Pretend With Me - Chapter 6

I don’t even know how it happened, but I finally asked Lila out.
The words just spilled out of my mouth during rehearsal, and for once I didn’t stutter or mess it up. She smiled, said yes, and suddenly the world felt brighter. My heart was pounding all day after that, like I was walking on air.

The thing is—I know damn well I wouldn’t have had the guts if it wasn’t for Elliot.

That’s why, when I got home, the first thing I did was text him. “Come over. We need to celebrate.”

Now we’re here, in my room. I’m pacing, rambling about how unreal it feels, and Elliot’s just lounging on my bed, smirking like he knows something I don’t.

“Man,” I tell him, pulling him into a tight hug, “you’re the best. Seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He hugs back, firm and warm, then leans just a little too close. “So,” he teases, that mischievous grin on his face, “you know what you’re gonna do when you finally take her to this bed?”

I freeze. My stomach knots. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Elliot notices. His smirk grows. “Oh… you really don’t know.”

I shake my head, embarrassed. “I’ve never… done it before. I have no idea.”

For once, it’s me asking. “Help me,” I whisper, avoiding his eyes. “Show me what to do.”

Elliot doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out the wig, placing it over his messy hair. “Ready?” His voice pitches higher, teasing, mocking—but it also turns me on immediately.

This time, we don’t need any stupid script. There’s already too much tension.
I grab his face and kiss him. Hard. The most intense kiss we’ve ever shared. His lips are soft but demanding, his tongue pushing against mine like he’s been waiting for me to finally give in.

We’re tearing at each other’s clothes in seconds. My shirt flies off. His shorts drop to the floor. The room fills with the sound of heavy breathing and muffled moans between desperate kisses.

I push him back onto my bed, the wig framing his face, and for a split second he really does look like Lila. “How are you going to fuck me tonight, Adrián?” he says in that high-pitched tone that makes my cock throb.

I’m already stroking myself, leaking precum onto my fist. I can’t hold back anymore.

“Open your legs,” I command, my voice low, trembling with need.

He spreads himself for me, wiggling his hips playfully. My hands grip his thighs as I line myself up. Slowly, carefully, I push inside. His breath catches, his eyes squeeze shut, and I feel myself sliding into warmth that makes my head spin.

“Fuuuck,” I groan, inch by inch.

He gasps, high and needy. “God, Adrián…”

I’m kneeling between his legs, hips rolling forward, finding a rhythm. My dick sinks in deeper each time, and Elliot clutches the sheets, moaning louder, begging without words.

The bed creaks. My skin slaps against his. His moans mix with mine until it feels like the whole room is vibrating with us.

I grab his waist and thrust harder. Faster. My body is drenched in sweat, my chest brushing against his as I lean forward to kiss him. Our mouths crash, messy and wet, his moans muffled against my lips.

Every move makes me feel closer to something I’ve never felt before—like I’m on the edge of breaking, drowning, exploding all at once.

Finally, my thrusts grow erratic, sloppy, desperate. His back arches. We both cry out as release hits us like a wave. My cock pulses inside him, filling him as his own cum splatters across his stomach.

For a moment, there’s nothing but panting silence.

Then Elliot looks at me, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his forehead under the wig. “So,” he breathes, “do you think you’re ready now?”

I collapse beside him, still shaking, my heart racing. “No,” I whisper, pulling myself up to hover over him. I press a slow, deliberate kiss against his lips. When I pull back, I look him in the eye.

“Now I think I’m ready.”