Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

“I am!”

“Kill faster, noob.”

I don’t know if he’s calling me that because he knows I’m a same-sex virgin or if he’s mocking my COD skills, but I can’t smack talk him back because a loud booming voice snaps us to attention.

“Babe.”

I turn to Damon. Did he just call me—

“You weren’t answering to your name. Matt’s gone. You wanna …?” He tips his head in the direction of Noah’s front door.

I scramble to my feet so fast everyone finds it comical, but I don’t care. Damon and I will be back at my apartment in twenty minutes—tops.

“Practice safe sex,” Noah calls after us.

Damon flips him off, but not for long, because I grab his hand and drag him out the door.

***

For all the eagerness I had to leave Noah’s place and get back to my place, my hands tremble as I try to unlock my door. It doesn’t help that Damon’s pushed up against my back and his lips are on my neck. The sensation sends a jolt straight to my cock.

When I drop the keys to the floor, I let out a curse, and Damon chuckles against my skin.

“I’ve got it,” he says and dips to pick up my keys.

I stand completely still, staring at my door like a moron.

Damon’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Is it stupid that I’m legit nervous right now?”

He drops his hand and steps away. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“Oh, I’m ready … for, uh … stuff. Maybe not … uh …”

“Ass stuff?” he says with a laugh. “Got it. I probably shouldn’t mention the fact I usually like to top, right?” His easy smile relaxes me.

“Of course, you do. And …” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not exactly against … err, ass stuff, as you call it. Best feeling ever is a finger up there while getting a blowjob.”

A throat clears, and Damon can’t contain his amusement as his eyes lock on someone behind me. He tries to hide his smile by rubbing his jaw.

I turn to face my neighbor—my elderly neighbor. “Hey, Mrs. Jacobs.” Mortification doesn’t begin to describe this moment.

Mrs. Jacobs grumbles something about the youth of today and pushes past us in the narrow hallway.

“How about we finish this conversation inside your apartment?” Damon asks. As soon as we’re inside and we’ve taken off our jackets, he’s back onto my now least favorite topic in the world. “So, you’ve been holding out on me. You could’ve said something while I was blowing you.”

“I couldn’t remember my name, let alone think to give you instructions.” I step closer. “You definitely didn’t need any guidance.” When I try to close the distance, he steps back.

“Who was it? Was it M—”

I sigh. “No, Matt didn’t play with my ass. Funnily enough, he never went near it in the four—no, five—months we fooled around. And speaking of fooling around, can we please get to it already?”

“Wait, I want to hear more.”

I groan. “Why?”

“It has to do with your ass, so I’m interested.” He hasn’t lost his damn smirk.

“I don’t know if I like playful Damon. Where’s the serious and uptight guy who’s hotter than fuck when he loses control and blows a guy in his friend’s guest bedroom?”

Damon’s green eyes darken and fill with lust.

“There he is,” I taunt and move closer again. This time, he lets me get within a foot before he stops me.

His hands go to my hips. “Maddy.” His voice—so tortured. “Are you sure?” He winces. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be insecure and annoying. I never used to need this much reassurance.” He lets out a sad laugh. “And you thought you were the head case.”

I swallow my irritation, because it’s not at Damon. It’s at the shithead who messed with him. “I have an idea.” Grabbing his hand, I drag him over to my bed and push him down on his back, but I don’t join him. Not yet.

My tiny closet is full from top to bottom and left to right. I push aside my work shirts, but they don’t go far. I have to pull off some impressive contortionist moves to reach into the back for my ties. I’m lucky enough to work for a laid-back firm that I don’t have to wear them in the office.

“What are you doing?” Damon asks.

I almost get swallowed whole by the closet. “Aha.”

Damon’s eyes narrow when I pull out a tie.

Cautiously, I approach him and reach for the hem of his shirt to take it off. Then I nudge him. “Move up the bed.” He wiggles his way up so his head hits the pillow, and I climb on top of him, straddling his hips. I have to close my eyes and fight the urge not to rut against the hardness beneath me. “Hands above your head.”