The Fiancé by Stefanie London

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ava

ICAN’TSLEEP. I toss and turn until my skin is damp with sweat and my hair sticks to the back of my neck. Why is it so hot in here? Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just me, burning up with the way Daniel looked at me when I propositioned him.

Unsuccessfully, remember? He turned you down.

And why wouldn’t he? His brother is married to freaking Miss Australia. That’s the calibre of women these brothers will end up with. Not unemployed schoolteachers who come from the burbs. Not Target-wearing, just-scraping-by women who grew up undeniably ordinary.

But I felt something. A connection, a passing of electrical current between us... Didn’t I?

I toss again, my legs twisted in the sheets. I should have packed my vibrator.

“Ugh, why do you do this to yourself?” I stare up into the semidarkness. Outside the city lives and breathes, lights shining, cars gliding, people dancing.

I sit up and rake a hand through my hair. I need a drink of water—something to cool me down. My bare feet hit the floorboards and already it’s a relief to my overheated skin. I walk to the door and pull it open. With all these big windows, it’s easy enough to see my way around the apartment. My feet make soft noises against the polished boards as I pad quietly to the kitchen.

Just as my hand reaches for an empty glass sitting on one of the funky open shelves, I hear something that makes my entire body freeze. The sound is undeniably...male.

For a moment I wonder if I’ve imagined it. I strain to hear, searching for something in the soothing stillness of the night. There are sounds of life outside, the whisper of tires over road, the faint pulse of music somewhere in the distance. And then...

I hear it. The unmistakable sound of someone releasing their breath, followed by the softest gasp that tells me it’s not a sleeping sound.

It’s a pleasure sound.

Before my addled brain has time to think through the consequences, my feet draw me away from the kitchen and toward the stairs leading up to the second floor. It’s like I’m drugged, or maybe controlled by outside forces. Perhaps some greater being has tied string to my wrists and ankles and is dancing me across the apartment. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I pause, listening. Now I hear something else—the faint sound of slickness, of skin over skin.

My body beats, pulses. I’m like a ball of aroused energy. I take one step and my breath catches at the shock of how cool the metal feels against the sole of my foot. I take one step at a time, quiet as a predatory cat stalking through thick, dense green.

You shouldn’t be doing this. This is a total invasion of privacy.

If he didn’t want me to hear then he could have taken it elsewhere—like in the bathroom. In his shower where a closed door would keep the sound locked away.

Maybe he wanted me to hear.

My palm smooths along the railing as I ascend, unsure what exactly I’m going to find. I’m holding my breath, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird caught in a spider’s web, and with each step my mind spins quicker.

When I get to the top, I have to place a hand over my mouth to stop myself from making any noise. He’s magnificent.

Daniel is stretched out on his bed, muscular thighs spread. The light from outside plays on his skin, dappling him with shimmering yellow and blue. He has one arm over his eyes and his other hand wrapped around his length. His muscles flex with the up-and-down movement, his hand a tight fist sliding from root to tip.

His chest—smattered with the finest dusting of hair—rises and falls and his abs clench. My gaze slides all over him, taking in every glorious detail. Taking in the hard, curved length of him. Taking in the gleam of something wet, and the way his jaw clenches as he tries not to make a sound.

Holy shit.

It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. In the past, my ex never let me watch, though I’d asked. Multiple times. I grew up in a house where talking about such things was off-limits. Couple that with a Catholic school education and I felt unprepared for the world of sex and sexuality—so I’d explored on my own, searching for things on my computer and hoping to hell I didn’t end up ruining my MacBook with a virus. Then my ex had reinforced the idea that sex was for closed doors and blankets pulled up and lights flicked off.

It had been good. At one time I’d even thought it was enough.

But now...now. There’s nothing shameful or perverse about self-pleasure. It’s beautiful. Empowering. Exciting. Simply—

“What the fuck?” Daniel is awake—how did I not see his eyes flick open? Too busy looking at what was going on downstairs.

I whirl around, my stomach in my throat. “I got up for a drink of water and I heard...”

“Jesus.” The sound of something hitting the floor, possibly his feet, makes me jump. “And what? You thought you’d come up here and investigate?”

What was I thinking? Nothing, clearly. I’d been acting on instinct. Impulsive and reckless and intruding on his privacy.

“I’m sorry, I...” I scrub a hand over my face. Oh god, oh god, oh god. “That was really uncool.”

The silence stretches on as my heartbeat thunders inside me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s disappeared.

“So was me trying to take care of business while you were in the apartment,” he says roughly. “That won’t happen again.”

I’m facing the window, watching the subtle shift of the reflection in the large glass panes. I make out Daniel’s broad chest and wide shoulders. The shadow on his jaw. My gaze skitters to the floor as heat floods me, and not the good kind. I walked into his bedroom and watched him masturbate.

What the hell was I thinking?

“I can’t even blame this on having too much to drink,” I say with a shake of my head. “I was so nervous at dinner I didn’t even finish one glass of wine.”

Daniel lets out a long breath. “Why did you come up here? What did you think you’d find?”

“Exactly what I found,” I admit. “I’m so sorry. That was a complete invasion of your privacy and honestly... I wasn’t thinking at all. If I had, then I would have stayed downstairs.”

I sense movement behind me, see it flicker in the glass. Daniel bends over, probably covering himself with some underwear. I chew on the inside of my cheek. How am I supposed to face him tomorrow, in the light of day? How am I supposed to keep my shit together when that image of him is going to be permanently seared into my brain?

“It was hard enough saying no to you downstairs,” he says, his voice gravelly. “I don’t need you coming up here and tempting me further.”

Tempting him? My breath catches.

“Why did you say no if you were tempted?” I ask.

“Because this isn’t a relationship, it’s an arrangement. I’m paying you to be here.”

Ah.

“And frankly, I don’t know if I’m comfortable fucking a woman I’m paying.” He moves behind me, pacing. I’m tempted to turn around, but something makes me feel like I shouldn’t. “It’s...sleazy.”

“What you’re paying me for is everything outside this apartment. When we’re in public, with your family... We made it clear what happens behind closed doors is not part of the arrangement.”

I’d been clear about that before. I don’t want to feel like I’m being paid for sex, and I certainly don’t want Daniel to feel like he’s entitled to anything. But this whole interaction makes it clear that he’s a decent guy.

A decent, sexy, hung-like-a-freaking-horse guy.

Stop thinking about his dick.

“I don’t like being outmanoeuvred, Ava.” He’s closer now. I can feel him behind me—not touching, not even attempting to touch. But I catch his eye in the reflection of the glass. “I don’t like being put in a position where I’m making decisions with my cock instead of my head.”

I swallow and my mouth is completely dry. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

“You came up here, hoping to find me in a compromising position and you do it wearing the flimsiest, poorest fucking excuse for nightwear I have ever seen,” he growls.

I glance down at myself. I hadn’t even thought about that. At night, I tend to overheat and so I sleep in as little material as possible. Flowy, thin white cotton. It’s a camisole that barely covers my bum and ties at the shoulders in little bows. It’s the only thing that doesn’t make me feel like a million degrees once the weather starts to warm up.

I’ve never thought of it as sexy—because in my head sexy equals red and black and lace and satin. Not white cotton.

“You come up here in that.” He almost spits the words out. “So thin I can see your nipples through it, and so short I’m almost salivating to find out if you’re wearing anything at all underneath.”

“I’m not.”

The sound he releases is so hot and so frustrated that I almost melt. “Are you wet, Ava? Did you get that little pussy all wet watching me jerk off?”

I whimper. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

The air is so silent and so still for a moment I think I’m going to choke on the tension. My knees feel weak, and my pulse is so wild that I feel like I’m not getting enough air to my brain. Or maybe it’s too much air? I don’t even know anymore.

“I want you to know, Ava. Not think.”

“I...” My brain is scrambled. Words won’t form.

“Let me spell it out for you. I want you to put your hand between your legs and stick your fingers there and tell me if it’s wet.”

He’s punishing me. That’s what this is. I’m being punished for stepping over a line and making him feel like he lost the upper hand for a moment. I shouldn’t find this ridiculously hot.

It goes against everything I understand about sex.

But despite all that, I find my hand tracking under the hem of my nightie and up my inner thigh. I gasp when I touch myself, because my excitement is wound so tight that even the softest brush of my fingers has the muscles inside me clenching up tight.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m wet.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, I’m wet,” I say, louder this time. “I got wet from watching you jerk off.”

There’s a hum of satisfaction behind me. “If I send you back downstairs now you’re not going to be able to sleep, are you?”

“No,” I whimper. I’m so aroused I can feel my clit pulsing, desperate to be touched. The need to come is like a snake lashing out inside me, snapping and writhing and slithering.

“You need to get some release.” His voice is smoother now, almost hypnotic. He’s back in control and he likes it. “You need to relieve some of that tension or else you’re going to ruin those expensive sheets I put on your bed.”

“Yes.” The word is like a hiss of steam releasing from a pressure cooker.

“Go on, then.”

What? He wants me to do it...now? Here?

Punishment, remember? You watched him so he gets to watch you.

“But...”

“Take your fingers and touch yourself until you come.”

Fuck. I’m almost panting with need now—it won’t take long to get me over the edge. But I can’t do this, can I? I can’t get myself off in front of him. For some reason this feels more intimate than sex. More vulnerable.

“Ava.” He stretches my name out. “If you want to play this game, you have to be willing to take your turn.”

I nod. I do want to play. Because I know even if I don’t, the pressure from this will make me explode at some point. I want to see what effect I have on him.

Swallowing my nerves and excitement, I widen my stance and tease the tip of my forefinger through my sex. I’m so wet. So slick with need. I drag the moisture up to my clit, swirling it around the swollen bud in a way that makes me gasp. This won’t take long at all. I’m almost there already, just from watching him. From his words.

“Oh my god...” I pant. I move my hand, flicking the spot that makes everything tighten inside me. My sex clenches, unfulfilled. Wanting to be full with him. I imagine the thick length of him sliding into me.

“Yes, that’s it.” His voice is a little choked up now. There’s movement behind me, but I can’t focus on the reflections. My eyes flutter shut as I pleasure myself for him. For me.

The squeak of bedsprings makes me think he’s sitting or lying down. I hear that slick sound again and I know he’s touching himself. I let that image—coloured by my memory from moments ago—flare to life in my head. His big hand, stroking up and down. I take it further, allowing myself to imagine him finishing. His muscles would bunch up, his biceps bulging as he squeezes himself tight, hips jerking up into his grip one last time.

The head of his cock would be rich with colour, all the blood pulsing underneath his skin. With a shuddering gasp he would let go, emptying himself in long, jetting streams across his stomach.

“Oh my god,” I gasp as the image flickers and fades, my release blanking everything in my brain so that I can focus only on the orgasm rippling through me. My thighs clench around my hand. “I’m coming. Daniel, I’m coming.”

There’s a grunt behind me, crude words and pleasure sounds mixing into a guttural mélange. And I hear my name. Ava, Ava, Ava.

My orgasm is strong and I press one hand against the window to brace myself. My sex is so wet, dampness clings to my inner thighs, coating my fingers, as well. As my breath finally starts to slow, I come back down to earth.

“Go to bed,” he commands. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”