Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection

by Wylder, Penny

  She knows we want to fool my father into thinking I’m married, so I can be promoted to CEO. She doesn’t know that the whole plan was for my father to hate her on sight, for him to disapprove so strongly that he demands I divorce her, and stops asking me to wed before I take over the company.

  We chose her because she seemed like the opposite of any girl I’d ever be caught dead dating. Because we wanted her to cause the worst possible reaction among my family, because we expected everyone to whisper about her the exact same way that they’re all whispering now, the gossip spreading like slow wildfire.

  I couldn’t bear that. Whatever happens, however all this plays out, she can’t know how it began. Because it’s all changed now. I see her so differently. I see this whole plan differently.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Dee asks, smiling at me as she reaches over to turn down the radio. “You look lost in them.”

  “Just thinking about Greece. The reunion.”

  She slips her hand over mine and squeezes my fingers gently. “It’ll go great. Your father will see there’s really chemistry between us, and I’m sure he’ll buy this whole thing.” The unspoken second line hovers on her lips.

  And then what?

  I squeeze her hand back. “You’re right,” I murmur. “He will. And then we’ll enjoy the shit out of our Greek vacation, and my cousins will torment you, and a swarm of babies will descend upon you like locusts, until you can’t wait to get out of there. I promise.” I force a laugh, but when I catch her eye in the rearview mirror, she’s not laughing. She’s staring out the side window, gaze distant, unfocused. “That is, if you still want this to end, then,” I murmur.

  She brightens, a smile touching those lips once more. I notice it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, though. “That’s the plan, isn’t it? We tell everybody we eloped right before Greece, and then after it’s over, after your dad gives you the promotion you need, we… Go our separate ways.”

  “It was the plan,” I say, careful, hesitant.

  “Good,” she answers, before I can say any more. Because I can add, but it doesn’t have to be.

  I let those additional words die on my lips. Turn back to the road, to my own private thoughts. If she’s still on board for this, then I don’t want to push her. I don’t want to tangle her up in something more than she bargained for.

  But… Well. I’ll face this in Greece. Because at some point, before she goes, I am going to tell her how I feel. That’s the very least I can do. The rest of this, we’ll figure it out then.

  * * *

  We step into the condo, hands clasped, and Dee tosses her bag onto the couch. “So.” She spins to face me, smiling once more, after our somewhat stinted, quiet car ride. “One of our last nights here, huh?”

  “For now,” I reply, smiling too.

  “I think we’d better celebrate.” She reaches for a button of the coat she’s wearing. I didn’t think much of the coat—it’s longer than the one she normally wears, practically a trench coat, but then again, it was drizzling today.

  Then she undoes the top button, and my gaze dips, interested.

  I don’t see anything between her collarbones but bare skin.

  She keeps going, unbuttoning farther and farther, until she peels the two sides of the trench apart to reveal her toned, curvy body, completely naked beneath.

  I never knew it was possible to get this fucking hard this fucking fast. “You left the office wearing that?” I lift one eyebrow, smirking.

  “Changed in the bathroom before I came to meet you.” She flashes me a wink, then lets the coat drop to the floor entirely. “You like?”

  “I think someone’s been a very naughty girl at work today.” I step closer to her, and her breath hitches, her cheeks flushing in that way I love, whenever I stand too close to her, whenever her blood surges the same way mine is right now. “What are we going to do about this, hmm, little naughty girl?”

  She bats her eyes, coquettish. “Whatever you think is the right punishment for such naughtiness.”

  “Hmm.” I circle around her, drinking in the view, savoring, taking my time with her, like I always do. I trail a hand over her shoulders, down her side, just lightly enough to make her shiver at my touch. When I’ve made a full circle around her, I grab a pillow from the couch and toss it at her feet. “Kneel down.”

  Her eyes light up, and she grins, though she also drops down onto the cushion I offer. As she does, I cross to stand in front of her, her mouth even with the straining bulge in my jeans. “Undo my jeans,” I tell her. She reaches up with both hands, but I stop her with a single fingertip against her forehead. “Ah, ah. Use your mouth only.”

  She laughs. Then she lifts a single brow at me. “Challenge accepted.”

  I bite back a grin. I know my girl by now. She tackles any challenge with effort and then some. This is no different. She leans in and catches the zipper of my jeans between her teeth and eases it down. The button takes her longer, and she has to get her tongue involved, which I admit only makes the sight all the hotter. By the time she finally grips my jeans in her teeth and yanks them down to pool around my ankles, I’m so hard it’s bordering on painful.

  “I’m using my hands now,” she tells me, with one last defiant look at me.

  I laugh, but nod, and she reaches up to yank down my boxers next, as eager for me as I am for her. I suck air in through my teeth as she wraps both hands around my base and starts to stroke the length of my cock, up and down. She leans in to flick out her tongue and lap up the drop of precum that’s already gathered on my tip, and just that single touch of her hot, wet tongue makes my ass clench and my whole body tense in anticipation. “You really do have a magic mouth,” I tell her.

  More so when she parts those sexy little Cupid’s bow lips of hers and wraps them around me. I love the sight of her like this, kneeling before me, my cock stretching her lips. Her eyes find mine, and she manages to smile, even with my cock stuffed in her mouth, and I reach down to run both hands through her hair, reassuring, encouraging. “Just like that, Dee.” I start to rock my hips back and forth against her, starting to take control.

  Her eyelids flutter shut and she rocks with me, concentrating. At the same time, her hands delve between my legs, gently teasing my balls, a sensation that sends me spiraling higher.

  “I love watching you do this,” I tell her, my voice only slightly strained when she lifts her tongue and begins to run it along my length, rubbing back and forth along my underside, the tip of her tongue tracing patterns along my shaft.

  I start to rock faster, getting into it now. “Seeing you on your knees like this…” I thrust into her mouth, a little deeper each time, working up to the throat-fucking I know she can handle like a goddamn champion. “Watching those tits of yours bounce.”

  She glances up at me then, her expression coy. She shifts a little, spreads her knees so I can see more of her body kneeling before mine, watch those breasts bounce against her chest as she stretches her jaw, expands her mouth wider, surrenders full control to me.

  Sensing she’s ready now, I start to thrust harder, my tip touching the back of her throat each time, easing a little down into her throat. “Relax,” I remind her when she tenses, and I dig my hands into her hair to brace myself. She listens, relaxes her jaw, and we both find our stride, as I start to fuck her mouth in earnest.

  She keeps her tongue moving, stroking along me, and her lips remain clenched tight around my shaft. But it’s every time my tip touches the back of her throat, slides just that little way down it, that really gets me fired up. I can’t control it any longer. I fuck her faster, bracing myself with her hair, and she moans in the back of her throat, driving me wild, the vibrations echoing all throughout my body.

  “I’m going to come, Dee,” I hiss in a sharp breath. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

  She purses those lips around me and opens wide, and when I start to come, I grab her face with both hands, pull her against me, coming deep in her
throat. She swallows, grabs my ass with her hands, holding on tight as she keeps her mouth around my cock, licking and sucking until it feels like she’s pulled every last drop from me.

  Then she goes to work dragging that tongue along my length, cleaning me with long, steady strokes, lapping up any juices that may have escaped her earlier.

  When she’s finally satisfied that she’s licked me clean, and leans back a little, I drop to my knees beside her and pull her against my chest, crushing her mouth with mine. Tasting my cum on her lips, feeling her lips part under mine, it’s already starting to get me excited again and we’ve barely finished round one. I’ve never felt like this before. So hungry for someone, so desperate to be with them, fuck them, kiss them, pleasure them constantly. I’ve never known a woman like this. We break apart, and I gaze down at her with wonder.

  “You really are a marvel, Dee.”

  She grins, lopsided. It’s somehow cuter for that. “Not my fault you’re too addictive to quit.”

  “That’s my line,” I scold her, then lean in for another kiss.

  By the time we’re supposed to be making dinner, we’ve already lost track of the time and wound up in the shower, getting not so very clean after all. I finger her against the glass door of the shower, her breasts pressed flat against the pane, both of us savoring the view in the mirror on the other side as she climaxes hard, coming all over my fingers, and then when she grabs them to lick them clean, I lose my train of thought all over again.

  It’s like this every night. Every night we find something new to explore with one another. Every night we throw caution and all our well-laid plans to the wind—but I don’t even mind, I love this so much. Being with her, pleasuring her, getting to know every little gasp and sigh. And every little corner of her mind, too, as we chat in the time between, lolling around the bed or the couch or the floor or wherever we wind up.

  But later that night, after another failed attempt at cooking, another pizza delivery, and one last roll through my sheets, as I lie there in the dark, propped up on one elbow watching her drift off to sleep, her eyelids fluttering with the beginning of some dream… In that moment, after the excitement of the evening fades, all the worries of the day come creeping back in.

  What if this trip goes exactly as it was supposed to go? What if my family drives a wedge between us, and she sees through my façade to exactly who I am—the kind of guy who would hire a wife in order to piss off his father. The kind of person who’d put her in an uncomfortable, awkward situation just because I thought Dad would definitely assume she’s a gold-digger.

  The kind of person who underestimated her. Just like everybody else is doing now.

  I’ve learned my lesson, but what happens if she finds out how blind I was going into this?

  10

  Dee

  Well. This is it.

  Today I leave the good old U.S. of A. for the first time in my life. I have a passport, luckily, because Mom had always dreamed about taking me overseas to Europe. She passed before that ever happened, and the passport sat in the back of my drawer, unused, unremembered. Until this job. Until this opportunity popped up.

  Until I signed up for this crazy arrangement.

  Now I’m rolling up to the airport with a probably way over packed suitcase—I had no idea what I’d need to wear, so I think I wound up throwing half of my closet into this bag—with a rock the size of a gumball on my left ring finger, and striding right up to the hottest guy in line for check-in.

  “Hey there handsome,” I greet Jasper with a smile.

  He leans down to kiss me, long and slow, but there’s something tense about his posture. Constrained. Like he’s holding back.

  “Everything okay?” I ask. I glance around surreptitiously, but I don’t spy Mr. Quint Sr. anywhere in sight. Or anyone who looks like they might be related to Jasper, for that matter. I’ve only seen Mr. Quint from afar, and only once in the lobby of the office when I stopped in on my first day. As for the rest of the family, they’re a complete mystery to me. Would I recognize his mother if I saw her? Does Jasper take after her or his father in the looks department?

  But it appears to be just us on this flight, since Jasper just smiles and guides me forward in the line. “Fine. I’m just not looking forward to this jet lag, that’s all.”

  “How rough is it going to be?” I bite my lower lip, suddenly concerned. I’ve never flown this far. The farthest I’ve flown in a plane is up to Seattle to visit some friends, and even that only a few times.

  “You’ll be fine.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me once, reassuring. “I’m just being a whiner. We’re in business class, after all, with fully reclining seats.”

  My eyes go wide. “That’s a thing?”

  He bursts into laughter. “Oh God. Wait until we get to the champagne and the dinner with linen and cutlery, too.”

  I narrow my eyes, pretending to be suspicious. “Are you rich or something, Mr. Quint?”

  He snorts. “It’s still the same disappointing plane food everyone else eats, I assure you, Ms. Smith. But don’t worry. I’ve got a lounge pass, so we can stop there before we get on the plane.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh and roll my eyes. “So you were saying about not being rich?”

  He grins, then turns to hand both of our passports to the airline agent. All the way through security, I trail after him, watching a series of doors open, one after the other. First they let us skip the security line, then they take us into a lounge, which is full of free alcohol, snacks that look better than half the restaurants I normally frequent, and bored-looking business types lounging around ignoring both of these things.

  “You’d think all these people would want to take advantage of this delicious… Oh God is that a cheese plate?” I attack the buffet with gusto, which makes Jasper laugh and follow after to pour us both drinks.

  “Is champagne really a good idea on a plane? I mean… don’t you get drunker at altitude, or something?” I squint at the glasses he brings over to our table, which I have positively heaped with food.

  “That just adds to the fun,” he tells me with a smirk, and then he pauses to stare at the table between us. “You know we’re going on a plane ride, not a weeklong safari through a jungle, right?”

  “I can’t help it, this is my reaction around free food. Call it an instinctual future college student behavior.” I shrug one shoulder, wink, then pop a tart into my mouth. Or at least, I think it’s a tart. It turns out instead to be some kind of fish paste flavored item, which makes me immediately grimace and spit it into my napkin.

  Jasper watches me, torn between laughter and disgust. “The apple of my eye, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “I’m sure your folks will positively love me. I’ll be sure to put on my best behavior at dinner—do you think there will be a buffet at the resort I can attack too?” I’m joking, but I see a flash of something in his eyes. Is that worry? I tilt my head, lean closer. “I’m joking, Jasper.”

  “I’m aware. You do have a pretty obvious tell when you’re being sarcastic.” He tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow. “The way you always stare at me right after like you’re waiting for audience laughter at the punch line.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, there was no laughter forthcoming, so I figured I’d better check that you noticed the staring. Jasper, look, you’ve been quiet all day. Are you really not going to tell me what’s bugging you? I mean… If it’s about the reunion and everything… I get it. I’m a little worried too.” I laugh, trying to get him to join me.

  He doesn’t.

  “I mean, it’s definitely going to be weird. But is it strange that I sort of want them to like me, even though I’m just the fake wife?” I tilt my head, try to keep things lighthearted, playful. “That’s probably weird, right?”

  “No,” he says, his voice low and serious. Not at all playful. Not even a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s not weird. I hope they like you too.” But th
e way he says it, like that, deadpan, it makes it sound like he hopes just the opposite. Like he’s being sarcastic.

  My stomach flips, and I sit back in my chair, unsure of myself now. “What’s Greece like?” I ask to ease the tension—mostly for myself. I don’t want to think too long or hard about what it means that he’s nervous right now. Or what we’re about to face together.

  “Beautiful. The weather’s gorgeous this time of year. And the food blows all this away.” He gestures at my spread of snacks with a hint of a smile again. “You’ll love it.” He says it with confidence, and I believe him. I know it’s only been a month now—only a month since we agreed on this crazy plan, somehow it feels both so much longer and like so little time has passed—but he does know me. When we go out for dinner, I never have to kick him for trying to order for us both, because he’s already guessed what I want off the menu and checked with me first. And the couple times we’ve caught movies on TV, usually at his place after another late-night love-making session that’s left us both way too awake to sleep, but way too tired to do anything but watch a screen, he always picks the cheesy rom-coms that I would’ve chosen.

  He gets me, somehow. And I think I get him, usually. Except like today, when he’s in these wistful moods, like he’s nostalgic for something that isn’t even over yet.

  I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “So what was our wedding like?”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Hmm?”

  “We eloped, right, that’s our story?” Yesterday, before we parted ways to go and pack our bags for departure this morning, he handed me a slim wedding band. He slid a matching titanium one on his own ring finger, which I have to admit, I stole admiring peeks as he did. There’s something hot about seeing it on him; that thin little reminder that, for now at least, he’s mine and mine alone.

  My husband, in name if not deed.

  “It is.” He’s nodding.

  “So, I think we need a story. Justice of the peace, or…?”