Page 99 of The Faking Game
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He shuts the door behind me. His eyes drift down, rest on the gold against my neck. “I had a good time. Hard not to, when I’m with you.”
He’s acting. I know he’s acting, but still… “Thanks for tonight,” I say. “I had a really good time too.”
He puts a hand on my low back. “Let me walk you inside.”
Once inside, we pause in the large foyer. Somewhere, an old clock ticks. Generations of Calloways line the top walls along the double staircases. West’s ancestors, looking down on us.
“I want to go out with you again.” He’s standing closer than usual. We’ve done this before, andstillmy heart starts to race. “Let me take you out, Nora.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Maybe?”
“Mhm. It depends on what you do now.” I’m two glasses of wine in and high on the night. “On how well you kiss me.”
He brushes his hand over my cheek. Just like he did earlier in the sex shop. “I have to earn another date with you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, and the inches between us close. “You’re so pretty when you ask for what you want.”
He smells like himself, like warmth and wine, and he tips my head back so he can fit himself against my lips. He kisses me slowly, leisurely, like I told him I liked.
It’s wet against wet, a hot slide, and I’m lost to it. A labyrinth I don’t want to escape from. Kissing West seems to do that.
It rearranges my world every time.
He lifts his head from mine, hovers just a few inches away. I sway into him, lean forward, but he keeps his lips just out of reach.
He’s holding back.
My hand finds the collar of his shirt. “More,” I tell him. “Do better.”
His chuckle is hoarse, and he finds my waist with his free hand. “That’s my girl. Tongue?”
“Yes.” I’m too hot, too close, have been for hours. “You’re holding back.”
“No. I’m not.”
I shake my head once. He is. I can feel it in the tense curve of his body, in the tightly leashed energy beneath the starched fabric. “Kiss meproperly. Like I’m… like I’m a woman you would actually want to date.”
His eyes narrow, and the curve to his lip disappears. He looks at me like he’s not sure I can take it.
I’m so tired of being underestimated, and coddled, and scared, and anxious.
I don’t want any of it fromhim.
“Please,” I whisper.
He swallows hard, and his thumb brushes a circle down to my bottom lip. His darkened eyes track the movement. “Like a woman I would date.”
“Yes. Like this isreal.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw. “Like this isreal,” he repeats, and his hand pushes back and tangles in my hair. He’s never held me like that before.
The space between us shrinks, and he brushes his lips over mine like I did to him the other day. “So pretty,” he mutters. “Will you be good and let me kiss you properly?”
