Billionaire's Fake Fiancee

by Eva Luxe

  Leave it to my best friend to talk sense into me, as usual.

  I’m glad dinner went so well with Amelia. It was the first normal “couple” thing we’ve done together (Oh, my God, are we a couple?) I’m glad everything’s going so well. But I have to tell her soon, before that all changes.

  Chapter 41 – Amelia

  “This weekend can’t come fast enough.” I groan, and look at the pile of case files on my desk the way I imagine the Pharaoh looked at Moses the first time he demanded his people’s freedom. Except the files were the ones keeping me here, not the other way around. It wasn’t a perfect metaphor.

  “You have no idea how jealous I am.” Rosa’s voice comes through my phone speaker. This is a habit we’d long-ago perfected: Our offices are on different sides of the floor, but we both have inter-office phone lines, so when there’s something juicy and fun to talk about (like an impending romantic getaway), we just hop on the line.

  “Actually, I do, because you’ve said that roughly seventeen times a day for the last three days.”

  I’m only half kidding.

  “Well, it’s important that you realize what an opportunity you’ve got in front of you!” Rosa sounds almost stern. “A free weekend away? Drinking wine and eating cheese? Staying in a fancy suite? You are gonna get some. And more importantly, it’s practically a guarantee that he thinks this is more than just a fling.”

  “You really think so?” It’s not that the thought hadn’t already crossed my mind, it’s just that I’d always figured things like that only worked out for women who dated Hugh Grant.

  “Of course I do. And so do you! Not to mention, a weekend away will be your perfect chance to unravel the mystery of the man.”

  “The mystery?”

  “Don’t you play dumb with me, lady. The mystery of your new guy’s autograph seekers!”

  “Rosa, that was just a silly mistake! Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to pry.”

  “Sweetie, the last time you didn’t pry, your guy was sleeping in someone else’s penthouse.”

  I don’t have a retort for that, and the line goes silent for a few seconds. Then:

  “Too soon?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Fair enough. Seriously, Amelia. You know I’m happy for you, and I like this guy, but it never hurts to ask for a little honesty. Not in the long run.”

  “I know, you’re right.”

  “Yes I am. And I’m also right about waiting to ask for that honesty until after you get a little wine into him.…and a little him into you.”

  “You should write greeting cards, you know that?”

  Chapter 42 – Brent

  I am not supposed to be this fucking nervous. I keep telling myself that, and I keep pacing around my apartment anyway, occasionally stopping to cram an extra shirt or something into my suitcase.

  It’s just a weekend away - with Amelia. That’s the part that kept me up half the night with nerves. Men are supposed to be the strong, elegant, sure of themselves types - maybe this is just me getting all the nerves out now, so I’ll be calm all weekend. I can always dream. But hey, at least there’ll be lots of booze.

  That’s when she knocks on my door. Right on time. I open it up, and there she is, with that slightly crooked grin on her face and two suitcases behind her.

  “Hey, you!” if it’s possible, her grin gets even wider, and she leans in to give me a kiss. I pull back after a few seconds, and she asks, “What? Was that not good?”

  “Nah,” I say, “Too good. If I’d kept going, we never would’ve left the apartment. It’s still tempting, really. No long drive, no extra clothes…”

  “That is tempting.” she smirks. “But you promised me wine. And sex pairs best with a sweet red.”

  “Well, I’m convinced.” I laugh, stepping out and closing the door behind me. “Although why do I have the feeling that Rosa’s the one who came up with that line?”

  “Are you accusing me of plagiarism?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Okay, fine!” she admits as we head down the hall. “It was her idea - but it’s really my delivery that makes it work, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so…but it’s still cheating a little bit. Guess I’ll just have to punish you for that later - oh, hello there, Miss Carey.” Of course, the oldest and most prim and proper resident of the building had chosen that moment to step out of her apartment. The look she gives us practically shrivels my balls.

  Thankfully, Amelia waits until we’re around the corner to burst out into peals of laughter. “Nice one.”

  “Yeah. I’m probably going to hear about that at the next tenants’ meeting…”

  Our drive up to the vineyard is often quiet. I worry aloud that it’s too quiet, and apologize for not talking more.

  “Oh, please.” Amelia puts a hand on my shoulder, and I have to work to keep my eyes on the road so I don’t drive the rental car into a ditch. “There’s nothing wrong with a comfortable silence. I’ve been on enough dates where the guy just won’t shut up about himself…this is a nice change of pace. It’s relaxing.”

  “I once went on a date with a girl who didn’t stop talking about women’s MMA fighting the whole time.” I say, grinning at the memory. “And, as it turned out, that was the last date that girl ever went on.”

  “Wait, what? Oh my god, you better not be confessing to a murder.”

  “No, of course not! I should’ve clarified - it was the last date she went on with a guy. The girl - it was Nikki, and she only went out with me because her mom knew my aunt and blah blah blah they set us up because they thought we’d be cute together or something. We’re sure something together, but I don’t think ‘cute’ is the word to describe it.”

  “So you two are best friends because of a terrible blind date.”

  “I mean, it wasn’t that terrible. We went to a sports bar and watched the WNBA game, drank a bunch of beer…and that was that.”

  Chapter 43 – Amelia

  I can’t help but emit a soft gasp when we crest the hill overlooking the vineyard. The afternoon weather is almost absurdly perfect to begin with: sunny, not a cloud in the sky…the kind of day you use to drive with the windows down and music blaring. Which is exactly what we’re doing.

  We crest the hill, and the valley below us unfolds like a scene from Lord of the Rings (minus the orcs). Rolling green fields surround the fenced-in vineyard itself, and at the center of it all is a gorgeous stone building that looks as if it was plucked right out of the yard of the British royal family.

  “Wow…” Brent says, hardly disguising his own wonder at the place. “I’ve only ever seen pictures on their website…and if that was the best they could do, they really need to hire a new photographer.”

  When we pull into the courtyard, things only get better. A sharply-dressed man who resembles no one so much as Alfred Pennyworth opens my door for me and greets us with a smiling “Hello! It’s wonderful to have you two with us today. You must be the Foresters.”

  “That’s us!” Brent says, and I nod along. It’s almost become too easy by now to think of ourselves this way - as a pair. Truthfully, I don’t mind.

  ‘Alfred’ guides us inside, assuring us that our bags will be delivered safely to our room. “Welcome to the oldest vineyard in America. As we always say, when it comes to wine, older is always better - and we’re the best.”

  He brings us inside an ornate, wrought-iron elevator, and it brings us (with the requisite amount of groaning and straining for an old elevator) to the 6th floor: “The Westchester Suite”, as Alfred announces it.

  “Why’s it called the Westchester?” Brent asks. “Was that the name of one of the families that founded this place?”

  “Good guess, sir, but no. Actually it was the name of an older fellow who enjoyed our wine so much that he spent the last few years of his life here, drunk out of his gourd.” Alfred offers what I think is a joking smile, but doesn’t let on whether his story is one or n
ot.

  “Fair enough.” Brent takes it in stride.

  “Enjoy your accommodations, and if there are any issues please contact the front desk and we will correct them right away. The winery tasting begins in a few hours, so until then, please feel free to wander about the premises and enjoy yourselves.” Alfred smiles his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  I turn to Brent. “Was it just me, or did that guy remind you of Alfred—”

  “From the old Batman show!” Brent finishes my thought, laughing. “Absolutely! You know, I used to watch that all the time. It was an every day after school and I’d go down to the basement to ‘do homework’ and watch it instead.”

  “That’s adorable.” I lean in and steal a kiss. “Thank you again for bringing me here.”

  “Of course…a groom is nothing without his bride-to-be. Now, what’d you say we explore a little bit? My legs are stiff from being cooped up in that car for so long.”

  “It was only a few hours, silly!”

  “Yeah, but I’m a native New Yorker, which means I’m used to walking literally everywhere I go. Not to mention, it’s incredibly strange to me to be in any vehicle that doesn’t smell slightly like stale urine.”

  “God, that’s hot.” I give him my best overdramatic, sultry look.

  “Isn’t it though?” He smirks right back. “So, what’d you say we check this place out?”

  On the ride down the elevator, his hand finds its way to the small of my back, in that magical area just outside the realm of socially-unacceptable touching. I didn’t say anything, but his touch made me want nothing more than to take him back upstairs and help him get his exercise in a different way.

  The elevator stops at the lobby, but instead of stepping out, I grab Brent’s hand and pull him back in. “Where do you think this button takes us?” I ask, before punching it anyway. It says B3.

  Brent, unperturbed, goes along with my decision. “Let’s find out.”

  The elevator door clanks open, and we find ourselves in a dimly lit basement room with high ceilings and barrels stretching off into the darkness as far as I can see.

  “This must be one of the vineyard storage areas.” Brent says quietly. “Probably a little off-limits—”

  Suddenly feeling emboldened, I cut him off. “Oh, come on. There’s no signs that I can see. Besides, what’s the worst they can do? Ask us to not touch the old wooden barrels?”

  “Fair enough.” Brent takes my hand again and we walk forward into the dim underground room.

  My skin tingles a bit as we walk further, hand-in hand. “I’ve always loved places like this. You know, hidden away. Kinda secret and romantic.”

  “Oh yeah?” Brent stops, turns to me without letting go of my hands. “I always thought places like this were creepy…but that’s probably because I watched too many scary movies when I was younger. The stupid teenagers would always wander into the forbidden area and make out, and then they’d wind up…y’know…dead.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh at him. “You’re ridiculous. But I tell you what. Why don’t we go over here…” I pull him further into one of the dark corners of the room, “And I’ll try to make all the bad memories go away with some new ones to replace them.”

  I move his hands from my waist down to my ass, pressing his hands into the smooth fabric of my dress, and kiss him. “What’re you—” he almost seems surprised.

  “I’m sorry, do you have a problem with this?” I tease. I’m not quite sure where this sudden boldness is coming from, but I like it. Quite a bit.

  Brent kisses me back, hard, and tightens his grip on my ass. “Not even a little bit.” he whispers, his lips and tongue making their way down from my mouth to my neck and sending jolts of excitement along my skin far beyond that.

  I run my fingers through his hair as I enjoy the sensation of his lips on my skin, tightening my fingers with each new caress. A soft moan escapes me, and I decide I’m through waiting. I want him, and I want him now.

  “Come here.” I take his hand and slide it beneath my dress, up against my already-damp panties. When his fingers encounter my wetness, I hear him give a soft almost-chuckle. “Yeah, you do it for me. Shut up.” I whisper, laughing a bit myself.

  He presses me back against one of the wine barrels, one hand beneath my dress, caressing my panties, and the other hand slides up my back and ends up gripping the back of my neck with a perfect tightness to hold me in place without hurting me…too much.

  His fingers push my panties aside, and his lips drift down to my chest, running along my collarbone. It’s exquisite. Two fingers circle my wet lips, teasing, gentle - then slip away to my thighs, leaving a trail of my own juices across my skin. Then back, across the outside of my panties and to the other thigh…I groan, the teasing denial only making me want him more. “You son of a bitch,” I whisper, barely getting the words out through my trembling lips.

  “You say that…” he takes his mouth off my skin long enough to answer, “But I don’t think you really mean it.”

  He hikes my dress up to my waist, pushes aside my panties again, and slips a finger inside me. I’m so wet from his touch already that it barely takes any effort at all. His thumb stays on the outside, caressing the area around my clit. I can’t remember ever being quite so wet so fast.

  I bite his shoulder through his shirt as he pushes deeper into me, first with one finger, then two. He leaves them inside me, motionless and filling, as his other hand makes its way to my breasts, caressing, pinching, teasing. I’m wearing no bra, and my nipples are hard as can be, pressing out against the fabric of my dress.

  What Brent’s doing to my chest feels so good that I almost forget about his fingers - until he curls them in the “come hither” gesture that brings them into contact with, if not my g-spot, something awfully close to it. My knees buckle a little bit, and I exhale a soft “Fuck”. That’s when he drops to his knees.

  “What’re you…oh.” I stop talking as his plan comes into full focus. Instead of pushing my now-soaked panties to the side, he pulls them down around my ankles instead. I’m left holding my dress up above my waist with one hand, and resting the other on his head, as I lean back against a barrel and he runs his tongue over my pussy.

  Smooth, slow strokes at first, teasing around the skin right between my thighs and where my lips begin. Every inch of skin fires off what feels like electrical impulses, coursing throughout my whole body.

  Then, the deep licks begin. Brent presses his mouth over my lips, flicking his tongue against the exposed flesh, and I let out more moans. His hands come up and grip my thighs, and my hips press tighter into his face. He sucks my lips into his mouth, pressing them between the roof of his mouth and his tongue, then letting them slip, bit by excruciating bit, free.

  His tongue flicks back and forth, horizontally, then vertically, and my eyes close. In the black ecstasy, I’m free, excited, aroused, on the edge of eruption. Brent keeps me riding that edge for I don’t know how long, but every second of it is by turns perfectly excruciating and amazingly arousing. My hips pulse in time with his activities, and I wrap one leg over his shoulder - he presses his tongue even deeper into me, then replaces it with those two fingers again.

  His tongue moves up to my clit, flicking against it, caressing over and around it, his fingers inside me matching the rhythm, and I’m hurled over the precipice, body quaking with my orgasm. I feel myself squirt, suddenly, something that hasn’t happened in years - and the orgasm keeps rolling, practically convulsing my body - I try to moan, to cry out, but I can’t get enough breath to do it.

  At last, my eyes open, and I find myself wrapped in Brent’s arms. My legs are still shaking, and he guides me to a seat against the wall and joins me there, keeping one arm around my shoulders.

  “Well. That was fun.” He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips. I want more. I kiss him back, hard and deep.

  “I taste good.” Is all I can think to say.

  “
Yeah. Yeah, you do.” Brent sighs in contentment, leaning back against the wall. “I like this new assertive thing you’ve got going.”

  “It’s not so much new as it is selectively deployed. For sex. And a few other things.” I giggle. “Besides, isn’t the future bride supposed to be the one making all the important decisions?”

  “You’re not wrong.” he says. “So, miss future bride. What now?”

  “Well,” I say, leaning close to his chest and running my free hand up his thigh, “What’s the old expression? Tit for tat?” I feel him, hard inside his pants. “Or should I say, ‘dick for that.’” I unzip his pants, and lower my head to his.

  “Yes,” he moans, almost as if unable to control his words. I love it.

  I suck on the head of his cock, and move my hand up and down his shaft as he fills my mouth. We stare into each others’ eyes as I continue working his cock with my mouth. He reaches down and grabs a hold of my nipples from under my shirt and bra. That’s all it takes for me to suck harder, faster.

  “You’re going to make me cum,” he says, losing all control now. I love how weak I’m capable of making such a strong man. “I want to cum in your mouth.”

  “Go ahead,” I mumble, my words hard to make out since I’m choking on his cock.

  “Mmmmm.”

  His groan comes as forcefully as his cum, which I gulp down eagerly, still looking up into his eyes. I swallow all of it, hungrily, and he squints his eyes as he says, “Hell yeah, eat my cum. I love how you suck on my cock.”

  He takes a deep breath in and then out as he finishes letting everything go. I slurp up everything I’ve missed as some of his cum dribbles down onto my chin.

  He smacks my face gently with his cock, and then a little harder, before putting it back, still slightly hard, into his pants. I love how he’s always quick to mark me as his.

  “That’s my girl,” he says, sounding too exhausted and satisfied to say much more.