“Stop it,” she repeats the same words she said earlier, just before she let me make her come. Like then, she does not mean it. I would stop if she did. As my hand slips up her thigh, pushing aside the slit in her sexy dress, I can feel her body respond. Her breath catches as she stares up at me, her body trembling.
“Do you want me to stop, bunny? I don’t think so,” I whisper against her cheek as I press my lips there, breathing in her sweet scent. My hand slips up to her hip and I pull at her panties, snapping them to let them fall away.
“I don’t.... Idon’t want you to. But I... oh!” she cries out as I yank at her thigh, dragging it over my hip as I slam her back against the window. My other hand slides up into her long, silky hair and I yank her head back.
“You know how badly I want you. Have wanted you since the day you came crashing down that hill. Let me have you, bunny. Let me take care of you, Brielle. Because I want to. I don’t want anyone else to take care of you,” I whisper the words against her lips as rage fills me at the very idea of someone else getting the privilege. I won’t stand for it. I want to be the one to spoil her, to be there for her, the one she can trust and turn to.
Twisting, I notch my cock between her thighs and rock my hips. Her pussy is wet, soaking through my zipper. I growl and lift her against me, letting her rub her needy sex against my hard cock. I press my face against her neck, struggling to maintain control. I want to lose it, I want to rip her dress off and fuck her right here against this window, but I need her to ask for her. I need her to beg me for it, so I know she is in the same place I am.
Desperate and insatiable for one thing—one another.
“Tell your father he doesn’t need to find you a fiancé. Be my plus one at all the holiday shindigs all theGreta’sof Driftwood expect me at. We can help one another out, baby,” I husk, dragging my lips up her throat slowly.
Brielle moans as she rocks against me, her tits crushed to my chest, her fingers tugging at my hair. When she pulls hard, I tilt my head back and meet her halfway for the kiss she seeks. Her tongue pushes into my mouth and I groan, my hands sliding beneath her ass to help her rock faster.
“Say yes, bunny,” I grunt against her mouth, slipping my fingers between her thighs. Her slit is soaked, dripping against me as she whimpers, throwing her head back. “Be my date for the holidays. We can convince them all that we are crazy about each other,” I smile against her mouth as I lick the sexy shape of her lips. It won’t be hard for me to convince someone of how crazy I am about her.
“What if we can’t fake it?” Brielle’s voice is shaking, her hips twisting faster as she chases her orgasm.
“Oh bunny,” I grunt, slamming my hips up so my stiff dick hits her swollen clit. “Do we need to fake it?”
Our eyes lock as she comes, shouting my name as I hold her close, watching the beauty of her climax wash over her. I will let her think this is all a sham, a pretense to protect us both this holiday season. As she curls against me and kisses me deep and hard, I know the answer she never gives me.
No, we won’t have to fake it at all.
Chapter Six
Brielle
Boring has a color to it.
It is shiny and glittering but cold. It glistens in the light but in the darkness, it is empty. Those who have never seen a façade of happiness worn by a mask at a party might miss it. They might beintriguedby the glitz and glossiness but beneath that shine, there is nothing alluring at all.
Circling a glittering holiday event with a flute of expensive champagne, I bite back a smirk. Across the room, Brett is charming the host, none other than Grouchy Greta. When he showed up with me on his arm, it was obvious she was bothered. It should not have shocked her—we have been to three other of these sort of events since the one he hosted.
Being his plus one to these holiday events has been the best time of my life. Each event serves exactly two purposes for him: first, to donate more than all the rich folks who used to look down their noses at him, no matter the charity. Second, to make the rounds with me on his arm as his fiancé.
We have been to four holiday parties since his, and each one is more fun. Together we make the rounds, donate money or pricey items to the charities they claim to be concerned about, and piss off the stuffed shirts. We dance, drink, and have a damn good time together, all while we put on a show. Pretending we are madly in love and rushing to tie the knot.
“I will make the entire world believe you said yes to me, bunny,” he swore that first night he took me home.
He had just given me a second orgasm, one of the most intense and intimate of my life, after taking me to his place. He heard all my father’s demands and knew how lost I was after I was cut off. I do not care about the money all that much, really. To have my own father tell me nothing I have done was worthy of anything, that is what hurt.
Maybe I don’t sit behind a desk creating software or designing tech. I always believed I was doing something more important. Leaving behind a legacy of doing for others, giving back, and seeking some sustainability.
“What if he does not believe it, Brett? What if my father tries to make me leave Driftwood?” my panic was obvious as we sat by his fireplace that night, talking about this plan of his—one I was way too agreeable with.
Fake being his fiancé for a few months? I can do that.
“Oh, bunny, he will have no doubt that we’re going to get married. And I won’t ever let him or anyone else make you do anything. Do you trust me?”
There was no hesitation as he asked that, gazing down at me with honesty in his beautiful golden eyes. “Yes, Brett, I trust you.”
Tonight, he said to enjoy the pricey champagne and hors d'oeuvres as he makes Greta regret being a bitch before. His way of making her pay is to brag about our engagement and how extravagant our wedding will be. I laugh as I hear him telling her about a winter wedding with a fairytale carriage and diamond glass slippers.
When he first he brought up our nuptials it was a grand tale about a destination wedding in Ireland. Then he said we would be going to a secluded island with just the most important people in our lives. This story he is telling now, this is my favorite so far. I laugh when Greta shoots a glare my way as he mentions dress fittings in Paris.
“Sweetheart, stop boring these people,” I tease as I slide up to his side, catching my breath when he turns his attention on me, pulling me close.