The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 19

"There isn't any couch."

"Tough. Then you'll just have to share a bed with me."

Even though his words carry a seductive languor, his demeanor towards her is not sexual. He is merely undressing himself as he would any other day in his apartment when he's alone. Before she can say anything, he drops his pants. His penis is semi-hard. He flashes her a grin as he turns to walk towards the bathroom. He has a deeply sexual swagger to him.

She understands now that he is not putting on a show just for her. His sexuality is as much part of his genetic makeup as his cockiness and extreme self-confidence.

When he comes back, naked, she has already changed into her nightgown. Before this trip, she and Cassie had gone shopping.

"You're going to make him sleep on the floor without a pillow," Cassie said gleefully.

"I can't do that. That's mean."

"That's your trouble, Sam. You don't know how to play bully. Just think of all the things he did to you in middle school, and comeuppance will come naturally."

Sam doubts it. She fingers a pretty black silk nightgown - bordered with lace.

"Oh, that's a nice one. The idea is to tempt him, make him hard, and then shove him away to let him painfully sleep on the floor."

"I don't think I'll ever get him hard for me. We don't even like each other. Besides, that's not the point of the whole weekend."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but these are fringe benefits. Play the coy seductive, torment him to distraction, then pull away at the last minute."

Sam doesn't think she can ever do that. She'd probably snag the lace nightgown on some hook and tear it to shreds before she can get sexy.

And now she's wearing that very nightgown. Not that he can see it, because she has consciously covered herself up to the neck with the blanket. Only the table lamps are on, and the entire room has taken on a cozy, romantic hue which is only too apparent.

"Move over," he says, his knee treading the mattress.

"No. I'd really like you to sleep on the floor."

"After all the tonsil tennis we shared?" He scoots into the bed and lifts up the blanket, which she clutches all the more tightly to her chest. "Relax, I'm not going to touch you with a ten foot pole, although mine is more like ten inches, give or take a few."

She wonders how he can be so cavalier about his nudity. She makes room for him by displacing herself to the edge of the bed. If she rolled to her left, she would fall off and land on the floor with a thud.

Her entire body stiffens. Moistness trickles within her core, and she feels a rush of inexplicable need, as if her insides have turned into gooey mush.

Oh, oh, oh!

Her hand moves to her swollen sex, all plump and ripened by the hormones coursing in her bloodstream. She's about to do something embarrassing, but she's helpless to prevent it.

She closes her eyes as she slips her fingers underneath her panties. Her clit tingles at her own touch. She delves her fingers through her cracks, squeezing her clit in between. A soft moan escapes her lips. Her pussy is exquisitely wet, which lubricates her scissoring movements. She wriggles and digs her fingers in deeper, prodding the soft petal folds of her clit and inner labia.

Her breathing rhythm escalates even as her heart slams against her ribcage. In her mind's eye, she can see only Brian's face, hovering above her as he fucks her repeatedly.

The pleasure that peals in her pussy lifts her body and arches her back. She twists her neck against the damp pillow as her orgasm crests through her. Her muscles contort explosively. She coils and recoils, her body a whiplash of sensory overload. The sheets beneath her hips are a veritable mess of intermingled creams and sweat.

Oh Brian, Brian!

She would be mortified if he ever found out she masturbated while thinking of him when he was beside her. She would never live it down, especially with his caustic, razor tongue. She can well imagine him using his tongue for something else more inappropriate - much is the agony of it.