Page 41 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Alright, let’s go with those.Stop. Wait. Slower.” I nodded. “Okay.”

Beck leaned in, hands barely grazing my waist as his hot mouth claimed the nape of my neck, stubble brushing over my sensitive skin. What was it with men wanting to drape their spit all over you? “What are you thinking now?”

“That your lips are warm but also that I can feel your saliva on my neck and that’s wet and notsexy.”

“No problem.” He reached up to wipe the spot he just kissed, only to kiss it again, mouth closed. “Better?”

“Thank you,” my voice cracked. Fuck. Why did my voice crack? So not sexy. I just didn’t know how many times I’d mentioned getting icky from wet kisses to the men I’d been with, and none of them had even tried that. They’d thought I was a little funny, a little peculiar, chuckled and shook their heads. Just one wipe. One adjustment to accommodate my sensory needs. “Sorry, that sounded pathetic.”

“You don’t have to apologize for the feelings you have or the sounds you make while I touch you,” he said and slid his knuckles up and down my sides, letting my skin warm to his touch.

“I think I need you to go wash your hands,” I whispered, words tumbling from my mouth when he passed my hip bones. “I just- you were outside and then you came in and you handled everyone’s glasses, and even the idea of your hand between my legs-” I shuddered.

“I just did.”

“You did?”

He smiled and held up the back of his hand under my nose. Sure enough, the faint scent of almond soap stuck to his skin. “I figured that might be on your mind.”

“Really?”

“You washed your hands in the middle of brunch. And at Decker’s party, you went straight for the bathrooms after you touched yourself. I figured.”

“Thank you. That’s really thoughtful.”

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

I did.

“Good. Feet apart.” He tipped his foot against the inside of my ankles, and I inched my foot to the side.

“What if this doesn’t work either?” I asked. “No matter what you try?”

“Define work.”

“Orgasm.”

“I don’t think you’ll orgasm tonight.”

“I thought that was the whole point?”

“No, the point is for you to practice being comfortable in your own head during sex.” One of his hands slipped into the warming space between my thighs, my breath hitching as his thumb brushed over my clit, sparks shooting through my stomach. Despite my physical reaction to his touch though, I couldn’t help thinking how absurd it was to just stand here, naked, with his fingers sliding into my folds like he- “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Are you supposed to do that? Shouldn’t you be touching my breasts first? Or kissing me? Any kind of foreplay? That’s- oh god,” I squeezed my eyes as his stroking intensified, my insides tightening at the pressure building under his touch, wet heat blooming between my legs. “I feel my body reacting to your touch, but you’re just standing in this living room fingering me like that’s the most normal thing to do andoh.” Beck slipped one finger into me, barely down to the first knuckle, but I clenched up so hard, he couldn’t go much further. “You’re inside of me. Your body is literally inside my body. This is happening. I just- I want-” My nails dug into the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you want, Del?”

“Keep going.”

He pushed the rest of his finger into me, pulling a loud gasp from my throat because, as assessed in the kitchen, he had big hands.My walls ached around him, physically trying to accommodate what my brain didn’t want them to.

“I bet you have a big dick,” I winced.

“At least that’s a more sexual thought.”

“Oh, this is still very much anxiety because if your finger is-” I yelped as he curled said finger, finding a spot inside me that sent an electric spark through my nerves. “We aresonot having sex, like ever. Because neither of us will find my thoughts very interesting when it’s just about how much pain I’m in.”

“Are you in pain right now?” he asked, moving his finger back and forth at a languid pace.