Ruby Lang’s new release, Play House releases tomorrow, August 12. Here’s a sexcerpt to hold you over until then.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. I know my own mind.”
He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know my own half the time.”
That caught her up short. “But do you want this, too?”
“Yes.”
It was the truth. She could tell by his hands, which moved up and down her back of their own accord, and then stopped abruptly every time he had a doubt, a shadow, a memory. She wanted to tell him how much she liked him, how considerate he was, how fun he was, how much she could already trust him—but she’d always had trouble praising people, especially when she cared. And all of those words seemed so small and cold compared to the warmth behind what she felt. How could she explain to him how important and rare it was to know someone who helped her out of bathtubs, who walked through her neighborhood, her apartment, her everything, and listened to her?
Not that she was getting emotional about this. So instead, she drew him down and tried to kiss his doubt away.
She moved her lips along his jaw and licked the sharp turn of his cheekbone. She kissed up to his eyes, which were closed, fluttering under his lids. She ached deep down, she was thick with aching, and the sound of it came out in a long moan.
His hands became surer, and then more urgent. In one swipe, he pulled up the back of her shirt, his fingers skimming across the valley of her spine, and up around the front to her breast. They found each other’s lips now, their tongues, the heat of their mouths and the desperate clash of their teeth.
She stumbled backward out of the doorway, and pulled him with her, bumping him into the doorframe once or twice. Not that he seemed to mind.
In a moment, they were both kneeling on the floor by her mattress. “Kiss me, please keep kissing me,” she said, even as she bent her own head out of the way to fumble with the buttons of his shirt.
Her own tee was off and on the ground somewhere. And he was slowly, softly biting her earlobe and breathing into her neck, raking down the straps of her bra. “Like this,” he said, nudging her head up to him again and taking her lips once more.
His kiss was lush and soft, and then hard when her tongue met his. He’d succeeded in pulling her bra down and the cotton of his shirt, which she’d been less successful at removing, rubbed against the tips of her breasts.
She could feel herself sinking farther down. But he was trying to pull her melting, uncooperative body onto the mattress. “Help me here,” he murmured.
She forced her legs, which didn’t want to do much besides open, to lift her. She lay down on the very edge, with Oliver following, with him on top of her. They were both still in their jeans, those stupid, too-hot jeans they both wore because they’d been trying to prove something instead of just getting straight into bed.
He reared up, panting, his hair wild, his glasses smudged, and he looked at her for a moment. Then his head was down again, kissing her, moving down to her breasts, lipping her nipples, and then he slid himself lower, between her legs.
His fingers traced the seam of her pants.
She shifted uncomfortably.
“Are you all right? Are you okay with this?”
“I do want it. But it’s hot out, and I’m sweaty. I’m not usually shy about stuff like this.” She almost laughed. Usually? What did that mean? She’d been in another relationship for the last ten years. She couldn’t say that finding Oliver Huang—or anyone else—on her mattress was commonplace.
He pressed her with his thumb, and she whimpered at that. Oh, she wanted him to do it, she wanted him to lick her right there. He raised himself again and said, “I like your soft skin. I like your heat. I like all the scents of you. I would like to see more.”
Romance blossoms between two city planners posing as newlyweds in this first in a bright new series by acclaimed author Ruby Lang
The last thing Oliver Huang expects to see on the historic Mount Morris home tour is longtime acquaintance Fay Liu bustling up and kissing him hello. He’s happy to playact being a couple to save her from a pushy admirer. Fay’s beautiful, successful and smart, and if he’s being honest, Oliver has always had a bit of a thing for her.
Maybe more than a bit.
Geeking out over architectural details is Oliver and Fay’s shared love language, and soon they’re touring pricey real estate across Upper Manhattan as the terribly faux but terribly charming couple Darling and Olly.
For the first time since being laid off from the job he loved, Oliver has something to look forward to. And for the first time since her divorce, Fay’s having fun.
Somewhere between the light-filled living rooms and spacious closets they’ve explored, this faux relationship just may have sparked some very real feelings. For Oliver and Fay, home truly is where their hearts are.
Buy Playing House by Ruby LangRuby Lang is the author of the acclaimed Practice Perfect series. She is pint-sized, prim, and bespectacled. Her alter ego, Mindy Hung, wrote about romance novels (among other things) for The Toast. Her work has also appeared in The New York Times, The Walrus, Bitch, and other fine venues. She enjoys running (slowly), reading (quickly), and ice cream (at any speed). She lives in New York with a small child and a medium-sized husband.
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