The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 68

"Have faith."

"Trying to."

They are lost in another kiss. He kisses her with feeling, with emotion. The monstrous rush of abandon fills him, and suddenly, his guts are swimming above his throat, and he has to keep himself from being choked by the overwhelming enormity of it all.

Sam, Sam, Sam ... I will miss you so much. You have no idea. You have no fucking clue how much I will miss you.

"Then tell her," the voice of Dr. Robertson echoes across the divide of the last session they had.

I can't. It wouldn't be fair. I can't keep her waiting for me - a man with a future as bleak as a dystopian tundra. She deserves to find someone else when I'm away. Someone like Thor, god of thunder forbid. Or maybe Caleb.

For answer, he seizes her face and kisses her again, this time more passionately. He slips his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweet, gravy-scented texture of her. The wonderful, wet and endlessly roaming map of her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her palate. He can drink her in forever like a drowning man.

He feels her hands clasp his shoulders, and then slide down his pecs ... and down, down to his jeans' zipper. He hears the soft k-r-a-a-a-c-k of the zip being pulled down. His rod is already hard and pulsing. He does not wear underwear, and she curls her knuckles in the tangle of his pubic bush. She tugs at his nether hair gently as he locks mouths with hers, merging their essences together.

Her hand wraps around his turgid shaft - so stiff that he doesn't think he can get up. She moves her hand back and forth slowly. Her lips press against his chin, his jawline, as she escalates the intensity of her strokes. His breathing has grown harsher.

"Sammie," he moans against her cheek.

I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss us being together. You have no idea how wild you drive me. And it isn't just sex. It's the togetherness. The 'us'.

But he doesn't say a word. He used not to believe in an 'us', and now that someone has shown him how wonderful 'partnership' can be, he's about to have it whisked away from him. So there's no fucking point.

Slowly, she kneels before him. He is still seated in the dining chair and his thighs are wide apart. With her gaze burning into his, she takes his painfully erect cock into her gorgeous mouth. She doesn't wear lipstick because she doesn't like to smear him with it. Considerate, as always. And she has such an incredibly talented mouth.

"You'll miss me," he finishes for her before they can both embarrass themselves.

He thinks he hears her say, "Not if I can help it", but he can't be sure.

They both cling to each other in a helpless embrace, aware of their own private, unspoken thoughts as the still thundering blood surges within their veins.

There seems to be no recourse for her but to take this step. The awaited invitation from Adele Jankovic/Delilah Faulkner to her apartment does not materialize, nor does Sam expect it to - if Delilah truly has something to hide.

So she has to take matters in her own hands. She knew it would come to this. She knew it the day she made the key impression in wax.

Now armed with a perfect set of newly cut keys, she stands before the door of Delilah Faulkner's apartment. It's ten o' clock. Someone in the building ordered pizza delivery, and she slipped in through the main door as the delivery boy was buzzed in.