his easy slumber taunting my insomnia.
I lay there for an eternity, his words running rings through my mind.
You’re my good little girl, Pip. Always have been.
My pulse increases, throbbing through my chest, down my thighs.
You turn me to flame.
I smother a groan, wishing I had the strength of will to smother myself.
I love hearing you say my name.
I need relief. Just a little bit. The slightest indulgence.
I raise onto one elbow and peer over the pillow fort. All I see are shadows. All I hear is his lazy breathing.
My lust for him is crazy. I’m in a death spiral toward madness, far worse than those kiddie daydreams I used to have. The realization should be enough to vanquish the throb between my legs.
It should…yet the aching pulse grows.
I roll onto my back and slowly scoot my arm under the covers. Quiet. Cautious not to ruffle the bedding. I won’t take long. I only need the slightest hint of friction. The lightest touch.
I need to do what he attempted this morning. A release of tension. To indulge in a simple fantasy.
I slide my palm to my hip, my abdomen, then lower, across my thigh to inch up the night shirt that’s drenched in the scent of him. The brush of fabric against my skin is electric.
Adrenaline washes over me, each wave growing bigger, more adamant as I sink my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties.
He’s right there. Not just beside me. But in my mind. Staring back at me with hunger and that silent, sinful encouragement I can’t get enough of.
My good little girl.
My fingertips brush my clit, sparking pleasure. A delicious ache.
I bite the inside of my cheek and focus on making sure the sheets don’t rustle as I gently sweep my touch back and forth, my underwear growing damp.
He’s all I see. All I feel.
There’s nothing but Rome.
His wicked ways.
His erotic ideas.
I clench my thighs and imagine what he’d do if I removed the pillows between us. How he’d hold me. How he’d feast with finesse.
My good little girl.
I swallow, fighting the urge to pant. Air congeals in my lungs. A whimper builds in my throat, one I desperately want to release. I close my eyes, sinking into sensation.
My good little girl.
Lust clogs the back of my mouth, adding delicious pressure to my tongue. I imagine his cock between my lips, the erection he’d clenched now sliding as deep down my throat as my inexperience will allow.
I know it’s wrong. Fetishizing my friendship brings complications and strings even when I’m the only one involved. But it’s the alcohol’s fault. The lowered inhibition. The constant, agonizing ache.
I won’t let these feelings claim me in the morning. I’ll be stronger. Less impulsive. But for now, I need to rock my hips. Slow. Timid.
The bedding doesn’t move. It’s the building orgasm that shakes my mental foundations.
I quicken the pace of my fingers. Bite harder into my cheek. I’m almost there… About to come…
“I thought masturbation was frowned upon?” Rome murmurs.
I gasp, my eyes snapping open.
I don’t say a word. Don’t move an inch. I stare, wide-eyed toward the pitch-black ceiling, hoping for death.
“Don’t get me wrong.” His voice is stronger this time. “I’m happy to offer assistance. All you have to do is say the word.”
Holy shit.
Holy. Motherfucking. Shit.
“Be quiet, Rome.” My tone is raspy. Ridiculously breathy. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Whatever you’re doing on the other side of this fortress is most definitely not sleep. And I’m proud as punch. You’re remarkably quiet where movement is concerned. But you need to get that rapid breathing under control.”
I try. I try so goddamn hard but… My. Lungs. Are. On. Fire.
“So can I lend my expertise?” he asks. “Because at this point, it seems cruel to leave me on the sidelines after you shut me down this morning.”
“Go to sleep.”
“While you play in the Garden of Eden right beside me? What do you think I am, a miracle worker?”
“Go to sleep.” I bounce recklessly as I turn away from him.
“You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t make the action more achievable.”
There’s a slide of fabric, followed by a muted thud. It happens again. And again. Is he destroying my fort?
“Stop it.” I slap my hand down on the last remaining pillow only to have him yank it out from beneath me. “What are you doing?”
He slings the remaining brick from my shield into the darkness. “I’m getting rid of the Great Wall of Fucking Stupidity so we can talk.”
I am not chatting about this.
I’m not chatting about anything.
All I want to do is hold my breath until I suffocate. I throw back the covers, ready to make another escape to the sanctuary of the bathroom only to be pulled back by a hard yank on my sleep shirt.
“Don’t get defensive.” There’s a warning in his tone. “God knows I would’ve fisted my dick as soon as the lights went out after what happened in the pool if I thought you’d let me get away with it.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” I plead. “Can you please just let me sleep?”
He falls quiet, the judgmental silence equally as hard to endure as his taunts. He doesn’t let go of my shirt, though.
“Good night, Rome.”
He sighs, long and pained. “Why is pleasure such a shameful topic for you?”
Jesus. I flop back onto the bed. “It’s not shameful. It’s…” I don’t know. Awkward. Uncomfortable.
The mattress jolts with his movement, then blinding light sears my eyes from his bedside lamp.
“Holy shit.” I flip onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow. “Turn it off.”
“I want to discuss this.”
“And I want to die. Can you please grant my wish first?”
He snickers. “Not this time, baby girl. I need answers.”
I groan, pressing my face harder into softness.
“Come on, Pip. Talk to me.” His fingers brush my arm, the contact igniting gooseflesh along my wrist. “Do you think sex is embarrassing?”
“For the love of God, don’t do this to me.” The heat from my cheeks could boil water. I’m in absolute hell.
“What’s so uncomfortable about this conversation?”
I wish I had a simple answer. I don’t.
There have to be a million reasons why I act the way I do when Rome delves into explicit territory. And okay, maybe some of them have to do with shame. My first love was someone I looked up to like a brother, after all.
Rome is family. You don’t crush on siblings, pseudo or not.
And I guess talking about sex with him makes me think about sex with him, which makes me embarrassed, seeing as though he says he can read my mind.
Then there’s the way I compare all my sexual encounters to his. How I pit myself against the unabashed, confident women he shares himself with while I wade in a tepid pool of discomfort.
“I thought we could talk about anything,” he murmurs. “At least, that’s how I’ve always felt with you.”
“Don’t guilt trip me. Not over this,” I mumble into the pillow. “It’s obvious I don’t have the experience you do.”
“What’s my experience got to do with anything?”
I cringe, every muscle in my face contorted in dismay. “Your expertise daunts me. And, if I’m being entirely honest, it also makes me feel dysfunctional.”
“Are you serious?”
I slump onto my back to stare at the ceiling, his focus stalking my periphery. “Everything comes naturally to you. Rett, too. In comparison, you already know how Julian couldn’t make me…”
“Say it,” he demands. “It’s just one word.”
“Orgasm,” I groan.
I sense him smiling, but I don’t look to confirm. “It wasn’t only Julian. I don’t reach that point with anyone. Faking it has become my norm.”
“Did you fake it with me?”
I should say yes. That he’s no different. That today in the pool wasn’t the monumental occasion that my emotions think deserves a ticker-tape parade.
“Piper?” He leans closer, creating a shadow over my face. “Did you fake that shit with me?”
My pulse pounds. Thunderous and deafening. “What if I said yes?” I meet his gaze, his jaw ticking.
“Then I’d feel obliged to make up for my fucking deficiencies.”
I’m playing with fire. Scorching my fingertips. The game isn’t worth the scars.
“I’m tired.” I roll away, curling onto my side. “And still a little drunk. It’s best for all involved if we cut this conversation short so I can pass out.”
CHAPTER 12
Rome
Does that mean she faked it?
Did I fail her like everyone else?
I stare at her profile, my need for answers agonizing. “Tell me the truth and I’ll kill the lights.”
“I’m done with this conversation.” She thumps her pillow. “Please don’t force me to sleep on the sofa.”
I wouldn’t let her. No way in hell.
So I reluctantly cave to her demands, figuring I’ve already put her through enough high-octane situations for one day.
“To be continued tomorrow then.” I reach for the bedside table and flick off the lamp, my frustration palpable.
“Nope,” she mutters. “This topic is dead and buried, buddy.”
She said that on purpose, deliberately pigeonholing me in the friend zone.
I grit my teeth through the annoyance. Glare my building aggravation at the ceiling. “Fine, buddy. Good night.”
Sleep isn’t an option. I lay there questioning every move I’ve made since our arrival at this godforsaken resort, not succumbing to slumber until I’ve spent hours staring into the darkness.
When I eventually wake, it’s still dark, and I haven’t budged an inch since sunrise. I smile though, like the fucking Cheshire cat as Piper remains snuggled against my side, one leg straddling my thigh, her arm draped across my stomach.
I may not have claimed victory over conversation last night, but I definitely won the spoils of battle. I should’ve dismantled her pillow wall the first night, because she’s meant to be here. Against me. All over me.
It’s her fear that’s concerning.
Whenever I think I’m succeeding in taking us to a new level, she proves me wrong.
It doesn’t seem to matter that our chemistry is irrefutable. Or our bond unbreakable. She refuses to budge where our friendship is concerned. She’s scared of change, and I can’t risk pushing her over the edge.
Problem is, I’m too fucking stubborn to give up.
She groans. Slowly shifts.
I hear her swallow. Sigh. Then she stiffens.
I tighten my arm around her, anticipating her scramble for separation.
“Goddamnit, Rome.” She pushes up on one arm, shoving at my chest. “Why did you have to move the pillows?”
“What’s the problem?” I play it cool as she wiggles out of my hold, looking entirely gorgeous with her tangled, unruly hair and eyes still lazy from sleep. “Since when can’t friends snuggle?”
“Do you snuggle with Rett?” She raises an incredulous brow.
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “Your brother prefers to call it spooning.”
She scoffs a laugh, the curve of her lips exquisite before she reins it in. “Well, I’ve already spent years dealing with your complaints about my unfortunate sleeping habits.” She reefs the sheet away and slides from the mattress. “You don’t need added ammunition.”
“You can’t keep holding my past against me. I was practically a kid back then and didn’t know the benefits of a handsy woman. I assure you there’s no complaints this time.”
“I know you, Rome. You’ll complain. Specifically in front of an audience, and with an explanation drenched in innuendo.”
“Hey, don’t go accusing me of drenching anything when last night you were the one drench—”
She lunges back onto the mattress to clamp a hand over my mouth. “Don’t say another word.”
I chuckle against her palm, relieved we’re back in the playful banter zone. I’m tempted to bite. Lick. Fuck. I could have her pinned beneath me in a second, taking us far from friendship, never to return.
“Why don’t you try something different today and not be so shamelessly dirty?” She retreats from the bed, dragging my shirt down her thighs as she stands. “Haven’t I already endured enough?”
“But the challenge isn’t over and my filth is what tests you most.”
She pads to her suitcase. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
