Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Growing up in a four-person household—with usually only three of us eating, because Dad was out of town, state, or country—I was used to leftovers. Especially on Thanksgiving. Mom would give the chef the following weekend off, and we’d live exclusively off turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce for three days.

Glancing across the table (that definitely wouldn’t have any leftovers at the end of the meal), I was shocked to find it was the first time today that I’d really thought of my parents. Usually, my head would be filled with nothing but memories: of that one time Mom caved and got us fast food on Christmas Eve, or Dad winning the season and flying us out to Disney World to celebrate for an entire weekend. Those happy memories were rare––not necessarily because I’d had a terrible childhood.

More so because the bad overrode the good so quickly, it had been barely a year before all I thought about when I heard my parents’ names was the plane wreckage, the headlines announcing their deaths, and the way my aunt broke down on the phone, before having to tell us her sister had died.

Goddamn it. Hadn’t this been about distraction?

I snapped out of it with a shake of my body, tearing my eyes away from the few pieces of turkey left that I had unintentionally focused on. When my gaze flicked across the family, their conversation was still animated, which was a good sign.

I wondered if they knew about my parents—why I was here. I wondered how much they knew about anything. How much had McCarthy told them?

My head snapped in his direction at the thought, startling when I found his eyes on me already. I gasped under my breath, hand clutching my chest.

“Someone’s jumpy today.” He grinned, brows raised as he made the observation.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, letting out the breath I’d held in. “Don’t just sit there and stare at me,” I hissed in a whisper. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“By…” He thought of his next words. “Looking at you?” The grin was audible in his voice, and I didn’t have to look at him to know it was probably heavenly.

“Yes,” I snapped. “By looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes, and not saying a damn word—” My mouth shut abruptly, stopping my rambling before it could get worse.

I did just say that out loud, didn’t I?

It was a matter of seconds before he confirmed my fear. “Big and beautiful.” He hummed from beside me, clearly pleased by the slip-up. If I had been adamant about not looking at him before, imagine how pleased I was by the sight of Delilah’s mashed potatoes on the plate opposite mine.

“I was about to suggest you should lay off the wine for the night,” he drawled. “But if it’s going to be the reason for more compliments—” His voice trailed off.

I scowled, finally sending a glare his way. “It was half a glass.”

More than that had seemed too dangerous to try around strangers. Especially when I wanted them to like me. A lot. It was only after we’d moved into the living room—while watching Dakota (tipsy), debate Denise (flat-out drunk), on the significance of Taylor Swift’s entire discography—that I realized just how much.

“So your parents let her drink,” I assessed quietly, whispering the words to McCarthy as I nodded at the glass of wine in Dakota’s hand. He sat next to me; but I was fully invested in the two sisters, my attention not wavering from their argument.

“Are you kidding me?” Dakota’s eyes narrowed at her older sister. “Denise, how could you disregard ‘Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve’? Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first? ” she sang, off key. “Seriously?”

I snorted, finally turning away from them when Denise sighed, “You’re sixteen, Dakota. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

McCarthy nodded when I looked at him, eyes flicking to his sisters behind me. “Only when she’s around Mom,” he agreed. “And nothing hard. Just beer, wine… that kind of stuff. Makes it much less appealing once you’re off to college, I can tell you that much,” he added with a laugh. His gaze shifted back to me, and a smile tugged in the corner of his lips.

I couldn’t look away. I don’t think I wanted to. “I love them,” I admitted, fully turning to face him. “I can’t help it.”

Another laugh. “I’m sure they love you, too.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

And I think something broken and shriveled-up inside of me was healing around them. Something that wasn’t used to big families, drama-free gatherings and arguing Taylor Swift’s top ten songs. When was the last time I’d been around something like that?

The thought should’ve been sad—I expected it to be, at least—but I smiled brightly, gut twisting and turning in the best way when McCarthy matched it. God , he was a great distraction.

Dylan McCarthy Williams could probably get my mind out of the gutter in a heartbeat, just by talking to me about the goddamn weather. Anything beyond that—his hands on me, lips on mine, bodies pressed against each other’s—would probably leave me feeling blissful for the rest of the fucking week. No matter which one it was.

The thought alone sparked something in me. A little fire that, if I wasn’t careful, would turn into an inferno so quickly, I wouldn’t even notice at first. Because as soon as I remembered the way he’d felt against me, the way he’d sounded, I couldn’t stop. I still had a contract to break. A game to win.

“Dylan.”

He straightened, as if hit by lightning, electrocuted by my voice, and the way those five letters sounded, coming from my mouth. “Hm?” he asked, blinking down at me, probably trying not to let his eyes wander to the hand I’d just placed on his thigh.

“Wine makes me sleepy,” I lied, still blinking up at him, holding eye contact.

“Does it?” His lip quirked. “Even just half a glass? Two hours ago?”

I nodded. “It’s white wine,” I explained, like that made all the difference. When I leaned in for the killing blow, my mouth right by his ear, goose bumps formed across his neck. His head turned to confirm the rest of his family was still occupied, but the movement made it so easy to brush my lips across his skin.

I placed a single kiss below his ear. He sucked in a breath. “You know where to find me,” I murmured. “If you change your mind about that contract you want to honor so badly.”

Without waiting for a reaction, I brought some distance between us to say my goodnights. It was past midnight at this point, and I was greeted with understanding hums and sleep wells , before I headed upstairs.

I couldn’t help the victorious smirk when I heard him say “Excuse me”, less than a minute later.

“Going to bed?” I asked from the top of the staircase, looking down as he climbed it. “Seems like a silly coincidence, doesn’t it?”

He jumped two stairs at a time until he stood on the step below me. I still had to look up. “Let’s call it that. A silly coincidence.”

“I’ve got another one.” I shifted closer, rested my hands against his chest. His breath faltered as my fingertips slid up his body, then behind his neck, my arms crossing.

“Oh yeah?” he rasped.

And it’s what finally made me snap.

The words brought heat to my cheeks and something deep in my stomach twisted, then uncurled in relief when I finally overcame the hair’s breadth between us. I swallowed his sigh of similar relief once his lips moved against mine, eager and curious.

“What’s the other coincidence?” he asked, between one kiss and the next, moving us away from the staircase. My back flattened against the wall behind me.

“A room down the hall, with a bed so big—” I tugged him back down to me by the collar of his shirt, top two buttons open, before I finished my sentence. Even with his lips back on mine and my legs wobbling with need, anticipation and a million other things, we’d made it to that room in what felt like a heartbeat.

We only separated once the piano bench dug into the back of my legs, and there was a moment in which I knew I’d either fall or sit. So I did the latter and stumbled onto the bench.

I swallowed thickly once my eyes lifted up… and up and up, until they connected with his.

“I’m—” He cut himself off, like the past five minutes were as much of a blur to him as they were to me, and he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten himself in this position, either; me, almost level with his crotch.

I blinked up at him, and I couldn’t help the hand that moved and the finger that slipped behind the waistband of his pants. Just lingering. “Did you change your mind?” I asked, embarrassingly hopeful. “About the contract? About honoring it?”

A bolt of realization flashed across his features, and he huffed, though not genuinely. My next breath got stuck in my throat when he bent down, crouching to my level.

“I want you to know this,” he said, his voice firm . “I might’ve started this little game, but I never claimed I’d win. I never said you couldn’t get me to lose, just by looking at me for a little too long. There’s nothing—” Slight hesitation etched into his words, but he overcame it by taking my face in his hands, holding me gently. “Fuck that contract,” he said. “There’s nothing I want more than touch you, to feel you again. My head between your thighs, your body underneath mine—” He exhaled a strong breath, his hand falling behind my neck, fingers disappearing into my hair. “God, to hear you moan my fucking name.” His head shook as our eyes connected, undeniable lust in his gaze that I could only mirror. “Every time I’m in my office, I can’t help but think of you. It’s taken a toll on my productivity.”

My breath caught in my throat when he trailed his other hand along my skin. Like he was carving me from marble, he followed every contour of my bones, dragging his thumb across my lips. His fingers continued down my neck, slipping under my top, touch so feather light as he circled my collar bones, the goose bumps on my skin were inevitable. “So I don’t think you understand how much I want you, Athalia.”

“You can have me,” I promised, fueled by nothing but my own need and the way his hand had dropped to my bare thigh, right below the hem of my skirt. “If I can have you, then you can have me. I want you to have me.”

His gaze dropped lower, head shaking with a rough laugh. “You have me,” he said before connecting our eyes again. “Jesus Christ, Athalia. You’ve had me. I’m at your mercy. Putty in your fucking hands—”

I didn’t let him finish his sentence.

With the first swipe of his tongue, he took every rational thought off my mind. Replacing it with the sensation of his fingers dancing up my leg, his breath against my lips and his words replayed in my head—over and over and over again.

McCarthy dropped to his knees, shuffling between my opened legs. I reveled at the contact; the way he felt between my legs and the way he groaned when the heel of my foot pushed him closer.

His hand inched up the hem of my skirt. Breathing heavily, he asked, “Can I—?” And I barely managed a nod, a broken moan, before I felt the pad of his thumb against my clit, nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric separating my skin from his.

“Fuck.” He held my eyes with his. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed those little sounds.” I was trying my best to contain them, to keep quiet the way I had in his office. But he dragged his thumb down my entrance, then pushed it underneath my panties, and I couldn’t help myself. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he hummed against my skin. “There you go, princess.”

My hands dove into his hair, following his gentle encouragement; the softness entirely contrary to the way he pushed my panties to one side. The way his fingers hovered right where I needed him most. “This all right?”

“More than,” was all I managed. “Please—” Do something , I wanted to say. But his finger pushed inside me before I could, and he realized with a stifled groan how wet I was for him.

I failed at keeping quiet once more, only hoping these walls were thick. One glance at least confirmed we’d managed to close the door in the heat of whatever got us here. McCarthy got back to his feet, keeping his fingers still, bent over my body on the piano bench. Our gazes held for one, two, three seconds, and I squirmed underneath his touch.

Anticipation thrummed beneath my skin, my stomach tightening with every moment he refused to move his fingers. I held my breath. Just when I was about to combust, when I thought the anticipation would honest to God kill me, he curled his middle and ring fingers buried inside me. And began moving.

And it almost killed me just the same.

His pace steadied, whispered encouragements and curses making it through the haze in my mind. “I love seeing you like this,” he groaned. “You look so beautiful when you’re about to come for me.”

And I was about to, wasn’t I? Five minutes in a room with Dylan McCarthy Williams and I was ready to burst at the seams for him. I refused to think about why, instead focusing on how he seemed to interpret every twitch of my body, every sound from my mouth perfectly.

His thumb stroked my clit, moving in sync with the fingers still pushing in and out of me. My head fell back, and my eyes found his. The way he looked down at me, one hand bracing on the bench, the other occupied with getting me closer to what I knew would be an amazing orgasm, pushed me over the edge. I lost all sense of up and down. The world spun and I tried to keep upright by looking for some sort of support. My arms scrambled for purchase behind me, and I remembered a little too late it would be the piano my hand grasped onto. “Dylan—”

I came in sync with the deep, rich sound of my arm pounding against the keys.

My other hand pulled McCarthy back to my lips, and he happily kissed me through the ebbing waves. My fingers twitched with the last one, hitting another random key before slipping off the instrument.

My head fell against his chest. “That was—” I was still trying to catch my breath when he agreed.

“Yeah.” He planted a kiss against the top of my head. “Are you—?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, but I didn’t think I could stand yet. I could barely lift my head to look up. Awe swam in his eyes, and I couldn’t help the way my chest tightened at the way he looked at me.

Dark hair tousled, with nothing left of the way he’d parted it in the middle this morning. His cheeks were flushed, chest rising and falling almost as heavily as mine. I played with one of the closed buttons of his shirt. My eyes trailed to where he was straining against his pants. “Do you want me to—?”

McCarthy caught my hand in his. “Don’t.” He swallowed thickly. “One touch and you’re gonna make me ruin these pants.”

I laughed when I looked back up, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in his features. “I mean it.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed each finger slowly. “Whenever I think about your hands on me, it definitely lasts longer than five seconds. Let me keep it that way.” Placing his lips on the back of my hand, his eyes lifted. “Please?”

“Okay.” I nodded, trying to ignore the blush on my cheeks, as I slowly caught my footing again. Getting up, watching as he straightened back up to his six foot two with me, I couldn’t help but say, “I don’t want to ask more of you—”

He only smiled. “Please do.”

And out of pure selfishness, simply because I wanted to see what he’d look like sleeping next to me, I asked: “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Unlike last night, he did.