Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

“Alright, we’ll be in touch then,” Jay Davenport says, shaking my hand and then Audrey’s as the elevator dings to alert us to its arrival on his floor of the building.

Meeting with him has been the polar opposite of my meeting with Jerome weeks ago. Jay has been nothing but professional, explaining that his interest in the program is because—with the number of commercial properties he owns in downtown—he has his own crews for repairs and renovations but has trouble finding qualified, reliable people to keep on staff. When he told me what the starting salary was at his company, I was floored. That kind of income could make a huge difference in people’s lives, and I’m thrilled that he’s specifically looking to hire women too.

“Thank you so much for your time,” I say as we turn and step into the elevator.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Audrey adds, and then the doors close.

We turn toward each other, and I hold my index finger to my mouth as I look up and watch the floors count down while the elevator descends. When we’ve gone down fifteen floors, I figure that’s far enough, and I reach over, bracing my hands on Audrey’s shoulders as I say, “Holy shit!”

Both of us are squealing with excitement, because the donation he just promised us is a game changer. We’ll be able to help so many people, and I’m confident that his guidance will be extremely valuable as we grow the mentoring program.

“Okay, we need to meet with Morgan and figure out our next steps,” Audrey says. Morgan’s only official role in Our House is to run our social media accounts, but this mentoring program was her brainchild. We’ll need her help messaging out more information about expanding the program, and she may even be able to help us recruit a director for the non-profit. Her recently acquired MBA, combined with her social media experience and her willingness to share her wealth of business knowledge, have been invaluable.

“Can you set up some time with her?” I ask as the elevator arrives at the lobby . “I have to run over to the Seaport and see the progress on Colt’s condo, but I can make time tomorrow or Friday.”

“Wait, is Colt’s place done already?”

“God no,” I tell her as we cross the lobby. The fact that she thinks damage that extensive could be cleaned up and rebuilt in the past several weeks is proof that she knows very little about the construction side of our business. “But drywall is going up tomorrow, so he wants me to look at everything before it’s all closed up.”

“Alright. I’ll text you and let you know when Morgan’s free so we can meet and figure out next steps.”

We go our separate ways, me to where I parked my truck down the street, and her toward the Boston Common because she says it’s too nice of an evening not to walk home. Getting over to Colt’s building in the Seaport is easier than I’d expect at this time of day, mostly because Boston traffic seems to start well before rush hour and is generally better by the time I’d expect it to be bad.

I leave my truck with the valet, who tells me it’ll be parked next to Colt’s in the garage, keys inside, when I’m ready for it. And then I’m headed up to the thirtieth floor. Colt greets me at the door, but I hardly notice him as he stands there taking up most of the doorframe, because in the space beside him, I have a clear view directly out the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. And with the sun already on the horizon, Boston Harbor looks like it’s on fire with ribbons of gold and orange dancing across the surface of the water.

“Holy shit,” I sigh, one hand pressed to my chest. “This view . . .”

Colt looks down at me. “I’d say thanks, but I don’t think you’re talking about me.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” I laugh as he pulls me to him, circling his arms around my back and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“If I had my way right now, you’d be full of me too.”

“I don’t know why I like you so much,” I say, rising onto my tiptoes so I can trail kisses across his jaw.

“Because I’m a likable guy.”

I snort out a laugh. “You’re tolerable, I suppose.” I don’t know why I keep pretending to resist him—but it’s like a defense mechanism I can’t let go of after so many years.

“You seemed to tolerate me just fine when I was buried inside you last night.” The words are a low caress against my ear and send a shiver down my spine.

I can’t help the way my body tries to curl into him, how my hips want to rise and meet his, how my skin wants his rough hands skating gently across it, how my core aches to have him inside me again.

“Meh,” I say, and go to move past him.

But he captures my hand in his, pulling me back to him as he drops his voice so deep it’s practically a growl. “Every time you try to push me away, I’m going to pull you right back. If I’m going to fall, you’re coming down with me.”

A chill runs up my spine as his words sink in, and then my hands are sliding up his chest and my arms are snaking around his neck as I pull him close. “I’m right there with you. I’m sorry I keep pushing you away. I know it’s a defense mechanism, I just don’t know how to stop it.”

“You’ll know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you’ll know when you can fully trust me because you won’t feel the need to do it anymore.”

I gaze up at that perfectly sculpted face. “I do trust you, Colt.”

“You’re getting there.” He dips his head and kisses my forehead.

I’m about to tell him that he doesn’t get to decide when I trust him enough. But then he spins us around and shuts the door behind us, pushing me farther down the hallway toward his living room. The view is fucking spectacular.

As I come down the few steps to the sunken living room, which has to be bigger than the entire first floor of my brownstone, I can see the islands of the harbor dotting the water. Beyond them, the horizon is streaked with the same orange and gold as the water, but with pinks and lavenders as well. Because we’re on the Eastern Seaboard, we don’t get true sunsets over the water in Boston. But every once in a while, before it dips below the buildings on the other side of the city, the sun reflects off the water and the sky like this, giving us a textbook-perfect sunset.

“What do you think?” Colt asks, coming up behind me where I’ve stopped in the middle of his living room.

“I still can’t believe this view.”

“I meant about the condo?”

I glance around, and between the steel studs, the foam insulation is neatly cured. The electrical wires and plumbing tubes run exactly where they should. “How can you expect me to talk about work with a view like this?”

His eyes flick toward the windows, then back at me. “The view’s okay.”

“Okay?” I drag out the word. “What the hell are you talking about? How could you be desensitized to a view like this?”

“Trust me, you just get used to it.” He reaches out, pulling me to him like he always does. I love that he can’t seem to keep his hands off me, and always wants me as close as possible. I always thought that I’d hate it if a man were clingy, but with Colt, I love it. Knowing that he could have anyone, and only wants me—it’s the reassurance I didn’t realize I needed. “This view, though,” he says, focusing in on my face, “I can’t get enough of this view.”

I smooth my palm along his jaw, cupping his face. “Good. You’ll need to get your fill tonight, though, because after the game tomorrow, I won’t see you for almost four days. Not that I’m counting,” I add hastily.

“Clearly.”

“I don’t like feeling this way.”

“What way’s that?” he asks, amusement tinging his words.

“I hate the ups and downs—being thrilled to see you when you’re here, and then missing you like crazy when you’re gone. It’s too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much, Tink. You can never be too excited to see me, or miss me too much when I’m not here.”

“But I don’t want to feel all those emotions,” I tell him. Life was simpler when I got up every day, worked my job, mentored a few women, spoiled my immediate family, and occasionally made some beautiful lingerie, and then went to sleep to do it all again in the morning.

“More things to talk about in therapy, it sounds like.”

“Yeah, I promise I won’t cancel this weekend’s meeting,” I assure him.

“Good. Okay, so can you take a quick look around, let me know what you think of everything so I can give them the go ahead to put the walls up tomorrow?”

“Sure.” As I walk the perimeter of the large space, looking at things the way I know an inspector would, it occurs to me that if they’re putting walls up tomorrow, the inspector must already have signed off on everything.

When I ask him why he’s having me look at it in that case, he just shrugs and says, “I want to make sure it’s done right, and I know you’d never accept anything less than the best work.”

“Everything looks good,” I say, crossing the room to where he stands, waiting for me near the sliding glass doors.

He takes my hand, leading me out to the large and incredibly private balcony. Full walls on both sides prevent you from seeing onto any neighbor’s balcony. It’s a full-on outdoor room out here, and the only view is directly out beyond the glass half-wall, toward the ocean.

It was beautiful the last time I was here, but we were distracted by the wreckage that was his apartment—and I was so busy trying not to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gabriel—that I didn’t fully appreciate this view.

He gestures to the large sectional couch off to the side. There’s a coffee table with two place settings and heaps of takeout containers stacked there. “I got us Italian.”

We’re sitting on pillows we’ve put on the floor and are almost done with dinner, when I finally work up the nerve to ask the question that’s been bothering me since I first walked in here. “So, are you looking forward to this renovation finally being done?”

Leaning back against the couch, he lifts his arm and rests it along the cushions as he turns toward me. “I’m dreading it, actually.”

“Why?” It springs from my mouth, because his place is beyond amazing and it’s going to be even better than before when it’s done. I know that for a fact because Audrey and I helped him pick all the finishes.

He just stares at me. “Why do you think, Tink?”

My lips part, but the words don’t come. So he reaches up, tracing my lower lip with his thumb as he waits for me to speak.

“Why don’t you tell me, so we can avoid this whole guessing game,” I say, hating the way I can’t make myself admit that I hope it’s because the thought of not living with me is tearing him up.

His hand slides from my face to my neck, holding the side possessively, like he’s reminding me I’m his.

“Because I don’t want to be two feet away from you, much less halfway across the city. I don’t want to spend a second away from you that I don’t have to. So no, I’m not looking forward to my place being done, because I don’t plan on moving back in here unless you kick me out.”

My breath is trapped in my lungs, which refuse to expand. Then I take a heaving gasp, and nod out toward the ocean view. “You’d give all this up to live in your fake fiancée’s childhood home?”

“I’d give everything up to be with you. It’s not even a question.” He sighs, his fingers tightening around the back of my neck. “The only way I’m moving out is if we break up. And if you remember, the only way this is ending is if you break it off.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me . . . and that ring.”

I stiffen involuntarily, and he gives me a questioning look.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. But I don’t want my inaction to be the reason we stay together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being together should be a conscious choice, not the default thing that happens because I don’t end it.”

“Isn’t not ending it a conscious choice? We agreed that we’d stay together until the end of playoffs. If we decide to stay together beyond that, isn’t it a choice?”

Shrugging, I pause for a moment as I try to put my feelings, and worries, into words. “Colt . . . I . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’ve never done any of this before. I’ve never fallen for someone. I’ve never had sex with anyone. I’ve never been in love. It’s . . .”

“We’re going to take this slow, because I know that’s what you need. But I want to remind you . . . you have done all of that before. You’ve done it with me. And as scary as you’re finding all of it, just know that I am too.”

“Is this what love feels like? I don’t even know, and I’m not sure you do, either,” I admit. I don’t want us to fall into this because it’s convenient—because we like spending time together, we cohabitate well, and the sex is great. It has to be based on more than that . . . doesn’t it?

“I was nineteen—a damn child, and a fool one at that—the last time I told someone I loved them,” Colt says. “I thought I knew then what love was, but that wasn’t it. My heart didn’t literally ache when I was away from her. I didn’t spend every spare moment planning ways to spend more time with her. She wasn’t the first thing I thought of when I woke up, or the last person I wanted to see before I fell asleep. I didn’t know what every single sound she made meant . . . never even thought to catalog that information away like I do with you. So don’t tell me I don’t know what love is. I’ve experienced what it isn’t well enough to know what it is.”

My heart is pounding, in response to his admission, so I lean toward him, resting my head in the hollow where his raised arm meets his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t have these feelings. It’s that I don’t know how to deal with them. Emotions scare me.”

“At least you can admit it.” Stroking the back of my head, he leans down and plants a kiss on top of it. “And they scare me, too. We’re learning, together. I think maybe you just need to remember what you told me last night.”

“What was that?” I ask.

“You said I’d already ruined you for any other man. That I’d shown you how you should be treated, that you can trust me, and that you’re not afraid of letting go of your need to control things when I’m around. And then you said you were going to love me no matter what.”

“Did I really?” My heart feels like my chest is constricting around it. Every word of that is true, but I must have been feeling especially safe and secure to say it out loud. Either that, or sex made me lose my mind.

“I think that maybe,” Colt says as the beginning of a smirk quirks his lips, “you are more honest when you’re naked.”

“Are you trying to get me naked right now?” I ask, eyes narrowing playfully.

His hand slides down to the buttons of my sleeveless blouse. “I’m always trying to get you naked.”

The way the heel of his hand grazes my nipple as he toys with the first button has a wave of longing rippling through me. I push up on my knees and swing my leg over his so I’m straddling him. I already knew I had a high sex drive, but now having had sex has made me feel like an addict. All I’ve thought about every waking moment today is having him inside me again, as soon as possible.

“Someone’s eager.” He chuckles, and the vibrations run along my abdomen, like the shock waves of a bomb detonating. Between my legs, I can feel him growing hard where my center is pressed up against him, so I slide my hips forward and back right along his length, pulling a deep sigh from the back of his throat.

“Now that you’ve shown me what sex can be like, you’re going to have to provide a repeat performance so I know it wasn’t a fluke.”

He glances up at me, taking his eyes off the narrow buttons he was undoing. “A fluke, huh?”

I raise an eyebrow in response, taking over and unbuttoning the last two buttons without even looking at them. Sliding the blouse down my arms, I toss it onto the couch.

Colt sucks in a sharp breath when my bra comes into view. It’s made of a stretchy sheer nude-colored mesh, with the palest pink flowers embroidered right over my nipples. The drag of the embroidery over my hardening peaks has me feeling extra turned on, but the heat in his eyes almost drives me over the edge. “Did you make this one, too?”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to show me how you do this?”

“How I make them?” I clarify, and when he nods, I say, “Sure, someday. But right now, all I want to do is show you how to take it off without ruining it.” My fingers meet between my breasts, and I fold the two pieces of the plastic clip forward so that the clasp opens, and then I pull the bra open in the front.

“You are so goddamn stunning,” he says, his eyes focused on my breasts and then moving up to my face. “Not just the way you look . . . but everything about you. I didn’t expect you.” His hands skim my breasts on their way to my chest, where he presses his palm against my sternum. “You take up all the space in my heart.”

Goddamn. “You seem to have fixed all the cracks in my heart, too.”

“I feel like I put most of them there,” he says, his voice low and raw. “The least I can do is help repair them.”

I reach between us for his buckle, wanting to get these pants off as quickly as possible. “Stand for a sec,” he says as he works to push his pants down, but is hampered by the way I’m sitting on his lap.

I do as he asks, and with my legs spread on either side of him, he’s looking right at my thighs, where he sits on the ground with his back against the frame of the outdoor couch. And as he pushes his pants and underwear down his legs, kicking off his shoes and following them with his remaining clothing, he leans forward. Then his hands are pulling my skirt down over my hips, and he brings his nose to my center, inhaling deeply through the thin scrap of fabric.

“Jesus, Jules. I can tell how much you want me.” He presses his tongue against my already damp underwear, licking me through the sheer material, and making me gasp. “You’re so wet for me.”

He glides his tongue over me, adding additional friction as he circles around my clit, while reaching up and cupping my breasts together, dragging his rough thumbs over my sensitive nipples in a way that brings me along quickly. “Fuck that feels good,” I breathe out. “But it’s not enough. I need you, Colt.”

Pulling back, he smacks my ass lightly, and I look down at him in surprise.

“Hands on the railing. I want to see myself enter you.”

“Aren’t you . . . worried someone is going to see us?”

His chuckle is deep. “On the thirtieth floor? Look around, Jules,” he says, and I turn, my eyes scanning the horizon.

There are no other buildings, and only a few small boats dot the water of the harbor. In the distance, Boston Light is sending its beam of light out into the ocean as a warning to ships that land is near. But for me, it’s a beacon, calling me home, showing me that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

“Who’s going to see us?” he asks.

I lean toward the glass wall with its steel-framed railing along the top, planting my hands there and spreading my legs slightly as I tilt my ass up toward Colt. The hum of anticipation that flows through my body has me practically shaking, and it’s a relief that it’s from excitement and not fear. I’ve never felt so comfortable around anyone before.

“My god, you’re a fucking vision,” he says, kneeling behind me. Strong hands grip my thighs as he moves my thong to the side and licks me from my clit all the way along my slit. “I can’t wait to be inside you.” His tongue returns to my clit, flicking back and forth over it in quick, sure strokes that have me tingling all over.

In front of me is nothing but the inky blue sky dotted with a few stars, and the ray of the lighthouse sweeping the horizon. Thirty stories below me, cars and pedestrians move along the street, completely unaware that up on this balcony, Colt’s got his face buried in me, his tongue working overtime to bring me my first orgasm of the night.

My core tightens, my muscles pulling together rhythmically, wanting to grip him but instead finding an empty chasm. “More,” I say between the quick, shallow pants that seem to be all my lungs are capable of. “Please, Colt, I need more.”

When I see movement on the floor near me, I glance down, realizing that he’s groping around in the dark for his pants. He’s probably looking for a condom.

“I love you on your knees like this for me, but I want you inside me now,” I insist, as my legs quake and my muscles contract. “I want to come all over you before you fuck me into oblivion.”

“Jesus, Jules,” he groans. But instead of the reprimand it usually feels like when my family says it, with Colt, it sounds like he’s praying. Worshiping me. “I need a second to find a condom.”

The waves are moving through my core, threatening to tip me over the edge. “No, you don’t. We’re fine. I have an IUD. As long as you’re clean?”

“I am,” he says, pulling my thong down in one quick movement. Then he leans over against my back, his huge, hot cock resting right along my ass, as he asks softly, “Are you sure? Because this—having sex like this—is huge. It’s a first for me, too.”

I glance over at him, where his chin rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad I can be your first for something, too.”

“You’re my first for just about every single thing besides sex, Jules.” He reaches down, dragging the tip of his cock along my wet seam, teasing me as he presses it over my clit. I can’t hold in my moan as I rock my body against him, needing the friction and pressure against that bundle of nerves. What I really need is him filling me. “And you’re never doing this with anyone else. This is forever.”

My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I try to absorb what he’s saying, what he’s promising. But I can’t seem to find my words, all I can do is groan out a “Yesss,” as he presses into me, entering me slowly. The sensation of his skin on mine, inside me and all around me, has me pressing back into him, taking all of him at once.

He lets out a whispered, “Holy shit,” as he starts to move. His fingers make their way around my hip and down to my clit, giving me the friction I needed there as he thrusts inside me, and I feel like I’m about to explode all around him. I was already so close, and the tingling sensation spreads through me quickly, until I’m grunting each time I sink back onto him.

“Look at you,” he says, and I look up over my shoulder at him. He’s standing behind me, watching me take him as he pushes into me. “Look at that beautiful pussy, taking me so well. You were fucking made for me.” Increasing the pace, his jaw clamps together, the words barely escaping through gritted teeth as he says, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I agree, as I use the railing at the top of the glass wall for leverage to help me push back into him and set the pace I need. And when my muscles contract within my core, it’s a completely new sensation—it’s not the manual stimulation on my clit that’s bringing me to orgasm, it’s the way that ridged head of his cock slides along the deepest recesses of me. I swear I see stars that aren’t there as white-hot heat pours through me, every drag of his dick threatening to tip me over the edge and into euphoria. And when it happens, I cry out, followed by a promise. “I’ll always be yours.”