Pretend

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Amateur

I’m not sure how he manages to pretend that he didn’t spend hours between my thighs last night, worshipping my body until I was barely even aware of it anymore.

I understand why. Or, I do in theory. We work together and it would be massively unprofessional if anyone realized he was spending all those late mornings in his room with the photographer. He says he has a hard rule about dating crew members. He says this works because we’re not dating.

I wonder what he’ll say when he realizes I’m in love with him. And not just with the way he digs his fingertips into my hips just before he loses control, or the way he breathes my name against the hollow of my throat. Not just the way his mouth knows every inch of me, or how he kisses me so tenderly that I can’t stop myself from falling. Into his arms. Into his bed. Under his spell.

He is intoxicating in that way a well mixed cocktail is. It dissolves your guard and inhibition while you aren’t looking, and tugs you under without realizing you’ve slipped at all. You sip the drink until the straw meets only air, and you think your head’s still clear. But when you try to stand, the room tilts on its axis and you take a step as it pitches. This is when you realize you missed the approaching edge and catapulted over it- drunk. That’s what he does to me.

We didn’t intend to start hooking up, and kaçak iddaa swore the first time would be the last. But when he came back for more, I was too weak to turn him away. Too enamoured with the way he sprinkled kisses across my skin and reached places inside me that I didn’t even know existed. Every move he made was a calculated exploration intended to bring his partner- for now, me- as much pleasure as possible. He was slow and deliberate with the brush of his fingers, the swirl of his tongue and the rhythm of his hips. It was delicious torture as he meandered through every method of pleasure he could possibly draw from my body and he delighted in doing so.

I’d never met a man that loved loving my body the way that he did. A man that would keep going for minutes or hours after his own orgasm if that’s what it took to deliver me to the space where my tongue was too heavy to speak thoughts that were too blurry to see and all of my awareness existed only in the afterglow of his attention.

I dropped my gaze to the floor when he walked by, submissive and attempting to maintain our cover. I wasn’t certain I could even meet his gaze without blushing after the way he’d pressed his hips against mine this morning, making tiny tremors of motion while his fingertips danced up my spine and tangled in my hair until I came undone around him. His smile after kaçak bahis was always something to behold, and as he sauntered past me toward the stage for soundcheck, I learned that it lingered hours into the day since he was still wearing it.

“- were great, I love shots like that.” I realized someone was speaking to me and startled a bit.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Say again?”

His bandmate laughed and gripped his chest, making a mock-injury face as he said “Already ignoring me. I’m wounded. I said that the detail shots from last night were awesome.”

He liked details too, my brain reminded me intrusively as I recalled the way he’d traced constellations into the freckles across my stomach and stroked the ridges of my cheek and brow as I’d drifted off to sleep after, fingertips pressing into my skin like he was trying to memorize it.

I liked his details just as much- the curve of his spine and the strength in his arms, the way his tattoos danced as his muscles flexed when he moved his body in time with mine. The heavy, heady feel of him. The way he tasted when he allowed me to return even a fraction of the pleasure he insisted on providing. I felt two pairs of eyes on me, my cheeks heating as squeezed my eyes shut. I tried to shake him out of my thoughts as I blinked up at the other man who looked both amused and inquisitive.

“Oh. illegal bahis Well thanks then. I’m just doing my job.” I smiled at him and hoped it was a soft smile, but I might have been showing too many teeth.

His name was a refrain looping through my awareness. My mind and body chanted in tandem for him. Craving him against me, inside of me. I just wanted all of him, but I had a job to do and so did he.

“Well you’re good at it. See you out there,” his bandmate gave a small wave as he ducked through the door on his way to the stage and my star-crossed dream followed close at his heels. He didn’t even glance my way, and my heart sank.

I tried not to think about the way his ass looked in his jeans, or the way he played up to my camera while I worked that night. I tried not to think about him when I returned to my room, and sorted through hundreds of photos. I paused on a photo of him, one that highlighted the richness of his skin as his skilled hands made magic across the strings of his bass. I thought I imagined the buzz of my phone against my thigh until I lifted the screen. His name, glowing with a new alert.

1 NEW MESSAGE: come here.

I felt my body respond as I shivered, pretending that I needed consider it. I pretended that I hadn’t already decided to let him love my body as many times as he asked, and that I wasn’t already in love with him.

If he could pretend, then I could too. Or at least that’s the lie I told myself as tiptoed to his room and slid into his bed. We could just pretend.

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