psychic regularly?”
“A few times,” I clarify with a shrug.
“A pet psychic who works via phone calls?”
“Exactly! Phone calls and photographs. I think the pictures help her focus or something, I don’t really know. But it’s totally legit.”
“You… paid money for this?”
I throw up my hands and roll my eyes. Gary strolls in with his matching tie and promptly makes himself comfortable on one of the bags I’ve dropped in the hallway. Duke dances in a circle before settling down to stare at Gary as if he’s waiting on direction.
I place a hand on my hip and glare at Warren. “The pet psychic is a registered business, it’s not like she’s evading her taxes. And she’s a New York pet psychic, so she’s paying New York taxes. You’re welcome.”
“You’re insane,” he says, but he uses his hand to cover a smile. And to be fair, he’s not wrong.
“You’re into it though,” I reply, smiling back.
Because he is. He is so into my particular brand of crazy. I don’t know why, but fuck it, I don’t know why I find his stupid press conferences sexy either. Sometimes you just get lucky in reciprocated lust.
It catches him off-guard, at first, my reply. But only for a second. And in that second, something changes. The sexual tension that’s been building all day—all week—boils over. Because he’s into me, and I’m into him, and fuck the rest of it.
He steps towards me. One step, two. Then he trails his fingertip along my jaw before leaning in. I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he brings his lips to my ear and whispers a single, gruff word. The warmth of his breath and the intensity of the moment has every nerve ending on alert.
“Upstairs.”
Okay, same page then.
I dart a quick look at him as he straightens, then I spin around and take the stairs like my next orgasm depends on it.
At the landing, Warren tugs me into his bedroom and oh, my God. It’s really happening.
Like, sure, I know it happened once before but now we’re in repeat territory, which means…
“Was I better than tolerable?” I ask while attempting to tug Warren’s shirt over his head. It’s difficult due to our height difference so I mostly just manage to strangle him with it.
“What?” he asks, once he’s freed himself of the shirt. I’m momentarily distracted by his bare chest but I force myself to focus. Mostly on getting his belt undone, but I manage to ask my question again.
“At sex. Was I better than tolerable?”
“Better than tolerable…” He repeats the words back like he’s confused by them. “Who the hell ever referred to you as tolerable?”
“You did. When you asked me to fake-date you so your mom would stop setting you up with randoms.”
He blinks, clearly still slightly confused by this line of conversation. “Yeah, let’s not talk about my mom right now.”
“Fair enough,” I agree. Because I just got his pants off and I don’t want to talk about his mother right now either.
He looks good. So damn good that all I want to do is taste him. His lips, his abs. His… everywhere. Just thinking about sinking to my knees and taking him in my mouth makes me hot and achy and eager to put all my filthy thoughts into practice.
So I do.
Before I can overthink it or question what I’m doing. I’ve spent all week being a good, dutiful, chaste fake girlfriend while his daughter was here.
I don’t want to be good anymore.
I want to play out every bad, dirty thought I’ve ever had about him.
He kisses me, stroking his tongue across my bottom lip as he works my shirt over my head, his fingers dragging against my skin in the process nearly enough to set me aflame.
God, his touch is fucking intoxicating.
And far too distracting.
I push him back a step and sink to my knees in front of him.
“Okay, yeah, Jesus, yes,” he hisses in surprised response when I don’t waste a second in wrapping my lips around his cock.
It’s completely unfair how hot doing this to him is making me. I drag my tongue along the length of him and revel in pleasing him. In having his pleasure in my control, in watching his head tip back as his cock grows harder between my lips. In watching him swallow, his throat tensing, his chest hitching.
It pleases me, knowing I’m pleasing him.
Every grunt of satisfaction makes me wetter, every groan and swear that slips from his lips has me more