My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,44

only satisfaction he should accept are direct from the source of desire. And then there are moments when practicality has to take over.

Blue balls were a real danger, and I wasn’t even a full twenty-four hours into this trip with Belle, and I was about to self-diagnose myself with a terminal case if I didn’t act soon.

So I fucked my hand right there on the bed while Belle showered, mind full of imaginary scenes where she had one hand on the shower wall and another pumping furiously between her legs. I saw the water running in rivulets between her breasts and dripping from her hardened nipples. I saw her knees tremble together as her thighs squeezed the hand between her legs, her mouth hanging open in lust as she came.

For me.

Because I’d decided the only thing Belle Waters was going to come for anymore was me. After all, she was going to be my wife soon. Right?

27

Belle

I shut off the shower, feeling a wave of shame wash over me. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had barely been able to contain it. Every fiber of my being had fought not to invite Chris into the shower with me. I’d been feasting on the way his thin white shirt hugged every curve and bulge of his muscular torso. All I’d wanted was to tell him to join me, to lie one more time and say it didn’t have to mean anything.

Except for once, I’d fought the urge. Instead, I wound up sitting on the shower floor with my hand between my legs and thoughts of Chris filling my head.

But if that was what it took to keep myself from doing something stupid, then I’d masturbate my way across Europe, for all I cared.

I toweled off, briefly—and stupidly—wondered what Chris would do if I really did walk out of the bathroom naked like I’d forgotten he was there. Then I slipped on a pair of white cotton panties. With another pulse of guilt, I reasoned that my outfit would be fine without a bra. I also quietly hoped my decision wasn’t a subconscious attempt to draw Chris’ attention, even though I had a pretty fair guess about that one.

A large family of very Britishly accented folks were chattering away somewhere just out of sight. The day was creeping toward evening, which had brought a pleasant chill to the air and made me glad to have brought along a jacket. Chris and I had just finished touring the inside of an ancient estate that had once belonged to British royalty.

We’d been led out to the gardens, which overlooked a pleasant stretch of rolling green fields as far as I could see.

I shot a look at Chris, who was feeling up a chubby little cherub statue with a confused look on his face.

I sighed at him. “I would’ve been happy to leave you at the hotel, you know. Acting like a bored child is just proving you were dumb to insist on tagging along.”

One of Damon’s demands for our trip was that Chris and I make a few public appearances. Chris had been happy to “spearhead” the planning for our outings, which he had taken to calling dates. Correcting him only seemed to amuse him, so I’d started pretending I didn’t care what he called the outings.

“I’m having a great time,” Chris said. “I just want to know why they had to make this statue so thick.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a cherub. They are supposed to be like that.”

He pursed his lips. We were passing beneath a tall wooden arch lined with roses. After an hour of having the grown, tattooed, ridiculously attractive child named Chris Rose at my side, I knew what was coming.

Sure enough, Chris swung his arms back, ducked, and bounded upward to see if he could reach the arch with his fingertips. I wanted to be annoyed with him. I really did. Except there was something about his antics that I actually enjoyed. Being around him made me wonder if we could all use a little more Chris Rose in our approach.

“You know, most guys stop trying to see if they can jump high enough to reach things around eighth grade.”

“Yeah?” He surprised me by putting two fingers just below the center of my collar bone and pushing my back against a hedge. There was a wicked, mischievous flicker in his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been giving me bedroom eyes all evening? Because I’m not like most