Faking It to Making It

Her eyes narrowed. Glinted. And then her hands began a slow trek down her naked sides, dipping into the dips, curving over the curves, driving him into near insanity.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, her voice low and clear. “Been doing so my whole life.”

Nate’s smile came from deep within. “Today it’s my turn.”

This time there was no hesitation. Saskia lay back on the bed, her arms behind her head, her eyes cloudy with desire as she let him take her to oblivion and back.

Her eyes, those gorgeous brown depths, lit with passion and need and bone-deep tenderness, looked right into him as he buried himself inside her slick heat, and he came harder than he remembered coming his entire life.

* * *

Nate lay in Saskia’s big soft bed, staring at the rainbows shifting across the pale pink ceiling—moonlight glinting off the chandelier of colourful plastic discs. Her smooth, lean leg was entwined around his, her breath was shifting the hairs on his chest, the soft heat at her centre pressed against his side.

She sighed and he tilted his head to look at her.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.

“I will miss this,” she croaked back, her fingers playing with the hair on his chest.

“Don’t blame you.”

“Though I’m not sure why I ever thought you charming,” she said with a laugh.

She snuggled closer. And he let her. He’d miss it too. For a while. Then he wouldn’t. That was how it went. Though when he tried to imagine going about his days without her in them, his nights without her warm body melted against him, he didn’t like what he saw.

For a split second he allowed himself to imagine an after. A few more dates, a few more DVD sessions, a few more drinks with friends, a few more nights like this. Then he stopped himself.

He might be selfish, but he hoped he wasn’t a selfish bastard.

He knew this was getting harder for her. He knew her feelings for him weren’t purely sexual. She just wasn’t that good a liar. But, while he’d be happy with a little more contentment in his life, she wanted happily-ever-after. And that wasn’t something he was willing to deliver.

Start as you intend to finish, he told himself. Be honest, friendly, and most important be resolute. It was past time to begin the great unwind.

“The charm thing,” he said. “It’s all an act.”

She moved onto her elbows and looked into his face, her eyes fierce as she said, “Don’t you believe it.”

He took her hand and held it at his chest as he tried to find the words he needed. The words he knew she’d need, which somehow mattered more.

“After my father died,” he began, his eyes on the ceiling again, “after the effort of the following few years, I was running on empty. If I was ever going to run a business without being attuned to every employee’s emotional up-and-down I had to...stop caring. It worked. I did what I had to do to—charmed, led astray, hedged, profiteered—to carve a life for myself. The life I wanted. And I have that. And it’s enough.”

“You need to give yourself more credit.”

“I think I’m awesome. How’s that for credit?”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted to one side. Cutest woman he’d ever known, he thought. He stroked his thumb across the corner of her mouth and her eyes closed dreamily.

He let his hand drop, kicking himself for undoing any headway his little speech might have made. But he’d get there. He had no choice.

“Promise me something?” he said. “When this is all said and done...”

“Anything.”

“You’ll give yourself more credit.”

“I can do that. Promise me something.”

Anything. It hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t offer that. “Hit me.”

“Stay ruffled.”

Then she lifted a hand and ran it through his hair gently, fondly, with an intimacy he wasn’t sure he’d felt since he was a kid.

“Unruffled, you’re pretty cute. Ruffled, you’re just plain irresistible.”

She was ruffled, soft, pink-cheeked. Her hair mussed, her eyes hot and wanting. She was the definition of irresistible. This precocious creature, this spark in his day, the laughter in his thoughts, the wild cat in his bed, with her pushy little digs she was the incitement to spread his wings.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, waited till she looked him in the eye, and said, “Resist.”

She breathed deep, her shoulders lifting, and said, “I’m trying.”

And then, belying her words, she slid over him, her softness melting into him, turning him hard as a rock.