Thank You, My Pretend Ex-Lover Ch. 01

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Amateur

I briskly sachet toward my chosen man of the evening sitting in the back of the speakeasy, making sure to check if someone is following me. He sets his drink on the nearby coffee table while he laughs with his friends, and just as he settles back in his eclectic armchair, I touch his shoulder.

“Hey, babe!” I slide onto his lap and let my legs dangle from my short dress.

He understandably tenses. “Um. I don’t know you.”

“Shh…” I affectionately brush some hair from his forehead, as if I’ve done it before. But I anxiously shift my gaze around the room. “Do you have a significant other?”

His voice drops in suspicion. “No…”

My hand glides down his face. My thumb brushes against his cheekbone, and when my fingers reach his jaw, I feel it relax from my touch. Until I ask, “Are you attracted to me?”

“What?”

I hush him and rest my fingers on his soft lips. While I look into his eyes, the collective hum from the other guests socializing surrounds us. Even though my heart races with nervous anticipation, I try to look as captivating as possible. I don’t want to beg. Yet.

I drop my fingers from his lips so he can respond, but he drops his gaze as well. Is he going to say no? Do I need to mention my stalker again?

“Well…” His eyes flick to mine. “Yes. You’re very pretty.”

I kiss him.

Our breath swells in unison, and after a beat of hesitation, he wraps his arms around me. I can’t help but smile. We kiss slowly, lingering on each other’s lips until we’re desperate for air. The humming dulls until I can’t hear anything—I can only feel his moist lips and gentle tongue. Longing fills my center until it overflows and dampens my panties. He softly groans when I nuzzle my ass in his crotch.

I want more.

“Please, I need to pretend we’re together,” I breathe. “My ex followed me here. I need someone to protect me.”

With one arm, he immediately pulls my waist tight against him, and he cradles the back of my head with his free hand. I relax on his chest while he kisses me more forcefully—while he claims me in this busy bar that harbors someone who could hurt me.

Again, I softly beg him, “Please.” He kisses me with so much passion that I lose all of my strength. I accept everything he gives me. He nips my bottom lip. He tugs my hair and squeezes my waist. He shows everyone that I am his and no one else can have me. I meekly whine to praise his full authority.

He rips his lips from mine and surveys the speakeasy like a predator. He growls, “Where is he?”

“Who?”

The wildness in his eyes dims. “Your ex-boyfriend…”

“Oh!” I sweetly laugh. “I made him up.”

He blinks. He blinks again. Then he tilts his head. “Excuse me?”

I heartedly laugh. “I just wanted to make out with you.” When I turn to his friends, their expressions span from “This girl is hilarious” to “This girl is crazy.”

I turn back toward my man of the evening and stroke his jaw. Leaning to his ear, I murmur, “Do you want to come home with me?”

I watch him silently consult his friends with his eyes. One whispers “No” behind me, but my guy’s hand comfortably rests on my bare thigh.

My rule is to wait for five seconds.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

Four Mississippi…

Five Mississippi comes and goes, which means so do I.

“Well.” His arms resist a bit when I stand. I fluff my hair so it shines in the soft lighting. Then I give him one last smolder. “Enjoy your evening.”

I slowly saunter toward my friends standing at a table at the front of the bar. Despite my lack of success, every fresh pair of eyes that follow me buoy my spirits. They bahis firmaları soar when my friends initiate a crucial part of our plan. They laugh. And I laugh. And we laugh as we walk out of the bar like he just made the stupidest decision of his life.

At the end of the block, I open the back door of the Uber that was waiting for us. I give him one last chance before I get into the car. I listen for commotion—shouting, apologies for causing a ruckus, urgent footsteps… Nothing.

There’s a crash.

I turn and see the speakeasy door open. A large metal planter lays on its side with its fern and soil spilled on the concrete. My guy of the evening stands beside it with his hands tugging his hair. Exasperated, he starts pacing.

I whistle.

When he turns to me, I beckon him with my finger. My friends order another Uber while he runs toward us. We all know the drill. If one of us gets her guy of the night, the rest of us find alternate transportation. I’ve said my goodbyes to them and slid into the Uber by the time he climbs into the car.

He breathes, “Hi.”

I grab his shirt and pull him to me.

With only one unfortunate Uber driver to witness us instead of an entire bar, he is significantly less restrained. He swings my feet up onto the seat and presses me against the cool driver’s side window. Planting his mouth on mine, he glides his hands up my thighs, higher and higher until his fingers hook themselves onto the hem of my dress. He slides his tongue deep into my mouth as he pushes my dress up over my hips. Cool air and excitement tickle my clit, but I franticly pull my dress over my panties.

I whisper as quietly as I can, “Not here. I only live ten minutes away.”

He kisses me and puts my hand on his thigh. His erection is undeniable—hard in the way only a man’s erection can be. He sighs when I tease his wet tip, and my mouth waters at the thought of savoring it with my tongue.

A new song starts to play on the radio. He calls to the driver, “Hey, can you turn this up?”

The driver responds, “I’ll do anything so I don’t have to hear you two.”

Embarrassment burns my cheeks as the song volume increases, but that heat quickly blossoms into heart-thumping arousal. My man’s hands slowly slide up my legs. My throat clenches shut when his fingers brush along my inner thighs. I don’t stop them as they approach my soaked sex. When they touch my wet panties over my clit, a bolt of sensation strikes me.

I grip his arms while he quietly strokes me. They’re tense from bracing him in the moving car. Every unexpected turn and bump on the road shocks my clit, and combined with his rhythmic strokes, I’m nearly at the edge.

I breathe, “Oh God,” not sure if anyone can hear me over the song. I know the chorus is approaching, and by the way he’s looking at me, I think he knows, too. He slides two fingers inside of me, and I desperately whine to relieve the sharp pleasure that streams through my nerves. I clamp my hand over my whimpering mouth while he fingers me. Every part of my body pulses from the beat of the song and his eyes staring into mine, watching me helplessly pant, and squirm, and twitch. I grip his shirt as the chorus approaches, and he smiles while my orgasm follows closely behind. I buck and tense around his knuckles, and I cry out just as the song’s crescendo smashes through the speakers.

The other people we encounter on our way back to my apartment are just as unlucky as the Uber driver.

On the elevator, there’s no music to drone out the sighs between our deep kisses. Even though he hides me in a shadowy corner, the light still shines on our hands as they grope our most private parts. My neighbors kaçak iddaa standing next to us—I think the couple in 2D—sharply whisper, even as they get off the elevator.

As soon as the doors close, my man of the evening pins me to the wall with his hips. He undoes the top button of his shirt. We’re alone, but I still insist, “Not here.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to have to deal with them when we get to your place.”

When we get to my place. He can barely control himself now, where we can still get caught. What is he going to do when we’re locked in my apartment? Is he going to strip me to my heels and eat me out on the kitchen counter? Is he going to bend me over the couch and fuck me in the moonlight? Is he going to make love to me under the covers? What am I going to do?

He undoes the last of his buttons as the elevator pings open on my floor. I grab his hand and sprint to my apartment.

Despite all of his distractions—his erection on my ass, his breath in my ear, and even his fingers on the zipper of my dress—I unlock my front door. I grab the nob to turn it, but then the zipper starts to move.

I should tell him to stop. I should check if any of my neighbors can see us. But instead, my body arches to help him take off my dress. His fingers slowly brush against my skin while he slides the zipper down my back. With every inch, my heart races faster and my center clenches harder. I feel drunk with lust by the time the zipper stops at my tailbone. I shove open the door and yank him inside.

The door slams in the darkness and our clothes are on the floor by the time the echo fades. He reaches for me, but I can’t help but squeal in excitement and dash away. I tease, “Catch me!”

I take one step into my bedroom when hands grab my naked waist from behind. I yip and giggle, but my playfulness simmers as he slowly wraps his arms around me. Their heat spreads through my belly and down to my tingling clit. I sigh into his grasp. His chest and torso warm my back while he slides his hands down my belly, over my hips, and then down my thighs. He deeply inhales next to my ear and presses me into his hard cock. He murmurs, “I want all of this.”

I whimper. I love being wanted. I love feeling men touch me and hold me like they have to restrain themselves. I love the way their fingers press hard against my skin like they want to feel my curves all the way to my bones.

My sex pulses in rhythm with his heavy breaths in my ear. Leaning my head back onto his shoulder, I whisper, “I want you in my bed.”

His breath catches. I smile with triumph, and I rub my ass against his erection for a victory lap. After reveling in his groan, I take his hand and lead him to my bed.

He obeys as I gently instruct, “Lay on your back. Put your head on the pillow. Spread your legs. Relax.”

I give him a sweet kiss on the cheek while he calmly exhales. Then I kiss his lips—a little less sweetly. I suck his neck—hard enough to give him a hickey, one impressive enough to show his friends that I took good care of him. I sensually drag my nose down his chest and abdomen, leaving a few pecks along the way. Eager saliva pools in my mouth as I approach his gloriously engorged dick.

I kneel between his open legs and make sure I’m comfortable. Women suck dick for different reasons. Some suck it just to be polite. Some suck it to get a wedding ring. Some suck it to encourage a quid pro quo: I suck you, you lick me. I’m not like those women. For me, sucking dick is like a drug.

He twitches when I run my hands up the insides of his thighs. In one fluid motion, I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and slide my mouth down his shaft.

He kaçak bahis gasps. “Oh my god.”

After a satisfied smile, I go to work. I glide my moist lips along his soft skin. I stroke it with my wet tongue and suck it with my strong cheeks. His moans fill me with confidence, so I increase my pace. My head bobs while I fill my mouth with him, and my inner sex unforgivingly clenches—begging to feel him inside of me. His dick is so hard that it’s heavy on my tongue. I want all of it.

After a deep, calm breath, I slide him all the way into my mouth. He groans when his cock touches the back of my throat, and I can’t help but whine with pleasure. I suckle the head of his penis. I shamelessly coat his shaft with my saliva and massage my knuckles against his taint. He moans, and it almost drowns out my eager slurping. When his hips tilt upward, I let him glide his dick between my lips. I hang my head above him and let him control the depth and pace of his thrusts, unable to stop myself from whimpering in submission. He slowly fucks my mouth, but my clit quickly pulses. It pulses so strongly that it almost hurts. My wet arousal pours down my thighs.

He outstretches his arms and breathes, “Come here. I need a break.”

I crawl up the bed thinking he wants to make out, but he reaches for my thighs instead. “Sit on my face.”

My clit pinches with excitement, so I don’t argue. I do giggle as he eagerly pulls me to straddle his head, and I gasp when he puts his lips on my clit.

He’s slow and thorough while I brace myself against my headboard. He spreads me apart with his warm fingers before circling the tip of his tongue around my clit. That familiar sensation rushes through my body—a sharp, teasing sensitivity. My hips relax and my mouth waters with craving. That craving deepens to tight pulsing when he slowly laps my inner labia underneath the folds. I whine and hold his head while he increases the pressure. My sex now throbs between my legs.

He uses his whole mouth to pleasure me. He kisses the hood of my clit. He flicks his tongue across my vaginal entrance. His lips brush against me while he licks my folds. I’m hunched over and whimpering, and I gasp when he pulls my hips closer. He sighs like he loves opening his mouth wide and dragging his tongue along my sex—covering his cheeks with my wetness. My body burns with arousal. No amount of whimpering can relieve the pressure building in me. When he sloppily circles his tongue around my clit, I jolt into a fit of trembling.

Enough foreplay. After a bit of resistance from him, I wiggle away from his face. I pant, “Sit up.” He’s barely sitting up straight when I straddle him and slide him inside of me. We both cry out.

My body wastes no time. My hips ride his perfect dick with my arms around his shoulders. We both watch my body move in instinctive rhythm. Sometimes his glossy shaft shines in the darkness.

His voice is raw. “You are so sexy.”

Heat rushes from my chest. I feel hotter than I ever thought I could. Fevered, I grab his face and deeply kiss him. My body completely syncs with his. My lips and tongue effortlessly explore his while my loose hips ride his dick. They glide it against every sensitive part of my sex, from my throbbing entrance to my tender cervix.

We gasp when I break away from his mouth. I pant, “Pinch my nipple.” As soon as he does, my body shocks into a quivering orgasm. He sucks my other nipple into his mouth. I shout with a violent twitch and somehow shake harder in is arms. I still shake after he shudders and comes inside me.

My orgasm passes. Then our chests heave against each other while the sex fog fades from my mind. Once we’ve calmed down, he mumbles, “So what now?”

I dramatically sigh. “Unfortunately, you need to leave. My real boyfriend will be home soon.”

“What?!” His eyes bug out in fear.

I kiss his nose. “Kidding.”

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