Fake (West Hollywood 1)

His hand fisted in my hair, pulling hard, as he stared at my face. My whole body shook and I shouted, holding onto him tight. I came again, taking him with me. It just wouldn’t stop. An endless surge spreading out through my body. Nothing else existed. Nothing was left. I really was done this time. I was a light and floaty remnant of the woman I’d been before. A devastated mess left on the bedsheets. Though actually one pertinent thing remained. The knowledge that if sex had been this good previously, there’s no way I would have given it up.

Meanwhile, Patrick was still bracing himself above me. His breath came in frantic movements, his face buried in my neck. I rubbed at his scalp, giving him a gentle massage. The man had worked hard. He deserved good things. Ever so slowly, he lowered himself on top of me and I wrapped my arms around him. Not to get clingy, but having him close was lovely.

Everything gradually calmed. The night silent and still once more.

Mornings after are always a bit weird. The sudden awareness of a new level of intimacy having been reached. Or the rejection of same. Usually, a swift departure follows that scenario. While I didn’t believe that putting penis in vagina a relationship made, there was a definite argument to be made for the new familiarity having some sort of meaning. Not everything, but something.

Patrick seemed content, spread out on his back with my head on his shoulder and an arm curled around me. It was official. Not only was he a cuddler, but I was now a star fucker. Though maybe it took more than bedding one star to reach that status. I don’t know. What concerned me were the usual things. How did this affect our friendship? And how long until we could do it again?

“Hey,” he mumbled, eyes narrowed against the glare of morning light. “You’re frowning.”

“Am I?”

In a swift move, he rolled us so that he was on top. We were a tangle of sheets and body parts. Then he set about nuzzling my neck. “You have a little bit of stubble rash here.”

“I can’t imagine how that happened.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“Just your usual morning-after jitters.”

His semi-hard cock stiffened further against my stomach. Next, his big hand cupped my breast, skilled fingers playing with my nipple and making me gasp. Which answered the question about how soon we could do it again, at least.

“Elaborate, please.”

“What, you want a list of issues?” I asked somewhat saucily.

“Yes.”

I squirmed beneath him, seeking more contact. Like having the big, burly animal on top of me wasn’t enough already. “What happens next? Are we still friends? Was this a one-off thing or ongoing? What’s the weather going to be like today? And do you think Felix would make us Eggs Benedict for breakfast if we asked nicely?”

“That it?” he asked.

I nodded and gasped as he pinched my nipple.

“In all honesty, as to the first, I don’t know. But yes, we’re still friends.” He notched the head of his cock against me and slowly pushed in. “Definitely ongoing.”

“Huh,” I said in a breathy voice.

When our hips rested against each other, he happy sighed. “Where was I?”

“Um, the weather?”

“Right. Sun seems to be out, so okay I guess. And I’m sure Felix would be delighted to cook you breakfast. If not, we can always head for a café in town.” His licked up my neck, pausing to nibble on my earlobe. “Are you good? Can we focus on fucking now?”

“Are you always this amorous in the morning?”

“When I wake up with you, apparently.”

“Is that so?” I smiled, wrapping my legs around him. “Fuck away, my friend.”

He grinned and got busy.

“Surprise!”

Light flooded the living room, revealing people. A lot of them. I grabbed at Patrick’s arm, more than a little startled. But then I guess that was the point of a surprise party. A surprise engagement party, at that. Silver signs, wedding bells, and a disco ball hung from the ceiling. The dining room table was covered in charcuterie and a full bar had been set up in the corner of the living room. There had been a lot of cars out in the street, along with a fresh influx of fans and paparazzi out front. I’d ignored it all due to being agitated over returning to the city lights. We’d had our own little bubble of sexy-times happiness in Malibu and leaving it sucked. One night had not been nearly enough. Especially not since we’d discovered sex and spent the day indulging in same. The drive back through the city at night hadn’t been too bad and now here we were, back at work.

Paddy muttered something truly foul under his breath and pasted on a smile. To be honest, I kind of felt the same way. I definitely looked it, with my nose pink from the sun and messy hair tied back in a bun. At least my clothes were okay due to my constant fear of being photographed. My black sleeveless jersey jumpsuit and Prada ballerina flats were acceptable party wear once I dumped my comfortable baggy cardigan.