Page 14 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

My breath hitches. “Oh.”

“Is this okay? Do we look like a couple in love?”

“Very convincing.”

“I aim to please, Ms. Sinclair.”

His breath caresses my cheeks. Breathing is an impossible task.

“Are they still taking pictures?”

“No.” He steps back, taking my hand. “Let’s go back inside.”

I nod, unable to mutter a word.

Throughout the rest of the evening, I'm hyper aware of Sean's presence.

The way he brushes my hair off my shoulder, his fingers grazing my skin.

The deep rumble of his laugh when I say something he finds funny.

How he steps forward when the crowd thickens, shielding me.

The protective gesture feels so natural, I almost forget we're pretending.

“So how long have you two been together?” asks Maria Chen, a popular cosmetics founder we’re placed on the same table with.

I open my mouth, but before I can answer, Sean speaks.

“Not long enough.” His eyes find mine, something soft and warm in his gaze. “Feels like we're just getting started.”

My heart stutters. Is he still acting? Because that didn't sound rehearsed.

“Well, you make a gorgeous couple,” Maria says with a knowing smile. “It's nice to see you with someone who looks at you like that, Wren.”

When Maria speaks to the person next to her, I turn to Sean. “Like what?”

“Like what, what?” He takes a sip of his drink, his dark blue eyes never leaving mine.

“How do you look at me?”

The question hangs between us, more intimate than I expected. The bustle of the gala seems to fade into background noise.

“You want the truth?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Sean steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. “Like I can't quite believe you're real.”

The words knock the air from my lungs. Our gazes lock, and for a moment, I forget where we are. Forget that this is supposed to be pretend.

The spell breaks when someone calls my name.

I spend the next hour in a daze, making small talk while all too aware of Sean's presence beside me.

His hand on my back. The way his eyes find mine across conversations.

The rare, genuine smile he gives me that doesn't look like the one he wears for others. Every part of me feels alive when he’s near.

We leave just after eleven. My heels hurt. My head spins. But not from wine.

The drive home is quiet, charged with a desire neither of us acknowledges. Sean's hand rests on the console between us, and I resist the urge to touch it. I try to focus on the city lights blurring past the window. But all I feel is his nearness.

The house is quiet. Eric’s at Jen’s and the thought makes my pulse race now that we're alone. The pretense of the evening has followed us home, blurring the lines I've tried so hard to maintain.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” I say as we step inside, kicking off my shoes. “You were… amazing.”

“Just doing my part.” He loosens his tie, and I follow the movement with my eyes.

“Everyone believed us.”

“Maybe because some parts weren't pretend.” His voice drops lower.

I look up, finding his eyes dark and intent. “Which parts?”

Sean steps closer. “The way I couldn't stop looking at you.”

My breath catches. “I noticed that.”

“Did you notice this too?” His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light. “How I wanted to touch you all night?”

“Sean…”

“Tell me to stop, Wren.”

I know what’s happening. I know I should stop it. But I don’t want to. I can’t.

He leans in.

And I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.

The kiss starts gentle—a question, an exploration. Then something breaks between us. His arms wrap around me, lifting me against him as the kiss deepens. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him to me.

His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of fire on my skin. He backs me against the wall, his body pressed to mine.

“Bedroom,” I manage between kisses.

Sean lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as we stumble toward the stairs. My dress is halfway off before we reach the bed.

“You're sure?” he asks, hovering above me.

In answer, I pull him down to me.

His lips trace a path down my neck, across my collarbone. “I've thought about this since the first day in your office.”

“Show me.”

Clothing falls away, revealing skin I've tried not to think about. His hands are everywhere, learning me, memorizing. When he lowers me to the bed, I pull him down with me, wanting his weight, his heat.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmurs against my neck.

I close my eyes, surrendering to sensation. To the feel of his hands, his mouth. The sound of my name on his lips. The way he watches me with wonder as my body responds to his touch.

I block everything out. Tomorrow can sort itself out. Tonight, I just want to feel.

The house is quiet. Eric’s at Jen’s, and the thought makes my pulse race now that we're alone. The pretense of the evening has followed us home, blurring the lines I've tried so hard to maintain.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” I say as we step inside, kicking off my shoes. “You were… amazing.”

“Just doing my part.” He loosens his tie, and I follow the movement with my eyes.

“Everyone believed us.”

“Maybe because parts weren't pretend.” His voice drops lower.

I look up, finding his eyes dark and intent. “Which parts?”

Sean steps closer. “The way I couldn't stop looking at you.”

My breath catches. “I noticed that.”

“Did you notice this too?” His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light. “How I wanted to touch you all night?”

“Sean…”

“Tell me to stop, Wren.”

I know what’s happening. I know I should stop it. But I don’t want to. I can’t.

He leans in.

And I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.

The kiss starts gentle—a question, an exploration. His arms wrap around me, lifting me against him as the kiss deepens. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him to me.

His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of fire on my skin. He backs me against the wall, his body pressed to mine.

“Bedroom,” I manage between kisses.

Sean lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as we stumble toward the stairs. My dress is halfway off before we reach the bedroom.

There’s nothing restrained about the way he kisses me now. It’s hungry. Wild. A dam breaking after weeks of tension, all heat and friction and breathless urgency.

“I need you, Wren,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice low and husky, and heat flares between my thighs.

I gasp into his mouth as he walks me backward, bumping blindly into a wall. My hands find his jacket lapels, dragging him even closer as his lips move to my neck. He bites just enough to make me moan, and the sound drives him harder.

His erection presses against me, and my fingers thread in his hair, arching into him like I can't get close enough.

“Touch me, Sean. I need you inside me…”

That’s all it takes.

He makes a feral sound and lifts me. I wrap my legs around him, clinging to the magnetic strength of his body. We don’t make it to the bed. Not right away.

His mouth is everywhere. On my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my breast. Each kiss is scorching, each touch deliberate.

I arch into him as his erection rocks against me, slow, teasing.

My breath comes in short, desperate gasps as he keeps me pinned against the wall, like he needs to feel every inch of me, like letting go would undo him.

And it’s undoing me.

My body aches for him.

“Tell me what you want,” he growls, his lips pressing warm kisses to the swell of my breast.

“You,” I gasp. “All of you.”

He carries me to the bed, then lays me down like I’m breakable… precious… unreal. But his blue eyes are anything but soft. They’re dark and ravenous.

He strips away my dress fully now in one smooth motion, and when I’m bare beneath him, his nostrils flare and his breath catches. He stares like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, voice shaking. “How are you even real?”

My pulse is erratic, my nipples hard with each word, with the attention of his dark, lustful eyes on my body. I feel cherished and sensual and feminine and… alive.

He undresses without looking away, and when he joins me, the heat between us explodes, blazing hot. Every movement is raw, every kiss a firebrand, every inch between us consumed.

When our bodies finally meet, I cry out in half ecstasy and half relief. He fills me completely, one hand laced with mine, the other gripping my hip as he starts to move.

“S-Sean…”

My fingers dig into his back, urging him faster with my other hand against the headboard, arching into him. Then, his thrusts become fast and frantic and aching, like we’re trying to make up for every second we denied ourselves this.

The rhythm is ruthless. I meet him stroke for stroke, breath for breath, moan for moan. The pleasure is surreal and almost divine.

His name tumbles from my lips in a plea, a string of expletives. But his control frays, and so does mine.

“Sean—” I choke out again.

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice hoarse and tender and filthy with desire. “Let go. Come with me.”

I do, closing my eyes as I surrender to an indescribable sensation. To the rhythm of his erection in my wetness, to my throbbing needy center, to his mouth. The sound of my name on his lips. The way his eyes cloud with wonder as my body responds to his touch.

I block everything out. Tomorrow can sort itself out. Tonight, I just want to revel in pleasure.