The Pretend Wife Pt. 04

I slumped on my beat-up couch, the faded gray cushions dipping under my weight, staring at the open suitcase sprawled across the coffee table. My fingers fidgeted with the frayed hem of my old blue T-shirt, soft from years of wear, as my stomach twisted into a knot so tight I could barely breathe. Tomorrow was the day--Praveen and I would launch this crazy, reckless plan. My palms were clammy, my short black hair itching at my scalp as I ran a hand through it. What if we got caught? What if I screwed up in front of his whole family? The thought of them peeling back my disguise--Savan playing Saanvi--made my chest squeeze, my breath hitching.

Praveen lounged beside me, one leg slung over the armrest, scrolling his phone like we weren't about to commit fraud-level deception. He wore a white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and dark jeans that hugged his lean frame just right--cool as ice, like always. "Savan, you're spiraling," he said, not looking up, his voice smooth and steady, cutting through my panic like a lifeline.

"Spiraling?" I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant. "Praveen, we're about to lie to your entire family. What if they see through me? What if I don't pass? Your mom's gonna take one look and call me out--or worse, disown you!" I buried my face in my hands, the panic clawing up my throat, my heart pounding like I'd just run a mile.

He set his phone down and shifted closer, his knee brushing mine. "Hey," he said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder--warm, firm, grounding. He tugged my hands away, forcing me to meet his dark, steady eyes. "Breathe, Savan. We've got this locked down. You've practiced everything--the walk, the voice, the whole deal. You're not alone--I'm right here. Team, right? And you're gonna kill it. They'll love you because--" He faltered, a flicker crossing his face, then grinned. "Because you're the best fake girlfriend I could've picked."

His words chipped at the ice in my chest, and I let out a shaky breath. He was right--we'd drilled this for weeks: me teetering in heels, perfecting Saanvi's soft laugh, memorizing our "meet-cute." I just had to pull it together. "Okay," I muttered, nodding. "Let's pack."

He clapped his hands, all business. "That's my girl. Let's get Saanvi ready."

I stood, stretching my arms, and dragged the suitcase closer. First, I tossed in my guy clothes for the airport: faded jeans, a gray hoodie with a ripped cuff, and scuffed white sneakers--Savan's shield I'd ditch the second we hit New York. Then came the real stuff--the wardrobe that'd turn me into Saanvi.

I held up the first dress, a deep red midi I'd agonized over online with Praveen. It was fitted, silky, with a subtle V-neck that'd hug curves I didn't yet have, the hem flaring just above my knees--flirty but polished. The three-quarter sleeves ended in delicate lace cuffs, a touch of softness I hadn't expected to like so much. "This is for the villa," I said, smoothing it out. "First impression's gotta stick."

"Perfect," he said, nodding. "Sexy but subtle. Mom'll eat it up."

Next, I folded in a navy cocktail dress for dinner--a strapless A-line with a tight bodice and a skirt that twirled when I moved. The fabric shimmered faintly, a deep blue that caught the light, and I'd fallen hard for it the moment I saw it. "This one's my favorite," I admitted, tracing the neckline with my fingers. "Feels... fancy, you know?"

He smirked. "You're gonna own that room. Trust me."

I added a cream sundress for daytime--soft cotton with a square neckline and a flowy skirt hitting mid-thigh, cinched with a thin belt. It was light, easy, perfect for blending in without screaming for attention. Then the accessories: a silver necklace with a tiny heart pendant, clip-on earrings shaped like little stars that dangled just enough to catch my eye in the mirror, and a stack of slim gold bangles that tinkled faintly when I moved. No choker--too loud. I wanted sweet, not sharp.

"Makeup time," Praveen said, leaning forward with a grin. He'd insisted on helping pick it, claiming he had an eye for it. I unzipped a small pouch and laid it out: lightweight foundation for a smooth base, a kohl pencil for winged liner, mascara to fan my lashes, and a soft pink lipstick that made my lips look fuller than they'd ever been. A shimmery taupe eyeshadow compact went in too, plus a rosy blush I'd practiced blending into my cheeks until it looked natural.

"You're gonna look like an angel," he said, watching me pack. "My cousins won't know what hit 'em."

I snorted, tossing in low black heels and sheer stockings. "They'd better not look too close. These extensions better hold up." I'd gotten them done yesterday--long, dark strands woven into my own hair, falling past my shoulders in soft waves. The stylist had spent hours at the salon, her fingers deft as she layered them in, and when I'd left, I'd caught myself staring in the mirror a little too long. They felt strange, heavy, but... nice, maybe. I shook off the thought, packing the heels.

Finally, the star: the custom breast pump. Praveen pulled it from its sleek black box, holding it up like a trophy. "This," he said, "is the game-changer." It was high-tech--two silicone cups with a quiet motor, designed to give me a full, natural chest for three days. He'd shelled out big for it, thanks to his family's deep pockets, and it promised results so real I'd almost believe it myself.

"It's wild," I said, taking it from him. The cups were cool against my fingers, the straps adjustable. "You're sure it works?"

"Positive," he said. "We'll test it in New York, but Saanvi's gonna have the best rack there."

I laughed, shoving it into the suitcase. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," he shot back, winking.

I zipped the bag shut and flopped back, my heart still racing but steadier. Tomorrow, I'd be Savan on the plane--then Saanvi in New York, no turning back.

The flight to JFK was a tense blur--stale air, my legs cramped in 13C, Praveen by the window in 13B. I wore my guy gear--jeans, hoodie, sneakers--my cap pulled low, trying to hide the extensions that brushed my neck every time I moved. They felt foreign, tickling my skin, and I kept catching myself tugging at them. Praveen scrolled his phone, elbow brushing mine, a quiet anchor. I twisted my hoodie strings, replaying the plan: land, hotel, transform. My pulse hammered, a buzz I couldn't shake.

"You're twitchy," he said, glancing over.

"Can't help it," I muttered. "What if security finds the pump? 'Sir, what's this breast thing?'"

He chuckled, low and warm. "It's medical-grade. I'll say it's for my girlfriend's recovery. They won't blink."

I raised a brow. "Your girlfriend?"

"Practice," he said, grinning. "Get used to it, Saanvi."

I smirked, his ease softening my edges just enough to keep me from bolting.

We landed, the plane jolting, and grabbed our bags--my backpack, his duffel--navigating the terminal's chaos: blaring announcements, rushing crowds, the sharp sting of jet fuel. Our hotel was Midtown sleek--glass and steel, a lobby thick with expensive cologne and the faint hum of elevator music. Praveen sauntered to the check-in desk, all charm, while I hovered behind, cap low, feeling like a fugitive in my hoodie and jeans. The extensions swung against my shoulders, a constant reminder of what was coming, and my stomach churned.

"Good afternoon," the clerk said, a polished woman with a tight smile and a name tag reading Lydia. "Reservation?"

"Under Kapoor," Praveen said, leaning on the counter, flashing that easy grin that could melt ice. "Two nights."

Lydia tapped her keyboard, her nails clicking, and glanced up. "One room, king bed, correct?"

My heart lurched. King bed? I shot Praveen a look, but he didn't flinch. "That's right," he said smoothly, like it was no big deal, while I stood there, cap shadowing my face, trying not to look like I was about to bolt.

"ID and credit card, please," she said, her tone clipped. Praveen slid them over, and she processed them with brisk efficiency, her eyes flicking to me briefly. "And your guest?"

"This is Saanvi," he said, gesturing to me without missing a beat. "My girlfriend."

I forced a smile, tugging the cap lower, the extensions brushing my jaw. "Hi," I mumbled, voice rougher than I wanted--Savan's voice, not Saanvi's. My pulse raced. What if she asks more? What if she sees through me?

Lydia didn't bat an eye, just handed Praveen the keycards. "Tenth floor, room 1014. Enjoy your stay." She turned to the next guest, dismissing us, and I exhaled, legs shaky as we headed to the elevator.

"You didn't tell me it was one bed," I hissed under my breath as the doors slid shut, the mirrored walls reflecting my tense face, the extensions framing it oddly.

"Didn't know," he said, shrugging, but there was a glint in his eye. "It's fine. We'll figure it out."

I glared, but the elevator dinged, cutting me off. We stepped into the hall--carpeted, quiet, the air cool--and found 1014. I fumbled with the keycard, the green light flashing after two tries, and pushed the door open. The room was crisp--white bedding on a massive king bed, a glass desk by the window, a huge mirror over the dresser that caught the late afternoon light. I locked the door behind us, tossing my backpack onto the floor with a thud, and ran a hand through the extensions, their weight tugging at my scalp. "Here we go," I said, voice trembling, the reality sinking in.

Praveen dropped his duffel and turned to me, eyes soft but determined. "Time to make Saanvi real. Let's do the pump first."

I nodded, peeling off my hoodie and T-shirt, the cool air hitting my bare skin. My chest was flat, all sharp lines--Savan's body, unremarkable and familiar. I stood there in my boxers, goosebumps prickling my arms, as Praveen pulled the breast pump from its sleek black box. He held it up, inspecting it like a scientist, the silicone cups glinting faintly. "Okay," he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against my shoulder. "Let's get this right."

I swallowed, my throat dry. "You've done this before, yeah?" I asked, half-joking, but my voice shook.

He smirked. "First time for everything. But I read the manual--twice. You're in good hands."

"Great," I muttered, sarcasm masking the nerves. "Don't mess me up."

He chuckled, low and easy, and knelt slightly to line up the cups. "Hold still," he said, his fingers brushing my skin as he positioned the first one over my left pec. The silicone was cold, clinging to me like a second skin, and he adjusted the strap over my shoulder, tightening it until it sat snug. "Too tight?" he asked, glancing up, his face closer than I expected.

"No," I said, though my breath hitched. "It's... weird, but fine."

"Good." He moved to the right, repeating the process--cool silicone, straps pulled taut, his knuckles grazing my ribs. My skin tingled where he touched, and I clenched my fists, trying to focus on anything but the heat creeping up my neck. This is just practical. Nothing else. He stepped back, inspecting his work, then plugged the device into a small battery pack. "Ready?"

"Yeah," I said, bracing myself. "Hit it."

He flicked the switch, and a low hum filled the room, vibrating through the cups. The suction started--gentle at first, a faint pull that made me tense, then stronger, a steady pressure building under my skin. I sucked in a breath, the sensation odd--tingling, stretching, like my chest was waking up. "Holy shit," I muttered, glancing down as my pecs began to swell, rounding out slowly, the skin tightening.

Praveen watched, eyes wide. "It's working," he said, almost to himself. "How's it feel?"

"Strange," I said, shifting my weight. "Not bad, just... different." The pressure deepened, a warm ache spreading as my chest filled--soft, fuller, curving in a way that made my heart skip. After ten minutes, the hum softened, and he switched it off, stepping back with a grin that bordered on smug.

"Jesus," he breathed, staring. "Savan--Saanvi--those are... fuck, they're perfect. Best pair I've ever seen."

I looked down, and my breath caught. My chest was transformed--full, soft curves that jiggled faintly when I shifted, the skin smooth and natural under the cups. I reached up, hesitant, cupping them through the silicone, feeling the weight, the slight bounce. "This is insane," I said, half-laughing, half-stunned. "They're so... real." A flutter hit my stomach--not just shock, but something else, a flicker of maybe I could get used to this that I pushed down fast.

"They're real enough," he said, grinning. "Let's dress you up."

I grabbed the red midi dress, laying it out on the bed. First, the black lace bra--padded, push-up--hooked behind my back with a faint snap, lifting my new assets just right. Praveen handed me the dress, and I slipped it on, the silk cool against my skin, stretching over my curves. The V-neck teased cleavage, the lace cuffs brushing my wrists, and the skirt flared above my knees, flirty and free. Sheer stockings rolled up my legs, a whisper against my skin, and I stepped into the low heels--black patent, two inches--wobbling until I found my balance. The extensions swung as I moved, heavy but silky, framing my face in a way that felt... strange but not awful.

Makeup next--I sat at the desk, the mirror reflecting someone new. Foundation smoothed my skin, kohl liner winged sharp, mascara fanned my lashes, taupe shadow smoked my lids. Blush rosied my cheeks, pink lipstick gleamed on my lips. I stood, the heart necklace settling against my collarbone, star earrings swaying, bangles clinking. I ran my fingers through the extensions, marveling at how they flowed--natural, seamless.

I turned to the mirror and froze. Saanvi--elegant, feminine, me. My heart raced, thrill tangling with fear, a flicker of something else I couldn't name. "I'm her," I whispered, voice catching.

Praveen stepped behind me, hands on my shoulders. "You're gorgeous," he said, voice low, warm. "They're gonna lose it."

I met his eyes in the glass, a spark flaring--pride? Something more? "Hope so," I said, forcing a laugh to shake it off. We trashed my guy clothes--Savan gone--and headed to the villa.

The villa glowed under the late sun--white stone, glass windows, gardens bursting with tulips and roses. My heels clicked on the gravel as Praveen guided me inside, hand light on my lower back. The foyer was grand--marble floors, chandeliers dripping crystals, voices and laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. My stomach flipped. What if they see through me? What if I trip? Every eye felt like a laser, and I gripped Praveen's arm tighter, the extensions brushing my neck, a constant reminder of the mask I wore.

"Relax," he whispered, squeezing my hand. "You're Saanvi. Be her."

Before I could reply, a woman approached--petite, silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose bun, a cream sweater dress soft and modern. Her smile was wide, unguarded--not the stern mom I'd braced for. "Praveen!" she cried, pulling him into a hug. Then her warm brown eyes hit me, softening. "And you're Saanvi. You're even prettier than he said."

I blinked, thrown by her kindness. "Thank you," I said, pitching my voice high and soft--Saanvi's voice. "So nice to meet you, Auntie."

She waved it off, laughing--a bright, musical sound. "Call me Meera--no formalities. Come, sit." She led me to a plush sofa, cushions sinking under us, and patted the spot beside her. Praveen shot me a nod and wandered off, leaving me with her.

Meera leaned in, eyes twinkling. "So, how'd my boy snag you?"

I swallowed, sticking to the script, my fingers brushing the extensions nervously. "It was clumsy," I said, tucking a strand behind my ear, the star earrings brushing my jaw. "I spilled coffee all over him at a café--total mess. I was mortified, but he laughed, helped me clean up. He was so sweet, I couldn't help falling for him."

She clapped, delighted. "That's Praveen--always chill. And you--what do you do?"

"Graphic designer," I said, the lie smooth. "I love making things pretty--logos, ads, whatever needs a spark."

Her face lit up. "An artist! I used to paint--landscapes, oceans, hills. Do you paint?"

"Not much," I said, ad-libbing. "I sketch--flowers, patterns. It's my unwind time."

"We'll sketch together," she said, beaming. "I'd love that. You've got a gentle vibe, Saanvi--I see why he's hooked."

My cheeks warmed, bangles jingling as I ducked my head. "Thanks, Meera. That's sweet." The softness of her words, the way she looked at me--it felt good, almost too good, and a tiny voice whispered maybe I could get used to this kind of warmth.

She patted my hand. "Hope you're keeping my boy happy. He needs someone special, and I think you're it."

Her words jolted me. Keeping him happy? I glanced at Praveen across the room, laughing with a cousin, and my chest fluttered--nerves, sure, but something else too, something I shoved down fast. "I try," I said, shy. "He makes it easy."

Inside, I was spinning. No grilling--just welcome. It was too easy, and that scared me more than any test. What if I get too comfortable and slip?

The night stretched on, a whirlwind of faces. Praveen's cousin Priya bounced over, her green mini dress flashing like a lime. "Saanvi, you're stunning!" she squealed, hugging me--jasmine perfume flooding my nose. "How do you handle Praveen's lame jokes?"

I laughed, Saanvi's charm kicking in. "Selective hearing," I said, tapping my temple. "I filter the duds."

She giggled, curls bouncing. "Genius! You're one of us."

Then Praveen's dad, Vijay--broad, mustached, whiskey in hand. "Saanvi," he rumbled, eyeing me over his glass. "You cook?"

My pulse spiked. Don't screw up. "A bit," I said, forcing a smile. "But Praveen's the pro--he spoils me."

Vijay grunted, lips twitching. "Good. Keep him busy."

I nodded, heart racing, as he ambled off. Every chat was a tightrope--smile, laugh, don't falter. Priya's brother Arjun asked about work; an aunt probed wedding plans I dodged with, "We're just dreaming." Inside, I was a mess. They're buying it. They think I'm her. But what if I stutter? What if the extensions snag? The dress felt tight, the skirt flimsy--one wrong move could unravel me. Yet every smile, every "you're so sweet" from them, made my stomach do a weird flip--not just fear, but something softer I didn't want to name.

By the tenth intro, my head spun--laughter, clinking glasses, garlic wafting from the kitchen. I caught Praveen's eye across the crowd, tilting my head toward the garden doors. Please. He nodded, excusing himself from an uncle, and met me outside under the string lights, the air cool and sharp with spring.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, stepping close--sandalwood cologne hitting me.

I leaned on the railing, metal cold through my dress. "It's a lot," I said, exhaling, the extensions brushing my shoulders. "They're nice, but I'm terrified I'll blow it. One slip, and--"

"You won't," he cut in, arm brushing mine. "You're amazing, Saanvi. They love you--Mom especially. Thank you for this. It's huge."

I looked up, his face soft in the dim glow, and warmth spread--gratitude, maybe more. "You owe me," I teased, nudging him. Then, for the act, I rested my head on his shoulder, the extensions spilling over his jacket. It felt... good, too good, and a flicker of maybe I could get used to this darted through me before I squashed it.

Meera watched from the doorway, smiling. My pulse jumped. I met Praveen's eyes, flirty. "Your mom's watching," I murmured, lashes fluttering. "Be careful."

He grinned, loud. "Always, babe." Then, soft: "Good catch."

I smirked, but my gut twisted--nerves, yes, but a thread of something else weaving in, tugging at me.

Meera led us to our room later--cozy, exposed beams, and one glaring problem: a single queen bed, white sheets crisp, pillows piled high like a fluffy fortress. "Here you are," she said, smiling warmly. "Settle in, you two."

I stepped in, heels sinking into the thick rug, and froze, the door clicking shut behind her. "Praveen," I hissed, turning to him, the navy dress swishing around my thighs. "One bed? You didn't say anything about this."

He glanced at it, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. "I didn't know, okay? I booked through my cousin, and he must've assumed... you know, couple stuff. It's fine--we'll figure it out."

I crossed my arms, the dress stretching over my chest, the bra beneath pressing against my new curves. "I'm not thrilled about this," I said, voice tight. "This wasn't part of the deal."

"I get it," he said, stepping closer, hands raised like he was calming a spooked animal. "Look, I'll sleep on the floor, alright? There's that rug--it's thick enough. You take the bed."

I eyed the rug--plush, sure, but hardly a mattress--then the bed, its white expanse mocking me. My shoulders slumped. "No," I muttered, exhaling hard. "We're too deep in this now. It'd look weird if someone saw you on the floor. Just... stay on your side, okay?"

He grinned, a flash of relief in his eyes. "Scout's honor. I'll build a pillow wall if you want."

I snorted, despite myself. "You'd better. I'm not cuddling you in my sleep."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he teased, but his tone was light, playful, and it eased the knot in my chest just a little. "Though you'd be missing out--I'm a great little spoon."

"Shut up," I said, rolling my eyes, but a laugh slipped out, betraying me. I kicked off my heels, the cool floor a shock against my stockinged feet, and sat on the bed's edge, testing it. The mattress dipped under me, soft but firm, and the sheets smelled faintly of lavender. Maybe I could get used to this, a tiny voice whispered--the comfort, the closeness--but I shoved it down fast. This was just necessity, nothing more.

Praveen tossed his blazer over a chair and flopped onto his side, propping himself on an elbow. "See? Plenty of room. We're good."

"Yeah, well, don't hog the blankets," I said, lying back, the extensions fanning out on the pillow. The ceiling stared back, wood beams crisscrossing, and my heart thudded--not just from the day, but from him, a foot away, the heat of him seeping through the space. It's fine. It's just one night. But the flutter in my stomach didn't agree.

We changed--I slipped into the navy cocktail dress, strapless, shimmering, the skirt twirling as I moved. The bodice hugged my curves, the bra lifting everything just right. I redid my makeup--more liner, shimmer on my lids--running my fingers through the extensions, marveling at how they flowed. Praveen swapped into a black blazer and jeans, sharp and effortless. Downstairs, the dining room buzzed--tables with steak, mashed potatoes, wine flowing. I sipped red, loosening up, laughing at Vijay's gruff stories, dodging baby questions with coy smiles. The wine warmed me, the bangles clinking with every gesture, and I caught myself enjoying it--the chatter, the glances, the way the dress moved. A big maybe lingered--maybe this wasn't so bad.

Tipsy, Praveen pulled me aside. "They're obsessed," he said, eyes bright. "Cousins, aunts--Mom and Dad said marry you."

I blinked, wine fuzzing my head. "For real?"

"Dead real," he said, grinning. "You're in."

I laughed, warmth blooming--pride, sure, but a flicker of something deeper. Was it the act? Or did I like being his Saanvi? The lines blurred, and I didn't trust myself to untangle it.

More drinks--wine for me, whiskey for him--and we stumbled upstairs, my heels catching on the rug. I tripped, a gasp tearing free, but Praveen caught me, hands clamping my waist, pulling me upright. Our faces were inches apart, his breath hot with liquor, fingers digging into the navy dress's fabric. My pulse roared, heat flooding me as his eyes locked on mine--dark, molten, peeling me bare. The extensions brushed my cheeks, a soft curtain, and my stomach flipped--not just fear, but a rush I couldn't name.

"You okay?" he rasped, voice rough, grip tightening, thumbs brushing my hips through the dress.

I nodded, but my mind was a storm. What is this? The wine? Him? My body betrayed me--thighs clenching, heat pooling low--as his hands slid up, grazing the dress's edge, the lace bra beneath. I grabbed his shoulders, nails biting into his blazer, and yanked him closer, our lips crashing together--raw, messy, desperate. He tasted like whiskey and heat, his tongue plunging deep, tangling with mine in a hungry dance. I moaned into his mouth, a needy, unfamiliar sound that shocked me, my fingers knotting in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss against my lips.

His hands roamed--one sliding down to cup my ass through the skirt, fingers digging in, squeezing the curve until I gasped, my hips jerking forward. The other hand climbed my back, pressing my chest--those soft, full curves--against his, the bra's lace rasping against his blazer. The dress bunched under his grip, the fabric whispering as he pulled me tighter, grinding into me--hard, insistent, a bulge I couldn't ignore. I arched, heat licking up my spine, my lipstick smearing across his jaw as I bit his lip, drawing a low, guttural growl that vibrated through me, setting my nerves ablaze.

This isn't me--Savan doesn't do this. Or does he? My thoughts spun, wild and hazy, as his mouth left mine, trailing hot, wet kisses down my neck. His teeth grazed the heart necklace, nipping the skin beneath, sucking a mark that pulsed with every heartbeat. I shivered, a whimper slipping out, my hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard planes under his shirt, the heat radiating off him. He groaned, lips brushing my collarbone, and his hand on my ass tightened, lifting me slightly, pinning me against him. The skirt rode up, exposing more thigh, and I pressed myself closer, legs trembling, the friction of his jeans against my stockings sparking something raw and electric.

I shoved him back against the wall, the bangles clashing loud in the quiet room, my body flush with his. My hands roamed--up his neck, into his hair again, pulling as I kissed him harder, deeper, tongue sweeping his mouth like I couldn't get enough. His free hand slipped under the dress's hem, tracing the bra's edge, fingers brushing the curve he'd crafted, teasing the soft swell until I whined, a sound so desperate it startled me. What am I doing? Is this the wine--or me? My chest heaved, the extensions falling over my shoulders, framing us as his hips rocked into mine, slow and deliberate, every move stoking the fire coiling low in me.

His lips found mine again, softer this time, a slow burn--nipping my bottom lip, sucking it gently before diving back in, tongue stroking mine with a tenderness that clashed with the heat of his hands. One still kneaded my ass, possessive, while the other cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek, smearing the blush I'd so carefully applied. I melted into it, legs weak, clinging to him as the room spun--wine, him, the feel of the dress clinging to my skin, the weight of the extensions swaying with every tilt of my head. Maybe I could get used to this, a voice whispered, faint but insistent, and I shoved it down, drowning it in the taste of him.

He pulled back, just an inch, breath ragged, eyes locked on mine--dark, searching, a question there I couldn't answer. His hand slid from my face to my waist again, both now gripping me, holding me steady as my knees threatened to buckle. My lipstick stained his mouth, his jaw, a mark of whatever this was, and my chest tightened--not just from the kiss, but from the tangle inside me. Is this real? Do I want this? Will we tumble onto that bed, or freeze into awkward silence? The tension hung thick, my body screaming yes--thighs pressed tight, heat pulsing--while my mind reeled, a mess of shock, need, and a big maybe about what came next. I didn't know, and as his fingers flexed against me, the air crackling, I wasn't sure I cared.