Page 40 of That Fake Feeling

RoseandIspeak simultaneously.

“Thewhat?”

11

ROSE

Themakeup artist adds the final touches to the au naturel look she’s applied after removing all the evening glam stuffIwas laden with for the first photos.

I’vebeen sitting here for a good twenty minutes, but my heart has barely recovered from the erection-on-butt incident.There’sstill a tremor in my hands, and the dampness of my underwear is cool against my skin.

Mybody hasn’t been through anything like that for years.

Assoon as the photographer said we were done,Iraced straight over to the wardrobe people without looking back.Thatdamn sparkly red dress seemed to have possessed me with magical powers of sexual confidenceIdidn’t knowIhad, andIneeded to get out of it as quickly as possible.

Thesensation ofConnorhardening and shifting against me, the slinkiness of the fabric against my skin, the power of the high heels, and the glamorous curled hair all combined to convince me that pressing against him would be just the thanks he needed for trying to blow this whole thing up in my face.

Butmaybe the only personIwas punishing was myself.

Becauseholy hell, it felt good.Hefelt good.

Andhe looked unbelievably hot with the neck of his wing collar unbuttoned and the bow tie hanging loose around his neck.And,Lord, those black dress pants fit like they were made to perfectly skim his thighs and hug, well, everything else.

Ashe pulled me into him andIteased him with my backside, my core grew hotter and wetter, and my mind raced with thoughts of what it would be like to have no clothes between us, for his long, hard dick to be pressed against my bare flesh.

Ithad to be the dress.It’scursed or something.

Ihaven’t done anything like that since my college boyfriend.AndI’venever been consumed by raw lust like that before—just wanting someone for the sake of wanting them.

And,Godknows, there’d be no point wanting him for anything else.Hemight have committed to creating his business and building it into one of the biggest educational toy companies in the world, but there’s no more chance of him committing to a woman than to an early night.

“Thepale pink is perfect on you,” the makeup artist says as she finishes my lips.

“Iwouldn’t usually wear lipstick to bed, though.”

“Ah, but this isn’t real bedtime.”Shesteps back to admire her work. “Thisis fantasy bedtime.”

Neverhas there been a truer word.Fantasy.

“Ido like these pajamas, though.”

Itug at the leg of the pink-and-white striped shorts that match the cap-sleeved shirt.Thewardrobe person had tried to talk me into a deep purple lacy cami with a plunging neckline and matching silk shorts.Butafter what just happened,Iinsisted on the only non-lacy, non-low-cut option on offer.I’mstaying as covered up and non-sensual asIcan.AndifIhave to risk my aunt seeing these pictures,I’mdoing it as decently as possible.

“We’reready for you,Rose,” the photographer calls from the top of the stairs.

“Oh,God, hereIgo,”Itell the makeup woman.

“Pieceof cake.”Shemoves to the side to let me off the high chair. “Howhard can it be to look like you’re enjoying a relaxingSundaymorning breakfast in bed with that handsome man of yours?”

Yup.Pieceof cake.

Imake my way out of the dining room, up the stairs, and for the first time turn left towardConnor’sroom.

Butterfliesdance in my stomach at the thought of going in there.Itfeels like an intrusion.Thisisn’t a fake bedroom—it’s really where he sleeps.

Mybreath catches asIpause in the doorway.

Theroom is a hustle and bustle of people.Thephotographer’s assistant adjusts the lights.Awardrobe person is on her knees atConnor’sfeet, artfully rolling up the legs of his blue-and-white polka dot pajama bottoms.Amakeup person dusting powder ontoConnor’schest jostles for space with a stylist trying to ruffle his hair into the perfectly tousled, just-woke-up sexy look.