Faking It / Forbidden Sins

“No.” The word comes out a lot weaker than I’d hoped.

“Why?”

“Because the whole one-night thing doesn’t work when you know the person. It’s all fine to say we’ll act like it never happened, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

“What if I wasn’t me?” There’s a darkness to her expression, a simmering heat that pulls me in. “What if I was someone else?”

“What?”

“I’m already playing a role. Hannah Essex.” She wriggles her fingers and my mother’s ring glints in the light. “I can simply change roles and be someone else.”

She wants it that badly? My fingers twitch and my cock is aching for release—I’ve been in a semi-state of excitement for days and this is only making it worse. How long before I break? How long before my willpower is a billion glittering shards?

“Surely you’re not intimidated by a bit of role play?” Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and I’m about ready to fall to my knees in front of her.

“I’m not afraid of role play.” I grit the words out.

“Then I’m going to be in that bar, ordering a drink.” She turns and points to a little hole-in-the-wall place with the ambient glow of low-hanging lights. “If you come find me, we’ll pretend to be other people for the night.”

Bloody hell. “And if I don’t come find you?”

“Then I have my answer.”

She turns and walks across the tree-lined boulevard, pausing at the edge of the bar to shrug out of her coat. Her dress glimmers, like stars winking at me, beckoning me closer. I catch the flash of her toned, bare legs and those shiny silver shoes before she disappears inside.

CHAPTER TEN

Hannah

MY HEART IS pounding a million miles a minute as I enter the dimly lit bar. The place is full, but not bursting. A beautiful curved bar in gold and pearl-white wraps around the back two corners of the room. Ornate pendant lights emit a warm glow, and velvet chairs dot the space, where people sit drinking and talking. Most wear suits or pretty dresses—they’ve probably come from seeing a show at the Arts Centre.

When a couple vacate the bar, I claim one of the empty seats.

Will Owen follow me in here? Is he outside stewing over his decision or has he already started walking home? I can’t get his words out of my head.

Nothing will ever stop you, Anderson. You’re a force.

When it comes to work and my career, I’ve worn that label with pride. I’m ambitious and I have the respect of my colleagues and superiors. But the second I shrug out of my blue uniform, I somehow shrug out of my confidence, too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender smiles.

“A French 75, please.” I’m craving something fizzy.

My eyes stray to the door, where a couple walks in. They’re arm in arm and so into one another that the room shoots up a hundred degrees. Is it pathetic that all I want is for someone to look at me like that? I’m an independent, intelligent woman but…

Just once I want to be that girl. The girl who gets the guy, the girl who stops traffic. Is it so bad to want to feel desirable? To feel sexy and coveted and beloved?

The bartender places my drink on a coaster and I pay. Bubbles race to the top of the champagne flute, where a delicate curl of lemon peel sits, curving over the edge of the glass. I stare at it for a moment, hanging in a delicious limbo between fear of rejection and the possibility that I may have something exciting in front of me.

The cocktail is tasty, dry champagne with a hint of sour lemon. As I watch the door, I twist Owen’s mother’s ring. I still haven’t gotten used to wearing it. But for tonight it’s on the wrong finger. I slip it off and transfer it to my other hand.

I turn back to my drink and run my finger over the rim, trying to make it sing like I used to when I was a little kid. I count my breaths in and out, clinging to hope.

Please come to me.

I remember how mortified I was when I found out my diary had been read aloud. I knew Owen had done his best to conceal my identity. But people talked and theorised—we all wanted to be investigators, after all.

Rumours spread. I’d denied it, of course. And then the diary had turned up back in my room seemingly of its own accord. I knew he’d put it there. And part of me had been excited that he knew how I felt. Unfortunately, nothing had come of it.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

I turn toward the deep voice and swallow back the excitement surging through my veins. Owen has a dangerous edge to him. His usually playful smile is nowhere to be found, and his vibrant blue eyes hold me captive. Will he play my game?

“No, please.” I gesture toward the empty seat next to me. “It’s all yours.”

He eases himself onto the bar stool and signals to the bartender. 18-year-old Talisker, neat. I’ve never seen him drink anything but beer. He looks at me while the bartender pours, his expression smouldering and unreadable. The corner of my lips lifts into a smile, inviting him closer. He knows what I want, so now the ball is in his court.

I hold my breath…waiting.

“I’m James,” he says.

My thundering heart almost trips over itself with joy. It’s happening. “Annabel.”

“Are you from around here, Annabel?” An American accent has crept into his voice that’s doing funny things to my insides. Is he drawing on his time in New York?

My mind spins. I don’t have a backstory planned—I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Hell, I have no idea how this role-play thing is supposed to work. Perhaps part of me never thought he’d say yes…

“I’m in town on business.” I sip my drink. “For one night.”

“Just one?” There’s that cheeky twinkle.

“Yes. I’m…” Think, dammit. “A researcher.”

“And what do you research, Annabel?” The way he says my fake name sounds like sex itself.

His drink arrives and he brings the heavy glass up to his mouth, tipping his head back. As he swallows, I watch the muscles working in his throat and I find my own totally devoid of moisture.

“I research the five senses and their effect on the human body.” My creative mind kicks into gear and it’s like slipping a costume over my head. “Such as how the other senses increase in strength to compensate when one is no longer accessible.”

“That’s an interesting field of research.”

“It’s very hands on.”

Our bodies are turned toward one another, my legs crossed so that my knees sit between his open legs. Owen leans one arm on the bar and watches me closely. It’s different to every other time he’s looked at me.

“How do you test those things?” he asks.

“It’s pretty simple. I can show you right now, if you like?”

He nods. “Sure.”

“Close your eyes.”

There’s something deeply appealing about having this strong man under my spell. Owen is physically fitter than most men…even most cops. He’s easily over six feet, broad-shouldered and has the kind of sculpted, muscular arms you’d expect of an action hero. But having him here in front of me, eyes closed, while he awaits my instruction makes me feel all kinds of powerful. I usually only get that surge of confidence at work.

But this is purely personal.

I take the lemon rind from my cocktail and slowly bring it under his nose. I see the recognition in his facial features, even though he doesn’t open his eyes. “What do you smell?”

“Lemon.”

“But a second ago you had no idea it was there.”

I leave the peel there for a second before placing it on a napkin on the bar. Then I lean closer to him, being sure not to touch him. When my lips are right by his ear, I blow cool air onto his skin and he shudders.

“With your eyes closed, everything else feels more intense. Your sense of smell and touch compensate for your lack of sight.” I place my hand on his thigh, feeling hard muscle beneath the fine fabric of his trousers. “It’s something that helped our ancestors when they had nothing but the moonlight to guide them.”

Where the hell is this coming from? I’ve fully embraced the role—Annabel, the sexpot researcher. It’s helping me be less like my typical awkward self, and more like the woman I wish I was.

“In fact,” I say, pausing to clear my throat. “I’m here recruiting test subjects.”

Owen’s eyes open and he looks at my hand resting on his thigh. “What are the requirements?”

“Single men between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. Must be in good health.” I let my gaze roam over his body in a way I’ve never done before.

I dwell in the details of him—in the blond hairs dusting his arms where his sleeves are rolled back. In the way his Adam’s apple protrudes at his neck. In the sharp cut of his jaw and the hard slash of his cheekbones. In his bluer-than-blue eyes and full, curved lips. He’s so attractive it borders on obnoxious. All the female recruits had a crush on him—charming Owen, who could befriend anyone. Who was always quick with a smile and a joke.

He was a boy, then. And now he’s filled out into this complex, mysterious man.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Must be free for one night of testing,” I reply. “One whole night because…I like to be thorough.”

“Sounds like I fit the bill.” He knocks back the rest of his Scotch and I’m so nervous and excited I’m worried my heart is going to bust its way out of my rib cage. “I don’t suppose you have a spot open tonight?”

“Actually, I do.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Owen

MOST PEOPLE DON’T know this about me, but I make decisions with care and consideration. No one expects the joker to have much going on upstairs…but I do. I let my head take the lead, instead of other less reliable parts like my heart, or my dick.

Tonight, however, is a rare exception.

My head is literally screaming at me to back away from this bad decision. But all the blood in my body is currently supporting another appendage. Hannah—posing as a sexy researcher named Annabel—slides from her bar stool, her eyes never leaving mine, and I’m done for. No amount of worrying about the case—about tomorrow—is going to stop me from taking the delicacy she’s dangling in front of me.

I follow her from the bar and help her into her coat the second the night air hits us. It’s colder now, spitting with rain, and I tuck her close against my body. “Where does your research take place, Ms. Annabel?”

She looks up at me and I see the cogs turning. She’s considering whether we should go back to the apartment. That’s not a good idea. A hotel will make it easier to keep sex and the job separate.

“I’ve got a room we could use,” I say, leaning into my role of anonymous travelling businessman. “If you don’t mind working out of a hotel.”

“That sounds great,” she says breathlessly.

We walk along the river’s edge, our heads bowed to the fine, misting rain and our hands entwined until we reach the Crown Entertainment Complex. The hotel here is swanky to the max and has a price tag to match. The only room available is a suite and the nightly rate makes Hannah’s eyes bulge—but I hand over my credit card and within seconds we’re whisked up to heaven. The room boasts an incredible panoramic view of Melbourne, with glistening lights and a luxurious white sectional facing the window.

I can already see how incredible she’ll look laid out on it—naked, with the moonlight dancing on her skin—while I feast on her. My body is tightly coiled, like a spring. There’s a pressure building inside me that’s been growing for years.

“Please remove your coat,” Hannah says in a formal voice. She’s already hung hers on a stand by the front door. “If you could also remove your shoes and socks, that would be most helpful.”

The clipped, efficient tone makes me smile. I bend and untie my dress shoes, toeing them off and removing my socks, as instructed. She hangs my coat next to hers and when she walks back to me, she’s holding a tie in her hands. It looks to be made of the same fluffy white material as a bathrobe.

“I’m going to blindfold you now, so we can begin.” She waits a moment and I give her a quick nod, letting her know it’s okay to proceed.

I’ve always known Hannah to be a take-charge kind of woman, and it thrills me to know it transfers to the bedroom. I love being in charge, too, but there’s something insanely hot about a woman who wants to take pleasure into her own hands. Tonight, I am willing to be her test subject—to play this role and revel in whatever that mysterious brain of hers has planned.

She wraps the blindfold over my eyes, tying it in a secure knot behind my head. And then nothing. I can’t detect her movement, because the plush carpet absorbs the sound of her stilettos.

She makes me wait.

The seconds tick by and my desire grows like a storm, swirling and building, rising until it fills me completely. When her soft touch brushes the front of my pants, I’m hard as stone and aching for her.

“Ready?” she asks, her lips brushing my ear.

“I’ve never been readier.”

We’ve both waited a long time for this.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Owen

IT DOESN’T TAKE long for the blindfold to work its magic. In seconds, I feel my other senses ramping up to accommodate for my lost sight. The gentle kiss of cool air is amplified where my collar sits open, and it’s so quiet I can hear the pitter patter of rain against the windows. I smell the rain, too—in her hair as she moves around me, mingling with whatever fruity shampoo she uses. I’m driven immediately to the edge of sensation, to the edge of wanting.

There’s a tug at my shirt. She’s undoing my buttons…slowly. I sense her teasing through the way she pops each one open with an agonising pace.

“You must be doing well to afford such a fancy hotel room,” she says, tracing the V of skin at my chest with her fingertip. But the sensual touch does little to hide the curiosity in her voice. The question, no matter how it’s posed as part of this role play, is genuine.

“I’m doing well, but money doesn’t make the man.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” she murmurs. She works her way to the last of the buttons and then pulls the hem free. “Money doesn’t buy decency.”

I know the opposite is more likely—money is the reason I have no family. Money is what caused them to be taken from me. “Greed brings out the worst in us.”

I would have burned all my parents left me if I’d been allowed. A teenager—blinded by rage and grief—has no use for zeros in a bank account. Because whatever future they might have secured—education and houses and finery—means nothing to an orphan who only wants his parents back.

“I’m feeling a little greedy now.” Her hands toy with the buckle at my waist. “Is that so bad?”

“This is totally different.” And this greed, I can handle.

The buckle makes a metallic chink as she yanks the leather through the loops on my suit pants. The sound of my zipper being undone slashes through the quiet air—through my thoughts. I’m about to embark on a hot night with a woman I’ve wanted for a long time. I need to get my head out of the past.

As if sensing my need to retreat from this conversation, Hannah says, “I’m going to strip you completely. Then we’re going to see how you respond to different stimuli.”

“Like what?” The anticipation is a fist around my cock. I’m desperate for more, desperate to see what she has planned.

“I can’t tell you that. I need to measure the…strength of your response.” Her voice is low and husky.

She shoves my pants down my legs, dragging my boxer briefs with them, and helps me free. I’m totally naked now, and knowing that she’s fully dressed makes this even hotter. My cock bobs up against my stomach, hard as concrete and oh-so-ready for her. But after a few seconds of nothing, I realise that Hannah has disappeared.

The silence is broken by the click of her heels over tile—has she gone into the kitchenette or the bathroom? I don’t know the layout well enough to tell. There’s a brief rushing of water, a dull, metallic sound and then that damn clicking again. I let myself dwell in the vision of her legs in those heels. Hannah is muscular—always devoted to stamina and speed. And her daily runs haven’t been interrupted by this case. She gets up at the crack of dawn every morning without fail.

I know the purpose of her runs aren’t for physical appearance, but there’s no denying the activity has given her shapely legs and a firm ass. Both of which have been on my mind since our kiss in the garden.

I wonder where she is now. The clicking has stopped, and the robe tie is a surprisingly effective blindfold. I need to relieve a little of the tension, and I hesitate only a moment before reaching down to wrap a fist around my cock. I don’t think I’ve been this hard in years. Never mind the fact I lost my taste for casual sex some time ago. But this…is not that.

Not casual. Not meaningless.

I stifle a moan and I run my fist up and down, giving a little twist at my swollen head. I imagine it’s her hand doing the work, pleasuring me. Exploring me. Pulling the tip of me to her willing, open lips. My balls are tight. Achy. Never mind that I rubbed one out in the shower this morning, trying to make sure I kept my desires in check.

So much for that.

“Owen, uh… James…” She loses the role play for a moment, her voice ragged-edged with need. “I need you to stop that so we can properly start testing.”

I release myself, reluctantly. But it’s clear she was watching me for a while before she told me to stop. I can hear it in her voice. Dirty girl.

“Anything else I should refrain from doing?” I ask, letting my words come out slow and lazy.

“Just follow my orders,” she replies. “If I don’t tell you to do something, then don’t do it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hannah

I’M SO OUT of my depth. I can only hope my voice sounds more commanding than I feel. Because right now, I want to melt into a puddle at Owen’s feet.

His body is a masterpiece. Hard sculpted muscle shapes his arms, shoulders, legs and abs. A dusting of blond hair creates a delectable trail from his bellybutton all the way down to…

God. I can’t tear my eyes away. Of course he’s perfect everywhere. Watching him touch himself, watching those slightly rough, strong tugs and the way the swollen head of his erection poked out the top of his fist… Let’s be real, I’m already a puddle.

“We’re going to start with scent,” I say. I’ve found a bowl of fruit in the kitchenette and I’ve selected an orange. I press my fingernail into the flesh, piercing it. The ripe scent of the fruit’s flesh comes through. “What can you smell?”

I bring the orange under his nose, trying hard not to think about how I want to rush through this and sink straight to my knees so I can take him in my mouth.

“Hmm, fruity.” His voice is roughed up, desire-laden. God, it makes my toes curl in these ridiculously high heels. If a man can have that effect with his voice, what will happen when he finally touches me? “Citrus. Orange or mandarin.”

“Very good.” I’ve collected a few items for us to use in this role play: a glass of chilled water, a fork and an individually wrapped chocolate. A condom that I’d stashed in my purse…just in case. “How about taste?”

I peel back the rind from the orange and extract a small piece of flesh. Coaxing his mouth open with my thumb, I wriggle the fruit between his lips. He readily accepts it.

“Definitely orange.”

The chocolate is next. I unwrap the foil and see something flicker over his face—like he’s trying to figure out what the sound is. But I don’t give him any clues. Instead, I pop the chocolate into my mouth and take my time enjoying the small, decadent moment. Then I press into him, bringing my lips to his, and he responds hungrily. The taste of chocolate mixes with the orange he’s just consumed.

“Tastes like a Jaffa,” he says, bringing his strong arms around me. “So sweet.”

“Not yet,” I rasp, pulling out of his grip. I want to draw this out—because I have the power now. I’m in charge.

And the second he gets his hands on me I’m going to fold like a house of cards.

“Am I not a good test subject?”

“You’re not very good at following instructions.” I pick up the fork and press the spiked end into his thigh—not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to elicit a response. His erection twitches and his hands ball by his sides. “How is your sense of touch?”

“Heightened.” His voice is wire-tight.

I trail the fork over his chest, letting the metal scrape lightly against his skin. I imagine the contrast feels good—a little pain, followed by something softer. I press my lips to his neck, breathing in the faded scent of cologne on his skin. Sucking so the blood rises to the surface.

The soft imprint of lipstick fills me with a sense of warm possessiveness—like I’ve claimed him. Marked him.

“If you want this to last more than five fucking seconds, you’re going about it all wrong, Hannah.” He speaks softly, the growling sound like a fine blade along my nerve endings, making my body sing. “I’m breaking character to tell you that.”

“We’re almost there,” I purr, emboldened by the effect I’m having on him.

I’m not quite done toying with him. I step back and watch him for a moment, let my eyes have their fill. Then I bring my hands to the zipper that runs down the side of my body, keeping my dress in place. I drag it down slowly, letting the sound slice through the air. Then I shed the garment, making a show of dropping it to the ground.

“What can you hear?” I ask him.

“Are you…?” His hand twitches, as if he’s going to touch himself again but I make an uh-uh sound. “Are you undressed?”

“Almost.”

I’m in lacy underwear, heels and no bra. But I hook my fingers under my waistband and drag the black silk and lace down over my hips. I step out of the underwear and dangle it from one finger. Then I move closer to him, draping the silk over his swollen cock. I drag it up his length, wrap it around him and rub the silk over his skin.

“Hannah,” he growls.

“Annabel,” I correct him as I pull the underwear back and whip it across his stomach. His body jerks and his nostrils flare, but not from pain. Oh no, it’s all pleasure now.

“Annabel. Is that…?”

“Yes.”

He stifles a groan. “I want to touch you.”

“Not yet.”

I toss my underwear onto the floor and slowly sink to my knees. The water glass beckons and I take a big mouthful, relishing the slide of the cold liquid down my throat. But the water isn’t intended solely for hydration.

I take another big gulp and set the glass down. I saw the tip once in Cosmo, to drink cold water or suck on ice cubes before giving head. The sensation is supposed to be amazing for the guy. It was one of those cheesy articles: Ten Ways to Pleasure Your Man that I used to laugh at with my girlfriends back when I thought blow jobs were all about the guy.

But right now, I want nothing more than to take Owen into my mouth and suck him until he forgets why he ever said no to me. Until he understands the giddy, lust-fuelled attraction that turns my brain to jelly.

I don’t want to be the only one feeling this way.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his hands reaching forward to see if I’m there.

I brace one palm flat against his stomach and lower my mouth to the tip of his cock. It’s beaded with pearly liquid, and I wrap my lips around him.

“Fucking hell.” His fingers drive through my hair, flexing against my scalp in a way that mixes the sharp snap of pain with a whole lot of pleasure.

He’s hot and pulsing on my tongue—tastes and smells earthy in a way that’s one-hundred-percent masculine. Yeah, this isn’t just for him.

“That…” He grunts. I release him for a second and look up, catching the way his head lolls back as I continue to work him with my hand. “Christ, that feels good.”