Let's Pretend

They're back on the couch, wine glasses safely out of reach, breaths still coming in pants, hearts still beating too fast.

Ceylin wants him. More than she can remember wanting any man before. But when she leans in for another kiss and their lips meet, some of the initial spark and urge seems to have gone. She doesn't know where to put her hands, doesn't know if she should moan or keep silent when his tongue quickly licks into her mouth. It's like the magic of the moment was broken, even though this odd yearning for a man she barely knows has only intensified.

Ilgaz seems to sense that her heart, body and brain are warring with each other since their making-out session was interrupted and reality is threatening to sink in. How is he always so damn observant?

"Let's play a game, avukat hanım," he suggests, his big hand in her hair tugging once so she gasps. Making it crystal clear that he's not proposing to while away the time with a game of cards.

"Ohooo, sayın savcım, how naughty of you. Are you secretly a kinky deviant? I should've known, it's always the quiet ones..." she teases.

He blushes, looking adorable and ten years younger than his cool and serious prosecutor mask often makes him seem. But there's also a tiny smirk curling those luscious lips, and a gleam in his eyes with their pupils blown wide.

"Still waters run deep," he murmurs, and her lips quirk in an answering grin.

"So it seems... What kind of game?"

She finds this hotter than she's supposed to. Finds everything about him hotter than should be allowed and than is good for her.

"When you talked about a future daughter, you looked happier and more at peace with yourself and life than I've ever seen you."

See, too damn observant. Ceylin wants to squirm and avert her eyes, but his hand on the nape of her neck, fingers still buried in her hair, keeps her firmly in place.

"Let's play pretend." His voice sinks into a lower, deeper register, making her bare toes curl.

"Let's pretend we've been married for...seven years. We bought a new house. You opened your own law firm. I got promoted to başsavcı. We made it through some ups and downs, and we're crazy in love with each other."

For a moment, she has an absolutely terrifying thought, an epiphany of sorts that makes her shudder once: She could absolutely see herself fall crazy in love with this man...

His words interrupt her when he leans into her personal space and speaks right against her lips. "We have a five-year-old daughter named Mercan. She looks like a mini carbon copy of me but has your spunk and sass. Our Merco is spending the night with her cousin at her teyze's place. Let's pretend we're sneaking away for some alone time, no murder case, no family drama. Just us. Making love, not simply scratching the itch of intense physical attraction."

This time, Ceylin shivers for an entirely different reason. She tries to play it light, to keep the upper hand, to keep things playful. "Marriage kink, huh? Who'd have thought?"

He chuckles but the stare he gives her when he leans back a little is hot enough to set this house on fire. The need that was a flame inside her is turning into a raging thing that demands release only he can give her.

"What will it be?" he asks, scraping his teeth over her jawline instead of kissing her invitingly parted lips. "Do you want me to fuck you, avukat hanım? Or shall we pretend and make love?"

Hearing the always seemingly so rigid and correct savcı say "fuck" all but makes her panties go poof. Combined with the meaning behind his invitation, his intoxicating scent, and his other hand steadily climbing from her knee up to her inner thigh, it's absolutely lethal.

"Let's pretend," she whispers, and a second later his mouth is on hers again.

This time, the kiss is all-consuming, life-altering. Before she knows it, she's straddling his lap and his hands are everywhere. And when he stands with her in his strong hold, her arms and legs wrapped around his oh-so-tall body, and carries her into the bedroom, she knows they'll share more than passion.

Something has clicked into place, like a bond waiting to happen, like a fated connection always meant to be.

It's frighteningly easy to slide into this fantasy and redefine herself, rediscover herself in it. Ilgaz knows exactly how to touch her, where to kiss her to make her lose her mind. As if in some parallel universe they'd indeed been lovers for years. Happily married.

Ceylin might've thought of a daughter, but she's never thought of marriage. All her life, she's been told how difficult she is. She's felt how little people are prepared to care, has learned what role she is expected to play. A good man who would want to be with her for life seems out of reach for someone like her, not even something she's allowed herself to dream of.

In the middle of Ilgaz removing her clothes and kissing every inch of her exposed skin as if he was brought into this world to worship her, a moment of clarity reminds her of his earlier words. How he'd handle her, how he's prepared to take her on, challenges and faults and all.

And for a few hours, Ceylin wants it to be real. She wants to be his, wants him to be hers. So when his lips trail a searing path down her fluttering stomach and in between her legs, it feels only right to let him kiss her so intimately - because after all, they're pretend-married.

With a strangled sound that might have been a sob or might have been his name, she surrenders and lets the dream scenario become a tempting reality.