One Hot Fake

The silence in the house is deafening.

“Declan?” My voice echoes back at me.

I head to the kitchen. The note I left is not on the fridge. I spy it in the trash can. I look around to see if he left me a note. Nope. Nothing. I trudge upstairs to the guest room.

The bed is made, and the windows open to let in the fresh air. Despite myself, I’m impressed with his housekeeping skills. Looking at the bed, there’s no trace of the passionate night that Declan and I shared.

My pussy clenched and my thighs tingle as memories of the night flooded me. Declan is the most skilled lover I have ever had. He brought out a side of me that I didn’t know I possessed. A side that was unashamed and eager to let go and give myself to his experienced hands.

I swallow my disappointment. Not that I want a repeat of last night. That was just sex. What we do need to do, however, is to have a discussion and cement the deal. Make sure that Declan understands that I meant what I said.

We’ll only be together until I get pregnant, and then we can part ways. The only thing that has changed is how I’ll get pregnant. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way as we did last night. It’s a little late to go back to option one—artificial insemination.

My face heats up as I remember my moans and screams of pleasure. This, from someone who had insisted on a non-physical relationship. My gaze lingers on the bed for a few seconds before I leave the room.

I change into comfortable clothes and go back downstairs to make coffee. As the coffee machine does its thing, it hits me that I don’t have Declan’s number. Neither do I know where in Santa Monica he lives.

It can’t be that big, I tell myself. Then a light bulb goes off in my head. Declan mentioned the name of his pizza joint. Did you say Pizza? I carry my coffee to the living room and settle down on the couch with my laptop.

I type the name of the pizza place, and bingo, it comes up.

***

“Yes, please,” I say as Declan does this thing he does on my nipple with his tongue. I arch my back and feed him the other nipple. I let out a small cry as he rubs one taut peak and sucks on the other.

Declan has taught me that there’s a direct line from my nipples to my pussy and now, a terrible ache grows between my legs.

“More,” I tell him and push his shoulders down.

He slides down and growls when he sees how wet I am.

“I love how wet you are for me,” he says. His words are like a tap that’s been twisted, and more liquids gush from my pussy.

He splays his big hands on my pussy and spreads it open. His hot breath fans it before his tongue flicks my clit. I scream at the contact and raise my hips to urge more of his tongue on me.

He growls like an animal as he eats my pussy.

“Please,” I whimper over and over again when the pleasure becomes excruciating. I’m so close to the edge of orgasm. Tears prickle the edges of my eyes. My breath comes out fast as I feel the beginnings of the orgasm.

A noise shatters my bubble, and when I snap my eyes open, it’s to find myself alone in bed with my hand rubbing furiously at my clit. Disappointment crushes me as I reach over to the bedside table to turn off the alarm.

I shut my eyes, wanting to live out my fantasies a bit longer, but habits are stronger than fantasies. There’s no curtain in my bedroom window to filter out the harshness of the early morning sun, and it burns my eyes. Remnants of my fantasies remain, and my body tingles as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

“Where is my husband?” I say out aloud. I’m beginning to get used to the idea of being married, even if I have no clue where Declan is.

I make plans as I get up and get ready for the day. I’m an early riser, and by seven, I’m leaving the house to go to work. My mornings are usually busy responding to client inquiries through email and phone calls.

A thought sneaks into my mind, and I wonder what Declan is doing at this very moment. I know that he’s not an early riser as he hadn’t even stirred when I got up from bed yesterday.

I shouldn’t be excited that I’ll see him that afternoon. I should be mad. But I miss him, and that in itself is insane. I don’t understand how I can miss someone who is, in essence, a stranger. Someone whose existence I wasn’t even aware of days ago.