Two more seconds of watching her hips rise and fall, her tits bouncing with every move.

  She lifts one brow, challenging me.

  I join in, and it quickly turns into a competition of who can say the most outlandish thing as we bounce and bang in a ridiculous simulation of sex that’s louder and more acrobatic than any I’ve ever actually had.

  “Make that pussy suck me dry. I wanna fill you up, breed you with my seed.” Bang, bang, bang.

  She whispers, “Gross.” Louder, for the show, she cries out, “Choke me, Daddy!”

  Those words coming from Luna’s mouth surprise me. In my mind, I can see my hand wrapped around her throat, putting the slightest pressure as we get closer and closer to coming simultaneously. And even though we’re faking, my dick is rock hard. Strictly biological, I assure myself. It’s not because I want Luna. That would be an unbelievably huge mistake, especially for a one-night stand.

  I mean, seriously, this is damn near phone sex levels of hot, everything but the skin contact, so a physical reaction is only logical. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  “Can I come? Please?” Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  The words roll off her tongue easily, and I wonder if there’s something about Luna Starr that I never considered. Her sex talk, even if fake, has a decidedly submissive tilt, and I like it . . . a lot.

  I realize I need to answer to keep up appearances, but I desperately want to know what Luna looks like when she comes. Even if it’s for show. “Come for me, baby. Come right now on Daddy’s cock.”

  She sobs out a very believable keening whine, slapping the mattress with her hand. Her eyes are closed as she acts out, and I watch with focused concentration, noting the color on her cheeks, the hitch in her breath, the bounce of her breasts, and the way her sweatshirt has climbed up her thighs with her movements.

  “That’s it, good girl,” I croon. I grip the blanket myself, not to hide from Luna but to stop myself from reaching out to touch her skin.

  Her eyes flutter open and she grins. “Your turn,” she mouths.

  Oh, yeah. Right. I plant my feet and hands on the bed, pumping my hips so that the headboard hits the wall rhythmically again. “Fuuuck, Luna. You feel so good.”

  I grunt a few more times, letting the last one trail off, and then I lie belly down on the bed so my erection can’t be seen.

  Luna collapses to the pillow too, arranging her hair beneath her head. We’re panting from the exertion despite not getting any real action. Our eyes meet, and there’s something deep in Luna’s that I can’t identify. Lust? Anger? Disappointment? Embarrassment?

  “You okay?” I ask gently.

  “I usually take my glasses off. Guys don’t like them, but it’s nice being able to actually see,” she confides as she pushes her glasses higher on her nose. Realizing what she shared, she covers her mouth to conceal the escaping giggles, crossing her legs and rolling a bit.

  I can’t help it, I start laughing too.

  “Glasses could get . . . messy,” I joke back, and Luna has to bite her sleeve to stop her howls of laughter.

  “Still better than in your eyes,” she adds, making a windshield wiper move over both lenses, and that’s how I end up half-dressed, in bed, post-fake-coital, laughing my ass off with my best friend’s little sister, who is also my fake wife.

  Life is weird sometimes.

  “Seriously, though. If any guy tells you he doesn’t like your glasses, he should not get access to your pussy,” I say firmly. “Your glasses are cute, and most importantly, they’re you.”

  She seems shocked at my opinion on the situation, but it’s pretty obvious if you ask me.

  “Well, not like I’m in any position to turn guys down, though,” she laments.

  I grab the other pillow, propping my chest on it. It pushes my hips into the bed, and I note that at least my dick has gone soft now. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  The demand is sharp as I search her face for what she’s talking about. She sinks into her shoulders and sighs. “Look, Carter. I know you’re supposed to be my fake husband and all, but we don’t have to do this.” She waves from me to her. “We’re in different worlds—financially, professionally, personally, physically. It’s okay. I’m happy with myself for the most part, but other than Elena, who might be blind as a bat for all we know, no one would believe we’re a thing.”

  Her shrug is one of resignation and her tone of quiet acceptance. But I don’t get it . . .

  “We are different,” I start, and I see her cringe, waiting for whatever she thinks I’m going to say. “But different can be good,” I finish. “I don’t really get why you cry when you see a painting or don’t always say out loud what you’re thinking, and I definitely don’t understand how you can get art from your brain out to the real world. It’s magic, it’s witchcraft, it’s something I absolutely can’t do.”

  “Sure, yeah,” she says dismissively. “But people don’t want—”

  “I wasn’t done. Last but not least, quit saying you’re not pretty or that this is unbelievable.” I use her earlier words so she knows I heard her. “You’re beautiful, and anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.” I don’t add that I was one of those idiots a few short days ago. “Any man would be lucky to call you his.”

  She scans my face, searching for the lie, but I’m telling the truth. Finally, she says, “I don’t understand why you need this deal so badly. Your life is charmed. You’re one of those people born with a silver spoon, but you’re making it hard on yourself, going to extremes like this whole fake marriage thing for a deal. This would be a lot even for someone who had nothing.”

  “Easy is boring. I need to prove myself,” I confess.

  Unconvinced, she asks, “To whom?”

  “To my brother, my dad, my family. Hell, probably even to myself a bit. There’s a lot of pressure that comes with that silver spoon. So much that I feel like I’ll choke on it sometimes.”

  The confession surprises me more than her, I think. I hadn’t realized I felt so trapped by my family’s competitive nature. Probably because it’s been bred into me for generations. I could use one of my mom’s easily given reassurances right about now, but she saves those for Grace these days, trusting that her adult children have their shit together. If only she knew how much that’s not true.

  “Hmm, you’re maybe not as bad as I thought you were.” Luna smiles to soften the not-quite-a-compliment but then yawns.

  “Apology accepted. I’ll move over to the couch so you can get some rest.” I shove the pillow back toward the head of the bed, but she stops me.

  “It’s fine. This bed is huge. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.” She draws a line down the center of the bed with her hand.

  “My back is gonna thank you in the morning.” We both get rearranged so that we’re under the blankets, but not touching, with a few inches of no-man’s land between us. As I reach over to turn off the lights, I chuckle and murmur, “Good night, wife.”

  She laughs and answers, “Good night, Carter.”

  I flick off the light with the remote on the nightstand, and we go silent, waiting for sleep to come. Luna succumbs pretty quickly, and I should be thinking about Elena, this deal, and how I’m going to get that handshake in the morning before we leave.

  But all I can focus on are Luna and her soft breathing.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  LUNA

  I wake up, or maybe I’m not awake because this must be a dream. I’m floating on a cloud of the softest, fluffiest cotton and there are warm, strong arms wrapped around me. There’s also a very hard something pressed between the cheeks of my ass.

  I arch my back into the sexy feelings as I sink into the dream with a moan. It jumps, and I’m about to open my knees in invitation when the arms tighten into a delicious hug that pulls me against the hardness forcefully. “Good morning, beautiful.” I shudder reflexively, heat pooling between my legs that has nothing to do with the high thread-count duvet.

  My brow furrows as the dream turns confusing. That voice is oddly familiar . . . but why? Or who?

  Logic is overwhelmed by sensation, and I grind back against the firmness, moaning in desire. Just a slightly different angle and I’ll be able to get . . .

  My mind screams at me, forcing me awake.

  Carter?

  Oh, fuck.

  Carter!

  I flail wildly, kicking the blankets off in an effort to get away as fast as possible. “Get off me!”

  “Wha—?” he stutters, clearly half asleep himself. And he’s an octopus, pulling me back in with his arms and legs until we’re snuggled together with my face buried in his bare, muscled chest, his arms encircling me and our legs entwined. Trapped, I freeze as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. I wiggle, and he looks down at me with half-open eyes. He’s probably seeing double or still asleep because he smiles and in a sleep-rough voice says, “Mmm, hey, Luna.”

  I squirm, and my knee catches his morning wood.

  “Ugh! Fuck!” He grunts as he doubles over into a fetal position, cupping himself.

  But at least he lets me go, and I scoot to the other side of the bed, putting space between us. “Carter!”

  “Why’d you rack me?”

  “Why are you holding me hostage with your super-strong arms and stupidly big thing?” I gesture toward his groin, getting madder when he grins.

  “Thing?” He chuckles, shifting himself in his sweatpants and still looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Seriously? What are you, twelve?”

  I sit up, crossing my arms over my chest and frowning at him. “Twenty-three,” I remind him even though I know the question was rhetorical.

  “Last night, you’re all ‘choke me, Daddy’ and now you can’t even say cock or dick?” he teases, and I can’t help it, I flush at the memory. Yeah, it was play acting . . . but it felt good doing it, too.

  “That was different,” I argue. Carter raises a single brow in challenge. “Leave me alone.”

  I get out of the bed, twisting and turning my sweatshirt to get it back down around my thighs, but I’m pretty sure I flash a fair amount of butt cheek in the process. Stomping to the bathroom, I can feel Carter’s eyes following my every move, so I give him a solid glare as I shut the door behind me.

  As soon as I do so, I lean back on the door, my pulse racing. He’s getting to me, and I can’t allow that.

  I sigh and go over to the toilet to sit down. Taking care of my morning business and then washing my face, flashes of last night come back. I stare at myself in the mirror in shock. I actually did that. Me, Luna Starr, had fake sex with Carter Harrington.

  I’m mad at myself, completely embarrassed, and also, way deep down in a secret space I won’t tell a soul about, a little disappointed it was fake. Not because I want Carter but because the way he was bangin’ around and the things he said were definitely turning my core to liquid, and now I’m left tense and frustrated. Samantha would tell me to rub one out really quick, but I can’t . . . not here. Not when he could hear me. I would die of mortification.

  And then another thought strikes me. What if Carter’s taking care of his own morning business out there? And I don’t mean peeing. The man had a whole bonfire’s worth of wood in his sweatpants.

  I wouldn’t mind seeing that!

  I tell my inner ho to shut up, even though I’m already imagining Carter taking himself in hand, stroking hard and fast, and coming on the bed right where I slept last night as he grits his teeth so I won’t hear him say my name.

  No, bad Luna! You’re not some orgasm-starved nympho who’ll do anything for a hit of dick.

  As if he can sense me thinking of him, Carter knocks on the door. “Luna?”

  I startle hard, sure that he somehow knows what I’m thinking. “What? Can’t a girl use the bathroom in peace?” My voice is too sharp even to my own ears, an obvious tell that something’s up.

  “You good?” Carter asks, and I swear I hear his smug grin in the two little words.

  “Yep, fine. Just fine. Totally all good here.” I bury my face in a towel, wishing I had one tiny ounce of cool in me, but I don’t. Never have, never will.

  “Uh, okay,” Carter stammers, probably thinking I’ve bumped my head in here and concussed myself. Or more likely, that I’m in the middle of ‘handling’ things the way I figured he was. “I’m going to go check on Gracie. She sleeps like the dead, so she’s probably still conked out, but Peanut Butter probably needs to piss too,” Carter says through the door. He clears his throat and adds, “That’ll give you some privacy to do . . . whatever.”

  He totally thinks I’m rubbing one out.

  “Sure, yeah. Thanks,” I squeak. “Oh, make sure Peanut Butter doesn’t get the rose bushes again.” The advice is unneeded, but I don’t know what to say. How do you go from ‘get your cock off me’ to taking the dog out?

  A moment later, I hear the door to the room open and close.

  Slowly, I crack open the door, peeking out.

  Empty. All alone.

  I start toward the dresser, but the mess of pillows and sheets on the freshly slept-in bed catches my eye. And then I glance at the door. If Carter already thinks I did jill off, then what’s the harm in actually doing it? At the least, it’ll take the edge off and clear my head so I can think properly at breakfast.

  I don’t decide. I act. I rush over to the door, peek out to the hallway to make sure it’s clear, and then close and lock it. Locking it is key because if Carter actually walks in on me . . .

  I hop in the bed, grabbing the pillow that still smells like Carter and not examining why that’s so sexy. Nope, not doing that right now . . . and probably not later, either.

  I lie face down, gathering the pillow in one arm to bury my nose in his scent, and slip my other arm underneath my body. With my hips lifted and my knees parted, there’s a delicious sense of vulnerability as I feel my lips spread to the air of the room.

  I grin into the pillow when I feel my wetness coat my fingers. This is gonna be quick, what Samantha calls the ‘Hundred Flick Dash’.

  I close my eyes, and though it’d be a nightmare in real life, in my mind’s eye, I imagine Carter walking in on me . . .

  “What the fuck?” His exclamation is in surprise, but his eyes are hungry for me, enjoying the view.

  “Carter!” My fingers stop as I blush furiously.

  “Sorry, I . . . fuck, that’s hot,” he whispers, and I can tell he’s not lying. The circus tent in his pants confirms that. “I came back to get my phone, and I heard . . . something. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I am.” At least I think I am, given the way he’s licking his lips.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” he says, stepping closer to the bed. “Let me watch you get yourself off. Show me how you like it.”

  “Look. But don’t touch.”

  “Deal,” Carter says, climbing onto the bed. He sits down behind me, his ass on his heels and off to the side a bit so he can see my pussy and my face as I curl to the side to see him too.

  He’s straining to get out of his pants, the long, thick rod visible in his sweat pants.

  “Let me see you too,” I say with a confidence I don’t have in the real world.

  Carter yanks his T-shirt over his head and hooks his thumbs in his waistband to drop his pants below his butt, letting his cock free. His body is chiseled and lean, his muscles strong and powerful without being bodybuilder pumped, his deeply ridged abs narrowing to a happy trail that leads to the very definition of proud manhood, standing straight up and rock hard.

  He licks his hand and does one full stroke, looking at me as if he’s waiting to see if I protest.

  When I don’t, he wraps his hand around his cock and pumps slowly. “Be a good girl, Luna. Work yourself for me.”

  “Mmm . . . is that for me?” I ask as I slip a finger inside myself, shuddering at the feeling. I do it again, the heel of my palm bumping my clit as my finger thrusts inside and I watch Carter stroke himself slowly until precum oozes from his tip.

  “That’s for you,” he says, and I’m tempted to ask for a taste . . . but he uses it to spread over his head, giving him a slicker grip. “And when I spill cum everywhere, it’ll be for you too. You’re driving me fucking wild, Luna.”

  I fuck myself with my fingers, hard and fast, the bumps to my clit a shock of pleasure each time, getting me closer and closer.

  “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Pussy in the air, begging me to fill it with my big cock. Fuck, I’ll grip your hips, slap your ass, and slam so deep inside you, you never forget what it feels like to be filled with me.” Carter strokes himself mercilessly, his words turning us both on.

  “Do you want that?” he demands.

  I bite my lip and nod, too focused on my hand’s rhythm to find words.

  “Not good enough. What are you going to do to me? Tell me.”

  I wrench open my eyes to meet his. He wants me vocal, as aroused by the words as by my telling him what I want. I gasp, stuttering out, “Suck you, swallow you. Till I’m a mess of drool and cum. Even tears, because I choked on you.”

  It’s too much for us both. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and I’m moaning softly on every exhale, right on the edge.

  “Together.”

  We synchronize our strokes, my fingers and his hand moving in time together. As he strokes, I stroke, my pussy gripping my fingers like it would the beautiful cock just a few feet away. We watch each other, and I can see the precum starting to spill over his hand. My thighs tremble with the oncoming climax and I move my fingers to my clit, focusing where I need it most.

  “I . . . I want it,” I gasp. “Mmm, Carter . . . yeah . . .”

  The line between fantasy and reality blurs as I come back to consciousness, in the here and now, with my face smashed into the pillow’s fluffiness. Hopefully, it muffled any sounds I made because I kinda got a little carried away there. Okay, a lot carried away.

  “Oh, my God,” I pant quietly into the empty room.