Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

She literally has no idea how hard this is for me.

Which is probably for the best, honestly. She’s wrapped herself around my heart so tightly it actually hurts. It might be because it’s the first time in the last fifteen years that I care about someone, but I’m determined to take it slow with her.

Achingly, painfully slow, apparently.

For me, this isn’t about sex. And I can’t move forward with her until I know it’s not just about sex for her, too. I don’t want her to use me so she can check lose my virginity off her list. But I absolutely will be the first—and hopefully last—man she ever sleeps with. As soon as she finally figures out why she wants me to be her first and is willing to be honest about it.

As I listen to Jules turn on the shower, I grab my phone and re-read the text messages Jameson and I exchanged last night after she fell asleep.

Colt

Got the name of that investment guy Jules had dinner with.

Jameson

How’d you manage that?

Colt

She was drunk. . . .

Jameson

You let her get drunk? Do you not remember what happened last time?

Colt

Don’t worry, I took good care of her.

Last night, I watched the dots appear, then disappear, as he typed. I imagined he was typing something about how I was supposed to be taking care of her last time, too. I know we’re past that, but we wouldn’t be if he knew the real reason it all happened. Just as I was giving up hope that he’d reply, his message came.

Jameson

Name, please. I will have Derek get us more info.

Jameson’s personal assistant, Derek, is a man of many talents—and getting Jameson exactly the intel he needs is one of his specialties.

Colt

Jerome Waters. Tell me when you have more info and we’ll pay him a visit.

Jameson

Don’t make plans for tomorrow evening. Derek will have what we need by then.

I’ve just finished re-reading when the first moan comes from the bathroom. It’s distinctly sexual. The kind of sound that makes my dick strain against my boxer briefs. I want to know exactly what she’s doing that’s resulting in that sound. Is she touching herself? Is she thinking of me while she does it?

The second moan is significantly louder. The kind that I’m certain she wants me to hear. I glance over at the door and notice that it’s cracked open. Light is streaming through, but from where I’m lying on her bed, I can’t see anything.

She moans again, so loud I’d probably hear her if I was upstairs in my own apartment, and I have no doubt whatsoever that it’s for my benefit. She wasn’t even this vocal yesterday morning when my face was between her legs and she was coming on my tongue.

I should get up and leave. She knows my willpower is only going to last so long, so she’s testing me. And even though I know exactly what she’s doing, I still can’t make myself go. My dick is so hard it’s painful, and all it wants—all I want—is to be with her.

You don’t have to have sex with her, I tell myself. There are plenty of other things that will satisfy both of you until she figures her shit out.

My feet hit the floor before I’ve even decided I should get up, and I take the few steps to the bathroom tentatively. Through the crack in the door, I can see the top half of her on the other side of the glass. One of her arms is resting against the wall under the showerhead, her back arched and her face tilted up so the shower spray hits her tits and rolls down her flat stomach, as her body rocks backward and then forward. She’s letting out small grunts of pleasure, and I can’t contain my curiosity—what is she doing to pleasure herself?

I tap the door slightly, pushing it into the room just enough that I can see the rest of her body. I regret it instantly, because the image in front of me is straight out of a porno and will live rent free in my head forever.

Her fingers circle her clit slowly as she leans back onto some sort of a dildo suction cupped to the wall of the shower, and watching her pussy take it over and over has a grunt escaping straight from the back of my throat. As she turns her head and looks at me, there’s not even a hint of surprise on her face—it’s like she knew I’d be standing there eventually.

“Fucking hell, Jules.”

Raising her eyebrow as if to challenge me, she asks, “You joining me?”

I couldn’t say no right now if my life depended on it. Even the awareness that this could jeopardize my friendship with her brother and make me an outsider in this family I’ve found for myself in Boston, even knowing that this is taking what we started yesterday morning to a whole new level, one we can never come back from . . . none of that feels like a reason to stop myself from accepting her invitation. In fact, it all feels like a reason I should—a first step in making this permanent.

I don’t know what permanent means for a guy like me, or if it’s even what she wants, but it’s suddenly the only thing I can think about: I want her in my life forever. I want to come home to her after a road trip, I want her at my games with my last name on her back, I want to wake up with her in my arms, I want to make her grilled cheese sandwiches when she doesn’t feel like cooking, and make sure her dad doesn’t come around harassing her for money. I want to take care of her, and mostly, I want her to want me for more than sex.

I bend, sliding my boxer briefs to my ankles before I step out of them. Her eyes are huge and her smile is feline as she eyes my cock where it stands at attention, straining to be near her.

She sinks back onto that dildo as she stands, and with her ass pressed against the tile wall, she leaves room for me to step past her and into the shower.

“Get in here.” Her words are practically a purr even while she’s being demanding.

I take a step closer, noting the way her back is arched so she can tilt her hips to accommodate the toy, while still standing up enough to leave me room to fit through the opening left where the glass wall ends. Her shoulders are back, and the water runs down her chest in rivulets—I want to trace their path with my tongue, I want her nipples between my lips, I want to feel the way her whole body shakes when she orgasms.

“I love that you think you’re giving the orders here,” I say.

One more step and I’m at the edge of the shower, I’m teetering on the edge of my sanity as well. Stepping over that marble ledge and not having sex with her is going to take every ounce of self-control I have. But she deserves better for her first time than being fucked in a shower. Hopefully, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that later.

“I’m glad you’re already in the shower.”

“Why’s that?” she asks coyly.

“Because I fully plan on getting you dirty, and this will make it easier to clean you up afterward.”

Reaching out, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck as I step into the spray. The water hits my back, and her slick breasts slide along my chest, resting my other hand on the wall behind her as my mouth crashes onto hers.

It’s a greedy kiss, full of the need and longing we’ve both been reluctantly holding on to. Our lips and teeth and tongues clash like we’re devouring each other, both of us fighting for dominance in this situation. I’ll give it to her, because I know she wants to feel like she’s in control . . . but I’m going to make her fight for it first.

Her hands skim up my sides lightly, then she hooks her arms up my back, pulling me closer to her so she can slide her body against mine as she starts rocking her hips. I feel her groan of frustration a moment later.

“What’s wrong, princess? Am I too tall for you to rub your clit along my cock like you’re desperate to do?”

“Yes,” she pants.

“Allow me, then.”

I drop to my knees, and when my tongue meets her clit, she hisses out a deep, guttural, “Yes!” I know she’s close because she’s been in here for a while already, but this first time, I want her coming only because of me.

I scoot back on my knees and with the shower raining down on the back of my head, I pull her forward so her toy slips out of her. She cries out at the loss, but I fill her with my fingers, and then she’s moaning my name interspersed with expletives and grunts of satisfaction. As I increase the speed and pressure with my tongue, I’m rewarded with the sweet sounds of her pleasure. Not the fake moans she was letting out before to tempt me, but the real ones that are quieter, deeper, and more desperate.

Sucking her clit between my lips, I run my tongue over it as I hold it in place, and her moans turn to raspy cries of pleasure as her muscles contract around my fingers, gripping me so solidly my dick is painfully jealous.

Her eyes shut tightly, her face scrunches up, and her lips part. As the orgasm rolls through her, heavy breaths replace her cries and finally she opens her eyes and stares down at me.

“Holy shit, Colt. You keep delivering orgasms like that and you’re going to ruin me for all other men.”

“It’s almost like that’s the point, Tink.” If the last twenty-four hours have proven anything to me, it’s that she’s mine. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I stand, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her like I want to brand her with my tongue the same way she’s somehow branded herself onto my heart.

But instead of telling her how I’m feeling, I say, “Hearing you come like that, and knowing I’m the only man who’s ever made you make those sounds, that fucking does something to me.”

Her response is lifting one leg and wrapping it around my lower back, anchoring our hips together so I can’t help but thrust my cock along her warm center, still slick with her cum. She hums out an appreciative sound. “You could be the first man to be inside of me, too, you know.”

I try to hold in the smirk, but the way her eyes flare makes me realize I haven’t been successful at that.

“Oh, don’t worry. I will be.”

“Now, Colt,” she says, her voice pleading as she slides herself along my cock. I call on every ounce of restraint I possess, telling myself that this will be worth the wait—for both of us.

“No, not now, Jules. When you’re ready.”

“I. Am. Ready.”

“Not when you’re ready to fuck me—when you’re ready to admit why.”

She leans her head back against the tile and lets out an exasperated growl. “The why is because I want to have sex with you. And you very clearly want to have sex with me, too. Why isn’t that enough of a reason?”

“Because when we finally have sex, it’s going to change things. I want more than just sex with you. And right now, I don’t think either of us know what ‘more’ means, or what that would look like, and we deserve the chance to figure it out before we fuck it up by having sex.”

“Colt . . .” She slides herself along me, her breath coming out in desperate little puffs of air. Fuck, she’s sexy when she’s panting for me like this. “I need you.”

“No, what you need is to come again, and I’ll make sure that happens.”

She releases a frustrated sigh. “I can’t come a second time.”

“Like hell you can’t.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Well, we haven’t tried together,” I say, stepping back and lining her up with the dildo that’s still attached to the tile wall. The relieved hum that she lets out as it slips inside her has her lips parting, and she licks them as she looks down at my cock. She reaches out tentatively, glancing up at me before gripping the base and bending forward, bringing her tongue to circle the head.

The sheer effort it takes not to push into her mouth has me gritting my teeth so hard I can feel every cord of muscle in my neck straining with the effort. She dips her head, taking my cock between her lips and swirling her tongue around the head again, before pulling back and looking up at me.

“I guess if we aren’t going to have sex, this isn’t a terrible alternative. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to suck a guy off while another fucked me⁠—”

“And this is as close as you’re ever going to get to that fantasy,” I say, “because I don’t share.”

“That’s good,” she says breathily, leaning forward and using her flat tongue to lick her way from my base to my tip before circling over the sensitive flesh at the top. “Because neither do I.”

And then she slides me into her mouth until I hit the back of her throat, but somehow, she doesn’t gag. She just tightens her lips and tongue along my cock as she welcomes me in farther than should be possible, and then she’s using her hand and her mouth to give me what might be the best blow job I’ve ever had.

I’m not sure what’s sexier right now—the way she’s deep throating me, or the way she’s doing it while slamming her hips back onto that dildo? Or is it the small hums of satisfaction and the way they reverberate along my cock? Is it the way I’ve wrapped her hair around my fist as I rested my hand at the base of her skull to help set the right pace, or the way she moans when I lean forward, sliding my hand under her ribcage until I’ve got her nipple between my fingers?

She likes that so much that I release her hair so I can use both my hands to play with her nipples until she’s moaning louder, and her movements turn nearly frantic. Seeing her about to come unhinged like this, with her mouth around my cock, has me close as well. Leaning forward a bit, I stretch one of my arms beneath her so I can reach her clit. That hot bundle of nerves is already swollen from her last orgasm, and it pulses beneath my fingers, coated in the evidence of her arousal.

The moan she lets out at the contact has an electrical current racing through me. It starts at the base of my spine and travels straight to my balls, and I can feel them tightening up, so I move my hand from her breast to her ribcage and guide her off my dick.

“Grab hold of my shoulders,” I say.

“What?” She looks down at my dick longingly. “Why?”

“Because I want to see you painted in my cum,” I say as I grip my cock, jerking my hand up it quickly, and circling my fist over the head before sliding back down my shaft. “And then when I’m done, I’ll clean you off, but we’ll both know that you’re my dirty girl.”

My fingers press harder on her clit as I pick up the pace, and she’s breathing heavily as she continues sliding her hips back and forth along the dildo.

“Say it.” I grind out the words while trying to hold in my orgasm until she’s there with me.

A groove forms between her eyebrows. “Say what?”

“Tell me you’re my dirty girl,” I say, lifting my fingers off her clit so I’m barely touching her. She whimpers in response. “And then I’ll let you come again.”

“Yes,” she says with an eager nod, shocking me when she doesn’t argue. She’s so desperate for this release, and it’s a goddamn pleasure to watch her let go of her control like this. “I’m your dirty girl. Now fucking make me come, Colt.”

Pinching her clit between my fingers, I gently stroke her from all sides. As she cries out over and over with the orgasm that rips through her, I finally stop holding back. Ropes of my cum shoot across her stomach and up onto her breasts, as I press my forehead to hers and I let out an anguished groan myself.

I’m not used to these feelings accompanying sex, and it’s almost too much . . . too overwhelming, too thrilling and scary at the same time. I’m falling so fast and hard for her and there’s absolutely no question in my mind . . . she’s it for me.

When we’re both spent, I pull her to me, letting our bodies press together as I run my hands up her back and into her hair. Tilting her head backward, I let all my affection for her pour out through a tender kiss. The way Jules slides her arms over my shoulders, one hand moving into my hair and the other down my spine as she holds me to her, I’m praying she feels the same way.

“I know I didn’t give you exactly what you wanted, but hopefully it’ll hold you over?” I ask the question like I’m teasing her, but there’s a small, vulnerable part of me that’s worried that being with me like this won’t be enough for her. That she won’t be willing to wait, to let this grow into something that’s more than just physical for her. And that thought terrifies me because Jules has already burned a hole straight into my heart, and if she doesn’t feel the same way about me, I’ll probably bleed out.