Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

Henry’s apology came with a string of attachments I did not expect.

Firstly, another hug. Third time’s the charm, right?

I didn’t mind that as much as the thought of Dylan, and the way my chest tightened at what this whole conversation with Henry meant for us. That there was no need for an us anymore, at all. That I should end this before I’d fully fallen into that McCarthy-shaped hole in my head. My toes were already hanging over the edge.

I should be celebrating my victory: I got Henry to apologize . I wasn’t forced to date Dylan anymore, because any reason for it had just evaporated with three little words. Henry knew as much—knew it hadn’t been real, anyway.

My life could go back to normal.

It had to go back to normal.

In an agreed effort to stabilize our relationship, my brother’s first good deed was to give me Dylan’s address… very, very reluctantly.

And he’d barely been out the door before I slipped into the one pair of black boots I didn’t have to unlace to get in and out of, and the first coat I saw— neither matching the rest of my outfit. Then I shouted a goodbye into our apartment and left. I didn’t even bring an umbrella.

I rehearsed what I’d say to him on the way.

Just came by to say we can stop pretending to like each other now. Henry apologized, so we can end this whole thing prematurely and go our separate ways. Thanks for two great orgasms. Sorry I won’t get to return them! I really would’ve liked to.

“Athalia?”

My heart pounded in my chest when I stood on the porch of the house he shared with two of his teammates, Blake and Caden, fifteen minutes later. Soaked to the bones, wet hair stringy against my face, I blinked up at him. “Dylan,” I breathed.

Apparently I hadn’t rehearsed well enough. My mind was blank—a room with white walls, floors and ceilings, no windows and nothing inside. Nothing but Dylan McCarthy Williams. And the grey sweatpants hanging low on his waist, revealing the V disappearing in them and drawing my gaze to the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt— had either already been asleep or was just about to go.

There was a definite scent of toothpaste lingering between us.

I shivered, not sure whether it was due to the sight of him or the wet clothes clinging to me like glue. My eyes snapped up to his, and it seemed to jolt him out of whatever he’d been in.

“ Jesus .” He ushered me inside the house and closed the door behind us. “Did you walk here, Athalia?” He peeled me out of my wet coat, and the gesture made me realize I didn’t plan to stay long—

“Henry apologized,” I blurted.

McCarthy stilled, like he knew what it meant. Then, he hung my coat on the rack and said, “Didn’t know he had it in him.”

I dripped onto his floors. My boots left size seven prints of mud and water in his entrance, and I was pretty sure I stood in a puddle that had formed inside of them. The look he threw me over his shoulder still heated every part of my body.

I needed to end this. Now .

He shouldn’t have made me feel warm and fuzzy when I was well on my way to develop pneumonia. He couldn’t have that effect on me, where even now—when I’d gotten everything I’d wanted to get out of our arrangement, when there was no one around to trick with our relationship—I still wanted him.

“Which means we can…” But I chickened out again, trailed off.

He turned to face me fully. “Yes.” Then he went down on his knees and forced the air right out of my lungs. Dylan got to work on the laces of my left boot, taking his time when I could’ve easily wiggled out of them. “It seems that’s what it means.”

His fingers curled around my calf, and my pulse skyrocketed. Even wearing jeans, I felt his touch scorch me through the thick denim. He gently guided one foot out of my boot, that had indeed filled with enough water to see, not just feel, and then repeated the same thing with the other.

I gasped softly when his finger grazed my bare skin while untying the second.

Rising back up to his full height, he leaned out of the front door to dump the water on his porch, then set my boots below the heater behind me. The only sound, when he stood right in front of me again, was my heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

“And what about it?” he asked.

What about the apology?

There were a million things about Henry’s apology that should concern the nature of my and McCarthy’s relationship. Right?

At the very least, the fact there was no need for any kind of relationship between us at all. The fact I had gotten what I wanted, and Dylan had never wanted anything out of this in the first place. Not really .

The fact that there was no point in pretending anymore.

The fact that I was here, this close , when Henry wouldn’t have seen us in the first place.

I could’ve easily brought up all of this. I could’ve said: Look, McCarthy, you don’t have to hang out with me anymore. No more fake dating necessary! This is a good thing. Yay!

I didn’t.

“Hm?” The deep hum in his voice was all I needed to solidify a decision I’d unconsciously made, somewhere between orgasm number one and two. Somewhere between that time he’d call me ‘good girl’ and when he’d calmed me after a panic attack.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

I kissed Dylan McCarthy Williams as if I hadn’t been about to fake break up with him. And he kissed me back as if there was nothing fake about this arrangement at all—I wasn’t sure which one of us was lying. To themselves. To the other.

His lips moved against mine longingly, only reinforcing the fact I’d made the wrong decision by not ending this when I had the chance. One more step and I’d be falling off the metaphorical cliff in my head. The point of no return edged closer, with every swirl of his tongue against mine, with every satisfied huff against me.

Putting distance between us for a moment, with wide eyes taking in my face between his hands, he said: “You’re dripping.” he laughed against my lips, voice low and hushed.

“So get me out of these.”

His laughter died out, and something else entirely took over his expression. He didn’t hesitate when he pressed his lips to mine again, groaning.

“Jump,” he mumbled against me, and my legs wrapped around his waist effortlessly, his hands cupping my ass. He didn’t seem to care about my wet clothes against his bare skin, although he shivered at first contact. He moved, and a soft, muted moan escaped me when he squeezed me, his lips on my neck, sucking and kissing the sensitive parts. If he was leaving a trail of dark bruises all over me, it was nothing I worried about right now. Makeup existed for that very reason.

His brown hair fell into his face when he pulled back, eyes dark and devious. His breath was heavy against my lips. “My room’s upstairs,” he informed me, like I cared, then moved toward what I assumed to be the staircase.

I didn’t check. When my eyes weren’t closed because I was kissing him, I focused on the way his brows drew together when I rubbed against his hard length, how he stifled a moan when I trailed a finger down his bare chest.

A squeal ripped through my throat when he almost lost balance halfway up the stairs, and I slipped out of his arms for my own safety with an unapologetic laugh.

“Not a word about that,” he grumbled before I had the chance to say anything; though a sly smirk played on his lips as he whisked me up the last few carpeted steps. The long corridor we ended up in showed two doors on each side, and McCarthy’s hand slipped into mine before he dragged me into the second on the right.

I didn’t have time to look around. Vaguely made out a closet opposite his bed and a desk right by the door, before his lips were back on mine and our combined efforts shifted us toward his bed. It was made up with blue sheets, the two pillows fluffed.

A gust of air escaped my lips as my body fell against the soft mattress. My stomach twisted when he flipped on the light on his bedside table, and I saw him hover over me. “I need to see you,” Dylan reasoned, like there was no way around it.

The light was dim, barely enough to make out his sharp features: his prominent jawline, the cheekbones. His brown hair seemed almost midnight black this way.

Neither of us cared that my wet clothes soaked his sheets.

His hair flopped over his forehead, silver necklace dangling between us. His breath was heavy, eyes dark. We looked at each other for just a second too long for this to be strictly physical. Seeing him like this, looking at me like that, there was no way.

Get it together, Athalia.

Instead of backing out like I probably should have, I pulled him back down to me, body toppling over mine and our lips connecting again. Hungrier, our pace picked up.

My hands were buried in his hair, reminding me once more that 3-in-1shampoo could never achieve how soft it felt. I pulled at it playfully, a grin on my lips, and he bit down on my lower one with a groan, coercing soft whimpers out of me.

“Hey.” He pushed away from me, breaking us apart despite all efforts. “This wasn’t my plan. This isn’t why I agreed to help you out,” he stated, searching my reaction carefully. His heavy breath still fanned my lips, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than how easy it would be to connect them with his again. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, then asked teasingly, “You want to stop, then?”

By what was pressing against the inside of my thigh, I knew he did not.

“God, no.”

My chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm underneath his, relieved at his answer. Eyes wide, cheeks red, I hummed in agreement before our lips connected once more, muffling a moan when his hands began to roam my body.

Once he went there, I quickly followed suit, began exploring. It had been all about me that time in his office, then on the piano. And it was a crime I hadn’t gotten the chance to feel any of him yet. Now, with my fingers gliding along his toned stomach, feeling every ab underneath my fingertips, I felt like I’d robbed myself of an unknown pleasure. That feeling only intensified when his breath became heavier, more audible the further down my fingers trailed.

I’d never appreciated sweatpants as much as I did when I could feel his length through them. He groaned at the friction, and the sound traveled right between my legs. His hand slipped underneath my tight long sleeved top, his touch sending goose bumps across my skin. Sneakily, as his hands travelled up and up and up, the hem of it followed. I wanted to get rid of it right then and there.

Not because it was cold and wet, only because I wanted his touch everywhere: no barriers.

Sitting up at once, my chest heaving, I pulled it over my head. Well, tried to , until my elbow hit something hard in the process . I faltered, registering a stream of curses coming from Dylan’s lips.

No, no, no .

My eyes widened; head still buried in the fabric as I scrambled to pull it over my head. Throwing it to the side carelessly, I was greeted by McCarthy rubbing his chin, trying to soothe the pain my elbow seemed to have caused.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I hissed, feeling my cheeks grow red as I tried to see how bad it was. “Are you okay?” His head was turned away, and my hand gently cupped his cheek to make him face me. Worry filled my eyes when they met his.

Dylan huffed, shaking his head in amusement. “Even now you’ll take any and every opportunity to knock me out, huh?” he joked, eyes still locked with mine before he noticed the missing piece of clothing. He watched my chest rising and falling heavily. His gaze lingered, while I suddenly felt the need to grab a pillow and hide behind it.

I’d never been particularly self-conscious about my looks. And while a B-cup had its perks, when my boobs were being scrutinized like they were a painting in the Louvre—and by the one guy, in whom I had yet to find a physical flaw—I wouldn’t have minded a cup size bigger. Or two.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, just as I was about to break the short silence between us. “I’m definitely okay.” The encounter with my elbow seemed to be instantly forgotten.

Snickering, I shook my head in amusement. “You’re staring,” I pointed out, an eyebrow raised and a smile I couldn’t suppress on my lips.

“I guess I am.” There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment or shame in his voice before his lips crashed onto mine again. He laughed softly against them at the surprised moan that escaped me, then kissed my jaw, trailed further down my neck and chest. Skillfully, he avoided my nipples on his way down my body, teasing when his tongue only grazed one before he moved on, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all the way down to my wet jeans.

His eyes jumped to mine, head tilting as his hand lingered over the zipper, waiting for my approval to continue. I just nodded, not sure I’d be able to form a coherent sentence in my present state.

“Use your words, princess,” he teased, placing another kiss right above my waistband, making me squirm underneath him.

“Take them off,” I told him. “Please.”

And with most of me completely exposed, I pulled him back up to me. I couldn’t help but stare at how the muscles in his arms moved when his hands trailed along my body, how they shifted underneath his skin. How his defined torso raised and fell heavily, in sync with his breathing.

“God,” I breathed out. “I hope you’re bad at this.” My confession was met with a low laugh, and it only reinforced my words. “Really, really bad.”

You came here to break up with him , I reminded myself. But that could still be done after, couldn’t it? Watching as he slid out of his sweatpants, reminded again of the bulge straining against his boxer briefs, I thought perhaps getting this out of my system would be good.

This primal, hungry need for him.

“I’ll try my best.” His eyes jumped to mine. “Just for you.”

“Will you?”

“No.” He managed to slip that in just before our lips connected again, and I found my hands enjoyed exploring his defined back enough that I didn’t care. And when that last piece of fabric came off, and he rolled the condom he’d found in his nightstand down his length, that fear was only replaced by factual knowledge.

Whatever happened next wouldn’t be bad.

He stroked himself once. Not at all .

Good sex. Just really good sex. That’s all it was. Two grown adults getting it out of their system before going their separate ways. Purely physical attraction fizzing between them. That’s all there was to it.

I don’t think I even believed it myself.

“Look at me,” he murmured, and my gaze returned to his, eyes a little wider than they were before. His fingers hooked underneath my panties, teasing down and back up my wet folds with his focus entirely on me. My breath grew heavier, lids threatening to fall shut every time he pushed between me a little more—never fully.

“Athalia.” His voice was dark and heavy, and my eyes opened fully again. “Look at me, princess,” he muttered, sounding as strangled as I felt. I tried my best to oblige, though when he slid the last piece of fabric down my legs in one skillful motion, I couldn’t help but throw my head back with a satisfied sigh.

“Hey.” I could feel him align with my entrance. “Look away and I’ll stop.”

“Is that a threat?” My eyes narrowed when I finally looked back at him, though the teasing tone in my voice was obvious enough to make his lips curl into a smirk. I moved against his cock, and I got a dark, devious sound in return.

“Absolutely it is.”

Whatever I meant to retort, I threw it out as soon as he pushed into me. My head fell back, though my eyes stayed on him. I made sure of it, just in case he’d follow through on his threat.

With every inch he added, his lids grew heavier, his breathing deeper until a low, unapologetic moan escaped his lips when he was inside me fully. I wasn’t any different, a wreck before he even moved. Just feeling him, feeling myself adjust around him, made me a withering mess underneath him.

“ Shhh ,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut only for a second. “I know, love. I know.” A kiss to my forehead, and I shuddered at the touch.

His first thrust was hesitant, slow—as if he wanted to explore all of me and not miss a single sensation, a single sound as my lips parted into a moan. His eyes connected with mine again, an unspoken question lingering in their depths that I answered with another sound.

This was fine—more than fine.

So he moved again, a strangled breath escaping his lips, before he settled into a steady rhythm. The room filled with his groans, my moans, trying our best to suppress the sounds, and failing miserably.

“Athalia,” he muttered. “You’re a dream.” My eyes threatened to close with another moan, the knot in my stomach tightening and edging me closer to relief with every snap of his hips against me. “You don’t know how often you’ve been in mine.”

When his hand trailed across my nipples, down my stomach and between my legs, I was done for. “Fuck,” he groaned, slowing down, becoming sloppier. “You feel so good.” Every rasp of his voice, every sound he couldn’t seem to suppress, travelled right between my legs. I shuddered underneath him, clinging to him like he was my lifeline, moving my hips against his.

“I think—” I cut myself off with another moan when he reached where I needed him most, hitting that spot over, and over, and over again until I felt ready to combust.

“What is it?” he whispered, not altering his pace now that he knew I was close. “Talk to me, princess.”

Between heavy breaths I forced out, “I’m— oh God —”

He buried his face in my neck. “Sorry, just me.”

My face contorted into a laugh, and a moan, and the edge of relief. “I’m gonna—”

My orgasm flooded through me somewhat unexpectedly, twitching and pulsing underneath him enough to get him to his own with an unapologetic moan right by my ear.

Peppering my skin with kisses, we came down from our highs, and he rolled onto the other side of his bed. I shuddered with every touch, still panting.

For a moment, we were quiet. I replayed what had just happened over the sound of heaving breaths.

“Bad enough?” The amusement in his voice was masked by the way his breathing was still ragged and the euphoric lull in his tone. Both of our gazes were locked on the ceiling, and my eyes narrowed, even though I wasn’t looking at him.

“Awful.”

“Yeah?” The shuffling sound from beside me indicated he’d turned his head toward me, and I mirrored his gesture, just happy I hadn’t been first. I found a smile and messy hair: a deadly combination. Just as deadly as the fact it hadn’t been bad enough. In fact, like I had predicted, it hadn’t been bad at all.

“Just terrible.” I insisted, watching his lip twitch with a laugh he was desperately trying to hold back. “So bad, I can’t even put it into words—” My unexpected shriek cut me off. Dylan pulled me on top of his lap as he sat against his headboard, hands curling around my hips to steady me.

“Good,” he muttered, pressing a short, casual kiss to my lips. I could feel his smile against mine, and involuntarily, it coerced one out of me, too. “Never again, then?”

“Well—” This time, it was my own amused sound that cut me off, leaning toward him playfully, my hands finding themselves behind his neck. “Maybe once or twice…” I purposely trailed off, avoiding his gaze with amusement gleaming in mine.

Dylan laughed lowly, head falling against my bare chest with the sound. “Once or twice?” he confirmed, his head lifting again to raise a brow at me. I nodded with a shrug, lopsided grin so wide my cheeks would begin to hurt any minute now.

I rolled my eyes playfully as if it hadn’t been my idea in the first place. “If you insist .”

“All right.” He placed another kiss onto my lips, short and sweet. “Once or twice it is.” And another one. This one longer as he turned us to our sides, facing each other and maneuvering us into the position we’d eventually fall asleep in.

Involuntarily.

Because if this was as casual and physical-only as I had wanted it to be, I should’ve left. I should’ve broken up with him before I’d even gotten myself in this mess. There was absolutely nothing physical-only about short, casual kisses and falling asleep next to each other.