Fake Fiancée

Whoever did this—was going to fucking pay.

Sunny

HE’D RESCUED ME. AGAIN.

I’d realized exactly who he was the moment he’d opened that door weeks ago. He was older, his hair was longer and muscles bulkier, but I’d never forget him. The angel with the lush lips, broad shoulders, and perfectly chiseled face; a man brave enough to swim out into a dark lake to save me.

Then, I’d realized who he was—Max Kent, the king of all quarterbacks—exactly the kind of guy I didn’t need.

Plus, he hadn’t remembered me. Oh, he’d mentioned a connection, but that was nothing in comparison to me. He hadn’t had that profound moment where the universe realigned itself when we met.

That knowledge had ripped into me, and from that moment on, I’d done my damnedest to ignore fate—but then perhaps this was the way things were supposed to play out for us. Perhaps this was a lesson for me, and I should see it through until the end whether it ended happily or not. Either way, I was meant to meet him again. I was meant to get another chance. Right?

I sat up in his lap, curled my hand around his neck and touched the dark strands of hair next to his face, pushing them out of the way. God, he was beautiful, and he’d come down a twenty-foot drop to get to me.

Fate always knew exactly what I needed.

Clarity happens to all of us when we need it most. Sometimes it takes a knock to the head when you fall off a cart to get it through to you. Screw the fact that he might never remember the epic moment we’d had. He was mine. My heart knew it. My body knew it.

My hand cupped his cheek and my eyes searched his, yearning for him to wake up and remember me. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Max.” Need colored my voice. My nose ran up his neck, and I licked and kissed the pulse throbbing at his throat.

“What are you doing?” he ground out, his lids lowered to half-mast.

I lifted up his shirt and slipped it over his neck. “What I’ve wanted to do since the day I saw you.” I kissed each eye, the tickle of his long lashes reminding me how amazed I’d been at the way water had clung to them the night we’d first met.

His breathing was ragged. “Sunny . . .”

“I want to taste every part of you.” I moved to kiss his bicep, my tongue outlining his tattoo. “Every. Single. Inch.” My hand palmed the rock hard bulge in his jeans, making him toss his head back and groan.

I tugged down the right cup of my bra, showing him the bar piercing there. Made of sterling silver, it was flanked by delicate hearts. “I’ve seen you looking at this, and I think about you when my shirt rubs against my nipple. Touch me.”

A dark growl came from his throat, an animal sound, as he fused our lips together. His fingers plucked at my piercing while his other hand slipped to the back and unsnapped my bra, letting it trail excruciatingly slow down my stomach. His knuckles brushed my peaks, and I shuddered as desire speared me.

God. I wanted him desperately. I had for so long.

“You’re so perfect.” He bent his head, his lips latching on to my piercing and tugging. Heat exploded inside me, and I yelled out, clutching his head to my breast. His mouth flicked at my nipples and sucked. His fingers, roughened from years of football, cupped my breast as he inhaled me, going from one to the other, his scruff scratching against my skin. I groaned. I was going to come before he even had his pants off.

My hand dipped inside the waistband of his jeans until I found the velvet skin of his length.

“Oh, fuccccck . . .” he called out, the words dipped in need.

His hand slipped under my panties. “You’re so damn wet,” he grunted, satisfaction pouring off him as his fingers flitted across my slit. I arched into his touch, yearning for more.

“Sunny, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled and stood up, tugging me with him. I nearly cried out at the loss of his touch. He kicked his shoes off and shoved down his jeans, revealing his long, thick cock. My heart thundered. He was huge.

His eyes locked with mine. “You sure?”

My hand reached out and lightly stroked him, caressing him. He jerked into my hands as my fingers slipped over his head and then coasted back down. I melted even more as I watched the myriad of emotions flitting across his face. Need. Lust. Love?

In this moment, I’d take whatever I could get.

He parted my legs and slid a finger over my sex, sliding in to tease me. Whimpering, I wrapped a leg around his waist, giving him more access. He growled and gave me more, burrowing two inside me, sliding in and out, curling his fingers and rubbing against a sensitive place inside me.

He worked me fast and then slow, murmuring my name, as I writhed against his hand, sensation honed in on that one place.

Yes.

“Max, more.” My hips moved with his touch, watching him as he bit his lower lip.

“You’re on fire.” Bending down, he bunched up my panties in his hand, tore them down my leg and tossed them in a corner of the room.

With desire in his gaze, he laid out his shirt like a small blanket and said, “Lay back down.”

My insides quaked, and I couldn’t get there fast enough, lying back on the floor and watching as he knelt at my feet. He kissed me reverently, his mouth drifting over my chest and stomach. He lifted my leg and adored my inner thigh, the curve of my calf, the arch of my foot. My hands were busy too. I ran them through his hair and down his chest, my fingers learning the sculpted muscles of his body. Exploring. Touching him in all the places I’d only dreamed of. He spread my legs and eased between them, his gaze electric. He bent over me, parted me and found the heart of me with his tongue. I screamed out his name. It was an assault of the senses, watching him dip his head and devour me, his fingers drawing circles on my nub. His teeth toyed with my clit and I lost my mind, my climax echoing off the walls. My body clenched around his fingers, pulsating, while he watched with a heavy look in his eyes.

“I’ve ached for this moment,” he said softly. “Forever.”

Something vulnerable flitted across his face, but quickly disappeared. He studied me intently, his hand cupping my face, and for a second, I thought he might say something else—but he didn’t.

He kissed me hard then, the erotic taste of my skin mingling in our mouths.

“I want you inside me,” I said when we pulled back to take a breath.

He reached for his nearby jeans, pulled out a silver foil from his wallet, and slid on the condom. With his athletic grace, he eased between my legs, careful of my injured side. Positioning himself, he inched inside slowly, letting me adjust to the fullness, checking to see if I needed more time.

All I needed was him. Every nerve in my channel lit up, grasping for more.

I reached up and pulled his head down to mine. “More,” I whispered.

He went further inside, easing in and then sliding out excruciatingly slow.

“Max . . .” I begged. “Give it to me.”

He came right back, his hand tugging my face to kiss me deeply as he stroked into me, building up to a fast-paced rhythm. I writhed and clutched his shoulders, sensation building at the base of my spine. My nails dug into his hipbones as I arched into the sleek slide of his cock. He went harder, faster, bending his head to my chest.

“Sunshine . . . this . . . you . . . so much . . .” his voice was gravelly and full of need. Desperate.

Yes. Yes. I rotated my hips against him, swiveling.

He adjusted for a new angle with his hips, going deeper, and I took it all, trying to give back as good as he gave. “You’re mine,” he breathed against my neck.