Page 45 of That Fake Feeling

“We’dbetter get it over with,” he whispers, his breath brushing my face.

Everyonein the room evaporates from my mind.It’sjust the two of us, on a perfectSunday, having coffee, laughing about squirrels, and thinking about getting back into bed for a little morning delight.

Connor’scushiony pink lips move closer and closer until they hover over mine, sending a tremor of need right between my legs.Hisfingers press into my side as he leans in, and our mouths come together, perfectly aligned.

Iwait to watch his eyes close beforeIgive into him and allow mine to drift shut too.

Myfingers sink into his shoulder asIsoak up the fresh clean scent of his skin.

Ourlips hold still.

Mymind goes blank as my body hums with desire, my heart bangs against my ribs, and my core beats in time with my pulse.

“Aaand…we’re done,” the photographer calls.

12

ROSE

NeitherConnornorImove.

Hislips are soft and plump, mouthwateringly delicious, and completely still against mine.

Islip into the mist swirling around my brain and inhale deeply as my nose presses into his cheek.Hesmells like fresh sheets, with a hint of a knee-tremblingly musky aroma that’s all him.

Andwe’re still here, even though the camera’s stopped clicking.

Ifthe kiss exists outside a photograph, does that make it real?

Ireach up to touch his cheek, but the photographer’s voice brings me back to reality. “Allright, we’ll just leave you lovebirds to it.”

Iopen my eyes to findConnor’sare still closed.

Slowly,Ipeel my lips from his, one tiny bit of flesh at a time, until we’re separate people again.

Myhead swims as his eyes slide open and lock with mine.Theyare bright, and alive, and looking deep into me.Hischeeks are flushed, but they can’t be anywhere near as red as mine, which could probably fry an egg and cook the yolk right through.

Hisface is still just inches from mine.

“Therewere no tongues, though,” he says softly and licks his lips like he’s trying to taste more of me. “Noclauses were breached in the making of this photo shoot.”

“Packup as fast as you can, everyone,” the photographer shouts to the room. “Thevan’s waiting outside.”

IbreakConnor’sgaze and put a crack of daylight between our bodies.I’minstantly cooler without him pressed against me.

Themagazine team is done, ready to move on.We’rejust one item on their image creation conveyor belt.It’slike they’ve already forgotten us, even though we’re right here.

Butevery inch of my being is still present in this moment, heart racing, legs unsteady, a throbbing at my center, wondering what the hell just happened.

AsIstep back out ofConnor’sorbit, his hand drags across my lower back, sending a shudder to the base of my spine thatIcould really do without.

Heturns to pick up the mugs from the windowsill.

Unfortunately,Ican’t immediately come up with anything to occupy myself.

“Okay, well, thanks,”Isay, not sure where this sentence is going, or whoI’mthanking—the photographer, the crew, or the man whose lips just gave mine a whole new experience.Thatman sets the mugs down on the tray that’s still on the bed, as if tidying up is the biggest focus of his life right now.

Ihave to put some distance between us and pull myself the hell together. “GuessI’llgo change.Andwash all this stuff off my face.Andmaybe study for a while.”