I slowly spread my legs as he approaches, allowing him to step between them. He settles his hands on the insides of my thighs, lightly caressing, little sparks igniting on my skin from his touch. “Young, virginal girl,” he murmurs, his deep voice making gooseflesh rise. “There is nothing virginal about you, Sylvie.”
“Except my intact hymen.” I can’t concentrate when he touches me like that, running his fingers back and forth, drawing closer and closer to my pussy, only to skitter away. He knows where I want him, and he won’t give it to me. “My doctor just proved to my mother that I’m virginal in every way.”
His lids lift, those dark brown eyes of his searing into mine. “You have the most fucked-up doctor—and mother—on the planet.”
God, the truth hurts.
“It’s not his fault. He only does what my mother asks,” I say softly, sinking my teeth into my lower lip when his fingers lightly brush against my wetness. Testing me. Teasing me. “She’s selling me off to the highest bidder.”
His fingers pause in their exploration. “What do you mean?”
I reach for the front of his shirt and slowly start undoing the buttons, keeping my gaze on the task rather than look him in the eye when I say, “I’m to be engaged, Spencer. I’m sure the announcement will be made soon.”
“To who?”
“You don’t know him. He’s an investment banker. Much, much older, and so worldly. He’ll teach me things, I’m sure. Mother paid him off, so I’m not her problem anymore, since killing me with false illnesses didn’t work.” The words pour out of me, one after the other, as if I have no control over them.
A chuckle leaves him, and he resumes his search, his thumb pressing against my clit, making me hiss. “You’re funny, Syl.”
I didn’t expect him to believe me. I’ve said this sort of shit before, but it’s never come true. I haven’t died. I haven’t been shipped off to Australia, I haven’t been committed to a mental facility, I haven’t turned into a lesbian, I haven’t gone to Harvard.
All things I swore to Spencer would happen, but didn’t.
I am the consummate liar. The eccentric rich girl who does what she wants. Says what she wants. Buys whatever she desires.
That’s what it looks like to the outside world, but here, right now? With this boy who’s now a man?
I’m as real as I can get. And still, he doesn’t believe me. I wish he could see through my façade. Most of the time he can, but lately, I’m not sure who the real me is anymore.
Pushing aside my melancholy, I concentrate on what’s happening. How he’s touching me. I need to chase after the feeling I experience only with Spencer. That’s my goal tonight.
The only goal.
Leaning back, I prop my hands on the counter, my entire body trembling as he drifts his fingers across my sensitive skin. “I’m serious, Spence. The next chapter of my life starts with, ‘Once upon a wedding…’ Isn’t that romantic?”
He ignores what I say, his gaze focused on where he strokes me. “You told me you would never get married.”
“Guess I lied. Are you really that surprised?” When his gaze meets mine, I lift my brows. “That’s what I thought.”
“Did you take anything before you came here?” His fingers pause in their exploration and a frustrated whimper sounds from low in my throat.
“Of course not,” I lie, spreading my legs wider. As wide as they can get. “Make me come, Spencer. I need it.”
I start to move with his stroking fingers, undulating my hips. Biting my lower lip when those assured fingers slide inside me. He pumps them slowly, curling his fingers and nudging that mysterious spot that has me seeing stars.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his gaze on his hand as he strokes me. “Wet and naked on my kitchen counter. You’re like a dream come true.”
A dream that won’t last, is what I want to say, but I don’t.
Instead, I breathe out a sigh, arching my hips upward.
He doesn’t let up. No, he makes everything worse when he leans over me, his tongue lashing across one hard nipple, then the other, leaving them wet and aching. I can’t look away, my lips parted as he fucks me with his fingers and sucks at my nipples with his mouth. My normally buttoned-up Spence is sinfully sexy, with his shirt partially undone, showing off those rippling abs he always keeps under wraps.
Is it wrong that I only seek him out when I’m scared? When I know everything is about to fall apart? Habits are so very hard to break, and ever since I left Lancaster Prep, we’ve played it this way every single time. Getting each other off. Saying stupid shit that devolves into a raging argument that has me storming out, slamming the door behind me. Vowing to never see him again.
That’s always a lie.
The problem is, lately, my stupid shit has become real.