Fake Dating My Ex’s Sister — Bonus Chapter

An exclusive scene by Aurora North

🔥 The Alley — A bonus epilogue too hot for Amazon 🔥

This scene takes place six months after the events of the novel.

Six months after Dani moved into the apartment with the ugly espresso machine and the navy blue couch and the bookshelves they’d filled together, Liza took her back to the alley.

Not intentionally. They’d gone to Aster — the restaurant where it all started, the corner booth, the Chablis — because Dani had insisted on an anniversary dinner and Liza had pointed out that they didn’t have a firm anniversary date and Dani had said “The alley. Our anniversary is the alley,” and Liza had said “We can’t celebrate the anniversary of an alley,” and Dani had said “Watch me.”

So here they were. Aster. Corner booth. Six months of domesticity and arguments about coffee methods and Sunday crosswords and the particular, bone-deep satisfaction of a life built with someone you’d chosen on purpose.

Dani was wearing the burgundy dress. The same one from their first date — the one she’d called a weapon. She’d kept it in the back of the closet like a relic, and tonight she’d pulled it out and put it on and watched Liza’s face in the bedroom mirror and known, from the way Liza’s hands stilled on her own buttons, that the dress still worked.

Liza was in the blazer. The blazer. Black, fitted, nothing underneath.

Dani had seen it from across the bedroom and said, “You’re going to kill me.”

“That’s the plan.”

They’d barely made it out the door.

Now, at the restaurant, they were sitting in the same booth, drinking the same wine, and Dani’s hand was on Liza’s thigh under the table the way Liza’s hand had been on hers six months ago. Full circle.

“Six months,” Dani said.

“Six months of you destroying my French press.”

“Six months of you steaming sheets I’m going to ruin.”

“I’ve stopped steaming them.”

“Liar. I found the steamer in the bathroom closet yesterday.”

“Let’s go,” Dani said.

“We haven’t ordered dessert.”

“I don’t want dessert.”

“What do you want?”

“The alley.”

The alley was the same. Brick walls, fire escape, poor lighting, the dumpster that Liza had once described as “the least romantic element of the least romantic venue.” They turned the corner and the narrow passage swallowed the street noise, and it was just them and the brick and the memory of the first time Dani had pushed Liza against this wall.

“Right here,” Dani said. “You pinned my wrists right here.”

“I remember.”

“You put your thigh between my legs and I almost came standing up.”

“I remember that too.”

“And then you stopped. You stopped and said I was worth a bed.”

“You were. You still are.”

“I know. But tonight—” Dani took a step backward. Her shoulders met the brick wall. “Tonight I don’t want a bed. I want to finish what we started in this alley.”

Liza closed the distance in one stride.

She pinned Dani’s wrists above her head. One hand, firm, exactly like the first time. Her other hand went to Dani’s jaw, and she kissed her deep and slow and filthy, her tongue sliding against Dani’s, her body pressing Dani flat against the wall.

The brick was cold through the dress. Liza was hot against her front. The contrast was exactly what Dani remembered and entirely different, because six months ago she’d been kissing a stranger and now she was kissing the person who knew her coffee order and her nightmares and the sound she made right before she came.

“Don’t stop this time,” Dani whispered against her mouth.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Liza’s thigh slid between Dani’s legs. The dress rode up — silk bunching around her hips — and Dani gasped as the pressure hit exactly where she needed it. She ground down against Liza’s thigh, and the friction through the thin lace of her underwear was electric.

“You wore the lace,” Liza said, her hand sliding up Dani’s thigh.

“I planned ahead.”

“So did I.” Liza’s hand moved higher. Pushed the lace aside. Her fingers found Dani — wet, swollen, aching — and both of them inhaled at the contact.

“You’re soaked.” Liza’s mouth was at Dani’s ear. “We haven’t even—”

“Six months of foreplay. The entire dinner was foreplay. The blazer is foreplay. You breathing near me is foreplay. Please shut up and fuck me.”

Liza laughed — low, dark — and pushed two fingers inside her.

Dani bit down on her own lip to keep from screaming. The stretch, the fullness, Liza’s fingers curling inside her while her palm ground against her clit — all of it exactly right, exactly precise, the benefit of six months of learning each other’s bodies distilled into a single, devastating movement.

Liza fucked her against the wall. Her fingers drove deep, her thigh providing leverage, her mouth on Dani’s neck biting and kissing and whispering things that were obscene and tender in equal measure.

“You feel incredible. You always feel incredible. Six months and I still lose my mind when I’m inside you.”

“Harder — Liza — right there—”

“Here?” A curl of her fingers, a press forward, hitting the spot that made Dani’s vision white out.

“Yes — fuck — yes, right there, don’t stop—”

“Look at me.”

Dani opened her eyes. Liza’s face was close — green eyes dark in the alley light, lips parted, completely focused. The composure was gone. This was just Liza. Wanting her. Having her. Choosing her in a dirty alley because some things started in alleys and deserved to come full circle.

“I love you,” Liza said, her fingers driving deep. “I loved you in this alley six months ago and I love you now and I’m going to love you in every alley and every bed and every kitchen counter for the rest of my life.”

Dani came. Hard, clenching, her head slamming back against the brick, her scream muffled by Liza’s mouth sealing over hers. She shook through it — wave after wave — and when it released she sagged against the wall, breathing hard, eyes wet, grinning.

“My turn,” she gasped.

She spun Liza around. Pressed her against the brick. Liza made a sound — surprise, arousal — and Dani kissed the back of her neck while her hands worked at the blazer.

She didn’t take it off. She opened it from behind, slid her hands inside, palmed Liza’s bare breasts — nothing underneath, just skin, warm and soft, nipples hard against Dani’s palms — and Liza arched back against her and moaned.

Dani’s right hand slid down. Under the waistband of Liza’s pants and into her underwear. The heat hit her fingers first, then the wetness, and Dani pressed her face between Liza’s shoulder blades and breathed because the evidence of Liza’s want was always the thing that undid her most.

She slid two fingers inside her from behind. The angle was tight — standing, fully clothed, in a public alley — and Liza braced her forearms against the brick and pushed back against Dani’s hand with a sound that echoed off the walls.

Dani fucked her from behind with one hand and worked her clit with the other, her body pressed against Liza’s back, her mouth at Liza’s ear, talking her through it.

“You’re so tight. You feel so good around my fingers. I think about this all day — being inside you, feeling you clench, hearing the sounds you make when you stop being careful.”

Liza was not being careful. She was grinding back against Dani’s fingers with a rhythm that was desperate and uncontrolled, her forehead against the brick, her moans barely muffled.

“Come for me,” Dani whispered. “In this alley. Where it started. Come for me.”

Liza came with a cry that bounced off the brick walls. Her body clenched around Dani’s fingers — hard, rhythmic, pulsing — and Dani held her through it, one arm around her waist, her mouth pressed to the back of Liza’s neck, whispering her name like a prayer.

They stood in the alley. Breathing. Both of them shaking.

“We just had sex in the alley,” Dani said.

“We did.”

“The alley we specifically did not have sex in six months ago because you said I was worth a bed.”

“You are worth a bed. You’re also worth an alley, apparently.”

Dani laughed. Kissed her — slow, thorough, tasting champagne and brick dust and the future.

“Happy anniversary,” Dani said.

“Happy anniversary. Let’s go home.”

“To the bed I’m worth?”

“To the bed you’re worth.”

They walked out of the alley, hand in hand, into the amber-blue city light. Behind them, the brick wall held no evidence of what had just happened. Ahead of them: home. The ugly espresso machine. The navy couch. The sheets that Liza would steam and Dani would ruin. The life they’d built on a foundation that started as a lie and became, through stubbornness and sex and the daily, unglamorous work of showing up, the truest thing either of them had ever known.

Dani squeezed Liza’s hand.

Liza squeezed back.

Real.

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