Fake Fiancée Can’t Get Enough

by Hamel, B. B.

  I shake my head. “Go back to the bar,” I say. “You’re just some guy named Calvin to me. Go home, you drunk.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way,” he says, standing up. He wobbles slightly and Grace stares at him.

  “Pathetic,” she says. “Drunk already. Guess you couldn’t wait.”

  Calvin, my father, stares at her for a long moment, clearly surprised. She walks to her bike, picks it up, tucks her helmet under her arm, then starts walking back home.

  “Nathan, coming?”

  I smirk at him. “Pathetic,” I say, and turn away. He doesn’t speak as I follow her away.

  We walk out of the park together in silence. We don’t speak until we’re about a block from the house.

  “Sorry about that,” she says. “I went to get some books and I was cutting through the park to head back home when I saw you. I didn’t realize…”

  “No, I’m glad you were there,” I say. “I think I would’ve done something stupid.”

  “Maybe.” She chews her lip. “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “What did he want this time?”

  “Says he’ll give me the company outright if I promise to see him regularly.” I snort, shake my head. “I’d rather get an incurable venereal disease than see him. That man is worse than syphilis.”

  “Gross,” she says. “But I believe it.”

  We reach the house. I help her lock the bike up and get inside. Her backpack really is full of books, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. She’s in her room reading all the damn time.

  “Look, you should know something,” she says as we get inside. I head right into the kitchen and pour myself a drink, too angry to hold off.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to visit my brother. I’m not bringing it to this house, but I’m going with my parents. They need me there. I can’t let them go without me.”

  I stare at her for a long moment, letting that resonate. She’s going to visit the man that killed my mother… and when she’s done, she’ll come back to live here.

  What a fucked-up world.

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” I say. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t bring it in here.”

  “Fine.” She’s curt now, short. I can tell that’s not what she wanted to hear. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  I watch her go. I wish I could say something different, something better. Maybe something that would fix this block that’s come up between us.

  But I’m not capable of it. Maybe I’m not strong enough, I don’t know. Maybe I’m still in mourning. Either way, I can’t bring myself to condone it.

  Fuck that guy. I hope he rots in prison. And I hope my father joins him.

  I throw back my drink.

  15

  Grace

  Visiting someone in prison isn’t at all what I thought it would be. We get there early, check in, give them our information, and sit down in a waiting room. The room fills up with people, all different sorts: mothers, fathers, sister, friends, brothers. We sit there and wait for a while, until eventually they call a few of us back.

  Then we’re checked. We go through a pat-down, through a metal detector, and the women check their bags. When all that’s finished, they walk us out down a long path outside between buildings, and finally we end up in a huge, open room.

  There are no phones, no windows. It’s an open space where prisoners and their family members all sit, smashed into the available seats as best they can. There are people kissing, although they’re not supposed to, holding hands, hugging. It’s strangely jubilant and people are generally nice to each other, polite even. Which makes sense, none of the prisoners want to be the guy that ruins it for everyone else.

  “He looks so thin,” Mom says as my brother walks toward us. My father greets him first with a hug, followed by my mom. I hang back and when he smiles at me, I glance away.

  “Hi, Patrick,” I say.

  “Hey, Grace.”

  We head off to a spot and sit down. Dad goes and gets food from a vending machine, mostly just junk since Patrick can’t always get it from commissary.

  He talks to Mom most of the time. He’s looking around, frowning, like he’s afraid of something, and telling her about his days.

  “We have programs,” he says. “Lots of them. I’m in AA and NA now, I go to meetings every day. It sucks but it’s helping a lot. I gotta do all my steps, you know? There’s other stuff like acting and yoga and gym stuff. I’m trying to exercise.”

  “You look thin,” Mom frets.

  “Honey,” Dad says.

  “She’s right. I’m not eating enough. Side effect of getting sober.” Patrick laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

  I just listen. I can’t help but wonder what everyone’s story is, because they all have a story. Every person in this room did something, got caught somehow. Every person’s story is unique but probably similar to every other story around.

  I wonder how many of them killed someone. How many other families don’t have a loved one now because of them.

  Like my brother took away Nathan’s mother.

  I can barely look at him. I’m so ashamed of what he’s become. He used to be so smart and outgoing and daring. We were close when we were kids, before he got into drugs and drinking. He changed after that, became a darker person. Some of the old Patrick’s still there in the way he smiles, but it’s locked behind the years of substance abuse and failure.

  Mom and Dad treat him the same. They’ll always treat him like their first-born boy, because that’s what he is. I can see that they still love him, but I can’t get over it. I can’t get over the way he ruined everything for himself and for everyone around him.

  I don’t know how many times someone gets to be forgiven.

  “I hear you got married,” Patrick says to me suddenly, out of the blue.

  I hesitate, not sure what to say. I glance at my parents and their faces are stone cold and expressionless.

  “Yeah,” I say finally.

  “What’s he like?”

  So he didn’t know then. That was good.

  “He’s a good person,” I say. “We get along.”

  Which is partially true at least.

  “Good. That’s good. Congratulations.” He smiles at me and seems to mean it. “You got the ring on?”

  I hesitate but hold my finger up. I haven’t thought much about the ring since I found out that it was Nathan’s grandmother’s. I just wear it every day, take it off only to shower, and it goes right back on.

  “Wow. Very cool, kid.” He grins at me.

  I look away. I can’t stand this, but we have more time to get through.

  He’s got years.

  Eventually though, visitation ends. We leave in one big mass, people wandering back out into the world. Patrick smiles and we’re allowed to hug, but I pass again. He disappears into the prison, into his old life, and we wander into freedom.

  Mom cries in the parking lot. Dad hugs her close. I linger there, not sure what the hell to do.

  “It’ll be okay,” Dad says, even though we know it won’t be. Nothing’s going to change, and who knows what Patrick will be like when he gets out.

  If he ever does.

  We drive back home then. They insist on taking me into the city, even though I insist on taking the train. They drop me off outside of the house.

  “Are you okay?” Dad asks me from the car.

  “I’m okay. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

  “We love you, honey,” Mom says.

  “I love you too.”

  They drive off and I watch them go. I feel like my childhood is truly dead and buried.

  I walk up the stoop, up toward my husband’s dead mother’s house. I head inside and find him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and reading a book.

  He frowns at me. I’m not in the mood for his shit, but I try to just go right upstairs.


  “Hey,” he says.

  I hesitate. “Hey, yourself,” I say back. “I didn’t think you’d be talking to me today.”

  “Come here.”

  I walk over slowly. “What? Gonna tell me I’m an asshole for visiting my brother?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m not.”

  But his eyes are hard and shining. I can see something there, and I think I know what’s coming.

  My heart starts beating faster. I bite my lip.

  “I wanted to ask how you were doing. I bet that wasn’t easy.”

  “It wasn’t. But I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He watches me carefully for a long moment. “House was quiet without you.”

  I laugh a little. “Please. I sit in my room all day and read. I pretend like I don’t exist.”

  “You do exist, though.” His voice is pitched low. “Come here.”

  I hesitate but I walk closer, into the kitchen. He’s wearing jogger sweats and a t-shirt, his muscular body framed perfectly in the tight shirt.

  “I was thinking about you,” he says.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking. If you’re going to be visiting your brother, calling him, all that shit, I think we’re going to need to come up with a punishment.”

  I let out a breath. “Punishment? I’m not some dog you can just push around, Nathan. If I want to see my brother, I will.”

  He puts the book down on the counter and steps toward me. His eyes are locked on mine.

  “Let your hair down,” he says softly.

  “What?”

  “Let your hair down. I like it when it’s down.”

  I hesitate, just a second, before taking out the hair tie that was keeping my hair up in a messy bun. It falls around my shoulders and I shake it out a little bit.

  He reaches out and grasps it gently.

  “If we’re going to get over this, you need to be punished,” he whispers. “You can’t just walk around doing whatever you want.”

  “You don’t get to control me.”

  His hand tightens into a fist. “I think I do.” He pulls my hair tighter, tugging me against him.

  I let out a little gasp. My heart’s racing, my legs are shaking. I can feel the wet gathering between my thighs.

  “I think I control every inch of you,” he whispers in my ear. “I think you like it, too. You like getting me angry. You like when I grab you, fuck you, make you feel nice. And if you’re going to piss me off this much, I’m going to take it out on you.”

  “Yeah?” I whisper back. “How?”

  “Get down on your fucking knees,” he says, his voice a growl.

  And slowly, I do.

  16

  Nathan

  It’s hard to hate her when she’s down on her knees in front of me.

  God damn, she’s gorgeous. Her lips part and I put my thumb on her plump lower lip, pushing it down, opening her pretty mouth. She reaches up and slowly pulls down my sweats, taking my boxer briefs with them.

  I’m half hard as she takes me in her hand. She strokes me slowly, looking up, her one hand on my ripped abs and the other slowly stroking me until I’m rock hard in her hand.

  She opens her mouth and slowly takes me inside.

  I groan, unable to help myself. I grab her hair tight in my fist and pull it then push her down, sliding my cock into her throat. I love when she gags. She doesn’t stop, isn’t fazed at all. She keeps going, sucking me, stroking my shaft with her free hand now.

  “This is a good punishment,” I growl. “Try taking my thick cock in your throat. Go ahead, try over and over again. I love watching you fail, you fucking dirty girl.”

  She groans, goes deep, and gags. I’m too big for her to get all the way in, but I love it. I love watching her try.

  She sucks me faster, her breasts shaking slightly. She’s wearing a simple sweater and jeans. It’s not particularly sexy, really modest actually, but I know what she’s hiding underneath. Her tight little body is begging for me. I know she’s dripping wet, waiting.

  I let her suck my cock more first.

  “I bet now you’re going to act out just so that you can be punished,” I growl. “You like taking my big dick in your pretty little mouth. I can see it. You’re a filthy fucking girl and you’re sucking my cock, just hoping I’ll slide it deep between your legs. You’re down on your knees hoping I’ll fuck you, isn’t that right?”

  She pulls back and gasps. “God, yes,” she moans.

  I lean down and kiss her before pushing her mouth down my shaft again. She sucks faster, stroking me, lips wrapped hard around my tip. I groan and push her deep again, loving the pleasure that rocks through me.

  But loving more the control. I want to take her, have her, keep her in my room tied up and dripping wet and waiting for me to fill her up over and over again. She’s a dirty little thing, begging for me to fuck her, and I know she wants it deep and rough.

  I pull her hair tight and kiss her again before dragging her up to her feet. I push her against the counter, not being gentle. I press myself up against her, pinning her to the cabinets, and unbutton her jeans with one hand while the other cups her chin.

  I kiss her over her shoulder. “You want this?” I whisper as I undo jeans. I tug them down, just a little bit, before sliding my hand down the front. I find her dripping wet little pussy, soaking and spread wide for me. “Oh, yes, you want this.”

  “Nathan,” she whispers.

  “You want me inside, don’t you?” I push my fingers into her tight little pussy before pulling them back out after she lets out a little gasp. I roll them around her clit, teasing her, keeping her pinned and controlled. “You want me to fuck your tight pussy, pump in and out of your tight little cunt until you scream my name. That’s why you keep coming back, that’s why you stay. You want me to fuck you and make you feel good.”

  “Yes,” she moans. “God, yes. Please, don’t stop.”

  I keep rubbing her clit. She moans, rolling her hips, pushing back against me. I growl and can barely control myself. My cock’s so hard I think it might fucking burst.

  I pull her jeans down, yank them off her body. I drop to my knees and get them off, leaving her in just her dripping wet panties. I slide them halfway down her thighs then stop. I spread her ass open and lick her from behind, tasting her sweet cunt and every inch of her.

  She moans, knees together, hands clenched. “Oh my god, Nathan.”

  I stand up and spank her hard, forcing her to bend over more. She gasps as I spank her harder and press my cock against her dripping pussy.

  “Tell me you want it,” I command. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Grace. Tell me how badly you want it.”

  “Fuck me,” she moans. “Oh, god, please. Fuck me hard. Fuck me rough. Make me scream your name.”

  I slide hard inside her. I’m not being gentle, not being nice, and we both love it. I fill her up, my thick cock taking her deep, spreading her wide. She throws her head back but I push her back down. Her back arches as I take her, pushing every inch of my massive cock between her legs.

  I fuck her hard. I’m not playing nice. This is punishment, after all, and she wants it. Her gaping pussy is dripping wet along my shaft and I keep going, fucking her hard.

  I pull back, spank her ass, and slide her panties the rest of the way off. I kick them aside and spread her legs wide before fucking her again. I spank her ass, leave a nice red handprint on her pretty cheeks, and keep going. My cock rips into her and she’s moaning my name, whispering it, screaming it.

  I pull her hair hard and kiss her over her shoulder. I reach around her hips and rub her clit as I grind into her cunt. She moans and I push her onto the counter again, fucking her bent over in the kitchen, just taking her pussy how I want.

  I’ve been dreaming about this all day. I couldn’t get it off my fucking mind. I tried to distract myself, tried to go for a walk, for a run. But I just kept thinking about her tight cunt wrapped around my cock. I kept thi
nking about punishing her, fucking her, taking her the way I wanted.

  And goddamn, she’s delicious. Even in my dirty, filthy fantasies, she’s so much better in person. Her body’s tight and lean and her moans fill the room. She’s passionate and wild, and she loves it just as much as I do, maybe even more.

  I fuck her hard. I don’t hold back. I can’t hold back. My cock takes her, my body takes her. She’s all mine, trapped and controlled. I kiss her lips, almost hungry for it, not able to hold back even if I wanted to.

  She bucks forward and I slip out. She turns around and backs against the counter, one leg up. I kiss her, hand between her legs, teasing her wet little clit before I lift her up onto the counter. She wraps her legs around my waist and I slide my cock deep inside her again.

  I cradle the back of her neck and she wraps her arms around mine. I fuck her like that, holding her tight and close, totally controlled, my cock so deep inside her that I can’t help but groan in pleasure.

  We fuck like that, sweating and working. She moans and I kiss her, tongue against her tongue, tasting her, fucking her, working with her. We’re groaning together and I know she’s close, she’s so close. Her body’s tense with it, on the edge of it. I keep going, pumping faster, fucking deeper. I growl my pleasure, so close myself, so close to filling her up, exploding deep between her legs.

  “Nathan,” she gasps. “Oh, god, Nathan. Oh, god. Nathan, yes!” She comes then, her body beautiful, her breathing syncopated. I growl and kiss her neck as her pussy clenches around my shaft. I can’t help myself anymore and pump faster, fucking her deep. I come inside her tight pussy, exploding inside her, filling her to the brim.

  We groan together. We come and for a short moment, there’s nothing else in the world. It feels so incredibly good that I can’t help but whisper her name, the syllable sweet on my tongue.

  “Grace,” I growl.

  She kisses me. We stay like that, my cock buried between her legs.

  Finally, she slips off the counter. She gets dressed and I reluctantly pull my clothes back on. She’s flushed and smiling and pours herself a glass of water.