Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone Mariah Dietz (best novels to read .txt) 📖

it still disarms me and has me taking fuller breaths, but now our bed and his pillow are stained with the scent and so are his shirts which I wear each night as pajamas. I breathe him in like a drug.

“I missed you.”

His touch is possessive, pressing his hands into my flesh. “I missed you. So fucking much.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, his breath fanning across my skin, creating a path of goosebumps and desire. I shiver, leaning into him and tipping my head back and to the side to grant him full access. Pax releases a low growl of approval, and nips at my exposed skin before sucking the same spot. Our room is my favorite place in the house my dad built for us. It’s not as large as the house I grew up in, but the details are just as intricate and beautiful, with lots of exposed wood, stone, and vast windows to admire the Pacific Northwest landscape. After Pax was traded to the Seahawks, we found the forty-acre property that had a sticker price that made me want to puke, but Paxton was convincing and the peace and serenity it offered while still being convenient to downtown so it was close for him to get to practices and for us to see family and friends sold me. Our house was built within the year.

Pax lays me across our oversized bed, my hips draping off the side. He tugs at my leggings, pulling them and my underwear down in one fell swoop. He parts my legs and places his mouth on me. I gasp and then moan, as his mouth tortures and teases me with long, slow strokes from his tongue and then quicker ones, hard passes and soft ones until I’m so desperate for a release I’m begging, balanced on that same ledge of pleasure where I want to feel the crash and also never want it to end. He laces my legs over his shoulders and moves his hands under my backside, lifting my hips and changing the angle that has my thighs trembling and my toes curling. I can’t remember my name or my hostess duties, or anything except how damn good I feel, the softness of his tongue, the sharpness of his five-o'clock shadow, and then he adds two fingers and I spiral into an abyss of pleasure that has my hips jerking and my thoughts silencing.

He kisses my folds and then each of my thighs, my pubic bone up to my navel, each of them feather light like he’s worshiping me. He kisses across the top of my shirt and bra, and though I want to feel him against my bare skin, ravishing my breasts, I want to feel him inside of me even more. I lean forward, unbuttoning his pants. His hands join mine, the gold from his wedding band catching in the dim light shining over the bed. I pause and kiss the ring that symbolizes so much more than a simple certificate. Pax pulls down his pants and underwear and then leans down and catches my lips again. Our kiss is a challenge as we recite our old rules and new ones we’ve made over the past decade as I lie back and he lies over me, positioning himself at my entrance before lowering himself slowly inside of me so I feel each mind-blowing inch of him, and allow him to win the challenge. I lie back, my arms feeling weak as he glides in and out of me, his rhythm even and unrushed, patient. He’s trying to drive me to that same pinnacle and I don’t have any plans of objecting.

When my breaths quicken, so do his movements. Moving inside of me and reading my reactions until I can’t keep my eyes open. I fist the comforter as his fingers glide over my clit, matching each of his thrusts until pleasure rolls through me like a violent wave that has Paxton’s movements increasing and becoming harder, drawing out my orgasm until he finds his release.

My muscles feel weak and sated, my entire body heavy as Pax stretches out beside me, his Henley still on. I place a hand on his chest, feeling each of his labored breaths and the quick rhythm of his heart. He pulls me closer, and I oblige, laying my head on his shoulder. He traces lazy circles across my back while I breathe him in, prolonging this moment of perfection where my thoughts are still and my heart is so full I can’t remember what pain or regret feel like.

“We have twenty house guests,” I murmur when the realization catches up to me.

Pax nods. “It’s going to be a great week.” Ever the optimist. “And we’ll be able to steal away and no one will notice because there’s going to be a hell of a lot of noise and commotion. It was the perfect plan.”

I smile against his shoulder. “We should probably get back out there.”

He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Five more minutes.” He releases a sigh and I know his eyes are closed. He’s tired, but he still never admits it.

“I’m glad Arlo and Olivia are moving back,” I say.

Another kiss, this one to my forehead as I tilt my head back to look at him. “Me, too. With him and Olivia’s three kids, and the twins, and our two, and Caleb and Julie’s four, and Chloe and Tyler’s daughter and Ros and Ian’s son, we have enough for a football team.”

I grin, my fingers tangling in his shirt. “Is that what you and Lincoln were working on outside? Creating a football field?”

His eyebrows dance. “No, we were trying to pick a spot to build a big enough treehouse for the kids.”

“A tree house?”

He nods. “Dylan’s idea. He said every kid needs a tree house, and he wants to build one that will fit all four of the kids.”

My brother recently began working with my