The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 23

"OK," she says gratefully.

He carries her suitcase up to her apartment, which is a loft. It's tastefully decorated with the sort of minimalist furniture he hasn't expected - all modern white sofa set and chrome and glass tables. He would have pegged her to be the rose-and-other-petals type. It just shows that you can't typecast anybody.

He can tell that she's discomfited by him just being in her loft.

"You want some coffee?" she asks.

"No thanks. I've got to be heading back." He's feeling awkward as well. "Well ... goodbye." He holds out his hand, well aware that he has been naked with this woman and sleeping in the same bed just the night before. It had never mattered to him before, but Sam is ... different.

She takes it. Her palm is soft and firm at the same time, and there's a slight tremor to it that he can marginally detect.

He says softly, "I'm sorry for being such a putz to you in middle school."

She gives him a crooked smile. "It's OK. I've forgiven you a long time ago."

"Well. See you around."

He has never said 'see you around' to any woman before, particularly to a woman he has slept with. But he has never slept with Sam, so maybe it just came out naturally.

"See you around," she says.

She still hasn't let go of his hand. There's a wistfulness in her blue eyes that he hasn't seen on any woman for a long, long time, and he realizes it's because he's never gotten to know a woman long enough to see that kind of look in her eyes.

It's exactly what he has been consciously or subconsciously trying to avoid for his entire adult life. He doesn't want to be in a relationship. He knows what happens to relationships. Just look at his parents. They have seemingly everything - money, beauty, pedigree, even health. Everything except compatibility and happiness.

He's pretty sure he doesn't want to end up a miserable alcoholic who takes it out with a belt on his son just because he has got to release that pent-up rage somewhere.

But Sam is making him very, very uncertain of himself right now. Uncertain of his self-imposed rules. Uncertain if he is making the right decisions of never allowing himself to get too close to anyone.

She is still holding his hand as she pulls him close for a kiss. A goodbye kiss, he tells himself.

Best to be honest about it upfront.

"I know," she says, her eyes shimmering.

"So you're gonna be OK with it?"

"Caleb told me all about you, so I'm OK with it." Her voice quavers slightly.

To be honest, she isn't sure she's going to be OK with it, but she sure as hell will try. She has seen his cock before, but it's another thing to actually taste it - to roll and slide her wet tongue around its crown, the little ridge that separates his head from his shaft, and to press her tip into the little slit on his bulge.

He is salty and sweet all at the same time, and there's a masculine musk that emanates from his thatch of pubic hair and his smooth balls, which she cups in her right palm.

He moans softly and smoothens her hair.

She takes more of him into her mouth. She has to stretch the sides of her mouth wide to accommodate his girth. His flesh rushes in and fills her up to her throat, flattening her tongue and expanding the sides of her cheeks. It has been so long since she has performed fellatio, and every shred of technique she ever had - or thought she had - flees from her mind. She is now focused on sucking him as though he is a gargantuan lollipop, and taking more and more of him in ... and out ... and in, and out. Until she's practically massaging his thick rod of warm flesh with her hollowed cheeks and grazing his skin lightly with her teeth.