Boardroom Bride: A Fake Fiance Secret Pregnancy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Maybe I just need a quick hook up. A one night stand. I haven't been with a man since Jonathan. It's my lunch break so I tap my phone on and load the Tinder app I recently downloaded. Don't laugh. I never thought I'd download Tinder, let alone consider hooking up with someone from this app, but it can be hard to meet people.

  I swipe through the profiles. I see a man in a full suit of armor, as if he were going to a renaissance fair. His bio reads, "I'm hoping your standards are lower than mine." Swipe left. Another man sits in front of what appears to be a math textbook. He seems to be winking at stereotypes and his caption reads, "I'm the Asian for any occasion. I enjoy math and Pokemon." Swipe left. Another man with short, cropped hair has a zoomed-in profile picture of his angry, pockmarked face. His bio reads: "I don't give a shit what you look like because I'm not that good looking." Swift left. I sigh and tap my phone off. So much for Tinder.

  I look at my watch. My lunch break is nearly over. I finish my sandwich and think about Lucien again. I have an exam scheduled with him in a few minutes to check on his fracture. I need to keep my cool. Hormones be damned. I have to keep this professional.

  Consistency and firmness. No small talk. A professional distance. I mutter all of these things to myself, but as soon as Lucien enters the infirmary, all of this fades and again, I'm finding myself struck by his presence. He's the kind of guy who commands a room. I can't help but feel his confidence. His gaze suggests a depth of character that goes beyond the walls of this prison.

  I ask the guard to remove his handcuffs and I take a look at him and ask, "How are your shoulder and arm feeling today?"

  "I've had better days."

  "But would you say you're feeling any better?"

  "I'd feel a whole lot better if I weren't stuck in these four walls."

  "Can you move your arms for me?"

  Lucien carefully lifts his arm, and slowly rotates it in a semi-circular motion. I notice that his range of motion is improving.

  "I'm still in a lot of pain."

  "Well, you aren't out of the woods yet," I remind him. "You'll have some discomfort for a few weeks."

  "It's not discomfort, it's pain. I know the difference."

  "Has your pain subsided at all?" I ask.

  "Off and on, but I could use an extra aspirin."

  For a moment I consider whether I should give him the extra aspirin. His fracture is healing, but he probably is still experiencing some pain to the area. There are a few pretty stringent rules regarding the amount of painkillers we can give to inmates. Most of the time it can fuel addiction, start an addiction, or be used as currency in a place like this. But I decide to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt.

  "I'll give you an extra aspirin this time, but we've got to start cutting back."

  "It's just an aspirin we're talking about."

  "We have rules here, and I need to follow them," I remind him, but then soften my body language and tone a bit. "But I know you need it. So here you go."

  He smiles and we hold each other's gaze for longer than usual. I try to imagine what he'd look like in a different set of clothes beyond the prison garb. Who would he be? Just another man walking down the street, or perhaps shopping for a box of cereal? Would I even turn my head to look at him?

  "Do you have an extra paperclip that I could have?" he asks.

  "Excuse me?" I reply. His question comes out of left field and breaks my thoughts. I'm no longer envisioning him strutting across a crowded city corner, or shopping for groceries.

  "I write," he continues. "I mean letters, journal entries, and things like that. It'd be nice to have a paperclip to keep my papers together, you know?"

  "I can't do that. I'm a medical assistant here to make sure you stay healthy. I'm not your secretary."

  "Come on. Just this once. What's the harm in a paperclip?"

  "You know as well as I do that anything in this place can be harmful."

  "So, what are you saying?"

  "The only thing I'm saying is no. Request denied, Stone. There won't be any paperclips today. I've been here for six months, and I plan to be here for a while longer. I'm not going to get fired on account of a single missing paperclip."

  Lucien laughs. "Fair enough," he says. "I'll take the aspirin and get out of your hair."

  I watch as the guard walks back into the room and replaces his handcuffs. Lucien flips his sandy brown hair out of his eyes and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be held between his strong arms.

  That night, I return home and throw my keys and purse onto the kitchen table. I instinctually open the refrigerator and stare at the nearly bare shelves. There is a carton of eggs, a half loaf of bread, and a bag of carrots for when I'm trying to encourage healthy snacking. I realize I'm not hungry for any of this and close the fridge in disgust. I look at the stainless steel door and see grey. Damn it. That color again. Now I'm thinking of his granite-grey eyes and his strong arms. I'm remembering the outline of his cock when I x-rayed his chest, and the way it seemed to grow harder by the second. When I think about it, I realize I've never touched a cock that big in my life. Jonathan wasn't built like that. I wonder what it would feel like to take him inside of me. I feel a flush of desire wash over my body and I decide to take a shower. Maybe that'll help.

  I undress and look at my body in the bathroom mirror.

  If Lucien were free now, there’s no doubt somehow I would have found a way to bring him in here. That he would be standing next to me with his muscled body.

  I place my hands over my breasts and imagine that they are his hands, his strong fingers, and imagine that he has me in his control and I feel my nipples harden. A tingle runs through my body and I feel myself getting damp. I need him. Whether he’s here or not.

  I walk over to the shower and step inside, turning the heat up. I stand under the stream of water while the steam fogs up the shower doors and I exhale deeply. The showerhead nozzle is removable, and I take it off its stand and into my hands bringing the hot spray of water to my nipples and I lean back against the shower wall. I run my free hand down my body and to my pussy, shoving two fingers inside.

  I close my eyes, removing myself completely from this world as I imagine that those fingers belong to Lucien. That as he does this he runs his tongue along my neck, kissing the ridges of them.

  I shudder in repressed pleasure as I picture Lucien squeezing my tits and my ass. His giant body looking over mine before he ravished it. His thick, juicy cock quivering in desire before it begins to plunge into me.

  Then I remove them and bring the hot stream of water of water to my clit. My entire body clenches under the growing, pulsing desire. I imagine that the hot pressure from the water is his mouth and the image is too much to carry. I throw my head back and let the orgasm overtake me, ridding it out until my legs stop shaking.

  Lucien

  Spider laughs so much he's crying. "Here you are—Mr. Fucking Stone—the grit in this graveyard we call a correctional institution, and some nurse wants to suck your nuts. What's the world coming to? Does she know what a sorry ass you are?"

  "Fuck off, Spider."

  "Shit, I'll give her a real pair of balls to play with."

  "You should really shut the fuck up before I change my mind about this aspirin right here," I tell him, showing him the white pill nestled in the palm of my hand as if it were a precious stone. In here, it might as well be.

  "Come on bro, lighten up. I'm just fucking with you. Did you get me the paperclip too?"

  "I got it, but that wasn't easy. She was on to me."

  "On top of you?" he asks, laughing his ass off.

  "Do you ever fucking listen? Not on top of me, you idiot. I mean that she isn't as stupid as you think. I had to grab that shit when she wasn't looking. You're lucky I didn't get caught. Don't think I wouldn't have ratted your ass out."

  "Shit, Stone, we're tighter than that."

  I watch as he throws the aspirin into his mouth and chews it. I twist my face
in disgust. I don't know how he can chew it like that. Sensing my thoughts he says, "It makes it work faster. I don't have time to wait for it to work its magic. That's the addict in me."

  "Shit," I say. "In here, all you've got is time." I watch as he flops down on his bunk and hangs his long legs off to one side. As much as Spider can get on my nerves, I figure sharing this cell with him is better than being in solitary.

  "I've got to get out of here." I say this to myself, but Spider is listening.

  "Seeing as you've got yourself a life sentence, you're only hope of getting out of here is to grow yourself some super human powers and bust these walls down like the Hulk," Spider laughs again so much that the bunk shakes. "But for real… if you can get little Miss Fireball to give you an extra aspirin, maybe you can get something more."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Come on man, you're smooth. We all know that. If you get her to like you enough, anything's possible. And what do you think? Do her curtains match her carpet?"

  "Do you ever shut the fuck up?"

  "I'm serious. If you fuck her, I've got to know. But I'll go ahead and place my bets—they match."

  As annoying and idiotic as he is most times, Spider has his moments of clarity. And right now is one of them. That's exactly my plan. If I play my cards right—if I fuck her and get her to fall in love with me—I can ask her for a medical leave to the St. Smith Correctional Facility—a low security prison in the desert where I've still got my mob connections. They'll help me escape, and I won't stop running until I've hit the Mexico border. I can almost picture myself driving through the desert at night past cacti the size of cowboys. I'll slip down south and give the middle finger to all of this madness. I just need her recommendation.

  I climb up onto the top bunk and lay my head atop of my flat pillow. My mind is zipping through all of these thoughts and I wonder if I've still got it. I remind myself that it's been a while since I've been with a woman. Didn't she steal a good long look at my cock when she was x-raying me though? I couldn't help it that day. One look at those tight tits of hers, and my cock had a mind of its own. She looked away as soon as she sensed I was noticing her. But maybe that doesn't mean anything at all? I can feel the early stages of sleep tugging at the corners of my thoughts until it overtakes me, and I fall asleep dreaming of my next meeting with her.

  I awoke the next day and immediately call out for the guard. "I need help! Shit, it feels like hellfire when I try to move my arm!"

  "OK, OK, Stone, let's go," the guard says, and we walk down to the infirmary. I can tell he's annoyed and only half believes me, but since he isn't sure, he's allowing me to get checked out. I try to exaggerate my limp and give extra grimaces of pain. I tell myself this better work.

  As soon as we walk into the infirmary, I see her. The way the light hits her hair she might as well be dusted in 24k gold because right now, she seems perfect. Too perfect. Shit. What have I gotten myself into? I wonder. Maybe I've overestimated things. I begin to think this might be harder than I thought.

  "I thought you were feeling better?" she asks.

  "Me too. Looks like we're both wrong."

  "Maybe you're just stiff."

  I laugh. "You make me stiff."

  I see her look at my mouth for a good long while, like she heard what I said but is taking a while to process it all. Will she be flattered or offended?

  "Immature—but you know something? You remind me of someone."

  "Who's that?" I ask.

  "My father, actually."

  "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

  "Neither. It is what it is. He had a way of putting his foot into his own mouth—like you."

  "I only put my foot in my mouth when I'm around beautiful women."

  "Does that line work often?"

  "It's not a line. I mean it."

  "Sure, Mr. Stone. Look, I know guys like you. They flatter you one minute and walk out the next. My father walked out when I was young. He had his faults, but he had his kinder, tender moments too, like the night he decided to sacrifice his booze money on a Barbie doll, or when he'd let me ride around on his shoulders at the local mall when my legs were too tired to walk."

  Her honesty surprises me, and I feel like I should be honest too. I say, "You're right. I'm far from perfect. I've fucked up in a lot of ways. I've hurt people. I'm not proud of that, but I'm working on it, you know?"

  "Good. At least you recognize that. Let me ask you a question. What constitutes a 'perfect' day for you?"

  "Easy. Any day not spent in this prison."

  "No, I mean, outside of here."

  I find myself looking at the kindness of her face. The way the corner of her mouth is turned up in the beginning of a smile. Her empathy. Her soft blue eyes and her red hair burning like a perfect halo around her head. She's the first person in this place who seems to give an ounce of shit about me. I take a deep breath, and wrack my brain for the right answer before responding.

  "Let's see. If I'm honest, I don't need much to have a perfect day. A roof over my head, a warm bed, a good meal—maybe a woman next to me, kicking my butt in a game of Uno or something." I say this and laugh. "I just mean that I'm happy with the simple things. Being in here has put that into perspective, you know? I bet you think I've gone soft or something."

  "No, no I don't. I get it. After my dad left my mom and I, I felt the same way. I mean, any day that I wasn't worried about filling up the bathtub with water because our utilities were getting shut off was a good day. So long as we had a roof, a meal, and a bed, I was happy. Of course, I always envisioned having a man by my side too, but I've learned that's a ridiculous thing to hold onto."

  I notice that we are now both locked into each other's gaze. I can't believe she's opening up to me like this. I mean everyone in this place keeps a healthy distance—the only thing I ever hear coming from people's mouths are either rules or insults, so this is different. I take a quick look around the room and notice that we are alone. The guard is gone, and so is everyone else. So, I lean a little closer. I notice that she seems to be leaning into me as well. We are so close now that I can feel her breath on my upper lip. I want to touch her hair, her cheek. But just as I'm about to touch her lips with mine, a guard runs in and we both snap our bodies back like rubber bands.

  For a moment, I'm worried that he saw us, but judging by his frantic entrance, I can tell that he hasn't. His mind is on something else.

  "Kerri, we need you! There's a lot of blood!" he says.

  Kerri

  The guard looks frantic. His hair is disheveled and he is acting panicked. His shirt is has come partially untucked. I wonder if it's a true emergency, or if he's overreacting… he's new here. How long has it been, maybe a couple of weeks? In any case, he hasn't seen it all yet. He's as green as they come, so that wouldn't surprise me.

  "Kerri, we need you! There's a lot of blood!" he says.

  "I'll be right there," I say, and then I look over at Lucien Stone. My mind is flopping between the current emergency and this man sitting in front of me. His soft, brown hair and his broad shoulders are just begging me to touch them. Did we almost just share a moment? He was leaning into me—and I was leaning into him, but I'm not sure where we were going. And to top it off, he's an inmate. What am I even thinking? I can't believe I'm having these thoughts. What are you doing? I ask myself. You'll get in serious trouble. Now is not the time to compromise your career. Do you really want to go and mess everything up now? My pep talk seems to help, but looking at Lucien—his strong arms, and his soft, full lips, and—I-I don't know. He stirs feelings in me that I thought I no longer had, at least not since Jonathan. But my mind snaps back to the present and what I do know is that I have to leave him right now, and follow the guard.

  "I'm sorry, I need to go. Just uh—t-take it easy, OK? Don't overextend that arm and I promise you'll be fine. Give it time, and stay off the weights. Bones don't heal overnight." I watch as he just looks at me, unable to find any
thing else to say, and I have no choice but to turn away and leave him.

  I follow the guard into the next room and I see a man sitting in one of the plastic chairs. He's pudgy, with a haircut that looks as if it were cut with a bowl—perfectly round and reaching to the tips of his thick eyebrows in the front, and the tips of his ears around the sides. I don't actually see the back of his hair right way, but it all looks symmetrical. I look at his nose and see that it is swollen and an angry purple color at the bridge. It's leaking a steady stream of blood down his lips and chin, and it's pooling onto the floor.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  The inmate doesn't look at me, and keeps his eyes on the floor. I prod him a second time and then he mutters, "It was a dare… My cellmate had five packets of Ramen noodles and a honey bun. I've been lookin' at those damn things for weeks. He probably wasn't even gonna do nothin' with 'em, but I wanted 'em so damn bad. I would've done damn near anythin' for 'em. What was I supposed to do? I don't have any commissary money. I thought it was my lucky day."

  "So, what did you do?" I ask, trying to get to the bottom of things.

  "Well, my cellmate dared me to snort two fat lines of table salt. He said if I could pull that off, I could have 'em all. On account of my stomach growling and my mouth practically drooling all over the place, I took him up on it."

  "And that's why your nose is bleeding and swollen?" I ask.