Executive Engagement: A Boardroom to Bedroom Fake Fiancee Romance

by Alexis Angel

  But seeing him like that—cocky, erect, muscular, and so handsome I could die—it’s easy to forget what I came up here for in the first place.

  Vaguely, I recall being pissed off at him.

  It’s a start.

  “You’re a fucking dick.”

  I point my finger at him for emphasis. Immediately I wish I hadn’t. Because when my eyes track to where that finger is pointing…

  It become pretty obvious to both of us that my eyes are focused on his big, thick cock.

  “Not yet I’m not.”

  He doesn’t even look at the French girls currently gathering up their little black dresses and cursing at him en français as they trek out the door.

  “But bring that sweet little cunt over here…and I could be.”

  I hate to admit it. I don’t want to admit it.

  But when he talks to me like that…

  My pussy throbs.

  I swallow and try not to think about swallowing his cock. With my mouth, or my cunt, or—fuck, I’d even let him take my ass with a dick that gorgeous.

  It’s like when someone tells you not to think about elephants—you immediately start to think about elephants. The heat building between my legs makes it hard to think straight—unless I’m thinking about how I want to launch myself pussy-first straight at his dick.

  I’m trying to remember what the fuck I came up here for to begin with, but as I take a step forward—a step that he matches—the only thing I can focus on is the elephant in the room.

  He might be a dick, but he’s a dick I want to ride.

  Desperately.

  “You’re fucking noisy,” I say, briefly recalling my argument as I take another step forward.

  On my way up here, I had this all planned out perfectly in my head. Every beat. Every scathing point.

  Now, I’m just walking towards him, licking my lips and trying to piece it all together, when all I really want? For him to rip this sweater to shreds and fucking take me already.

  He smirks in response. “I could be louder.”

  “You’re a horny fucking bastard.”

  “Damn right I am, sweetheart.”

  “I bet you fuck any woman who throws herself at you.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you try it and find out?”

  I stop, maybe a foot away from him. Maybe less.

  “You’ve been keeping me up all night for years, asshole.”

  I’m fucking shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from rage or lust, or if I just confused my brain so hard I’m having a gentle fucking seizure.

  Apart from the shaking, though, I don’t even move.

  I don’t trust myself to.

  But 33D doesn’t seem to have any problem with closing the gap.

  “You wanna know something, 32?”

  He runs his thumb across my lower lip, turning my chin up at him, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

  I just stare at him. If I have words, they’re not coming out right now.

  “You’ve been keeping me up all night, too,” he says.

  And that’s all there’s left to say.

  He kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that’ll probably leave bruises on my lips come morning. I fucking want it to.

  The next time he’s having rough, loud sex over my bed late at night, I want to be able to touch the tenderness on my lips and remember how he felt. But the bruises don’t end there.

  As his tongue darts into my mouth, his hands claim my body next. His fingers curl around one wrist, around my throat. He claims my tongue with his while he captures my neck.

  And that’s when I know.

  The next time he’s having rough sex over my bed late at night, it’s because I’m in his bed beneath him. If he wants to be loud while he fucks over me…

  Fuck figuratively. He might as well be literally be fucking me over.

  He doesn’t rip my sweater to shreds, but he does pull it over my head before he even bothers to ask what I want. I’m fucking grateful for that. Anyone else, the courtesy would’ve been nice…

  But I don’t want him to be a nice man right now.

  I want him to be every bit of the loud, dirty jackass I came up here to bitch out.

  “You’re a real piece of work,” I snarl at him as he tosses my sweater across the room.

  “Yeah?” he challenges me.

  His fingers dart between my legs before I have a chance to think of something clever to say back at him.

  “Well, you’re a mouthy fucking whore. Little slut didn’t think to put on panties before she came up here, huh?”

  Despite myself, my hips buck against him. They’re not under my control anymore—they’re at his mercy.

  “Fuck” is all I have to say about that.

  “Christ,” he swears. “You’re fucking smooth, too. Fresh shave, kitten?”

  His fingers twitch at my clit, and—god. I purr for him. I abso-fucking-lutely purr.

  “Daddy likes that,” he purrs back.

  Then he picks me up. One arm wrapped around my waist, one hand on my clean-shaven cunt. His fingers slip right inside me as he does it, stroking against my G-spot and making me moan. I’m already halfway to an orgasm by the time he tosses me onto the bed.

  “I fucking hate you,” I spit as I spread my legs for him.

  That just makes him laugh.

  “Oh, honey. I bet you do.” He prowls toward me, cock in hand. “Let’s see if we can’t change that tune.”

  Fletcher

  She’s a good girl. I can tell.

  33D. She came into my apartment looking for a fight. Instead, I’m giving her a roll in my sheets.

  She tried her best. I’ll give her that.

  She tried to come at me from her moral fucking high ground, but without my floor and her ceiling between us, there was no question about what she really wanted.

  What we both want.

  “Tell me your name, kitten.”

  I move between her long, slender thighs and put my cock between her pussy lips.

  “Tell me your name—then make me moan it.”

  She’s soaked. She’s fucking swimming in it. But I don’t take her—not yet.

  Right now, I’m all about the grind—and the way that my cock against her clit is making her hips do bad-girl things.

  “Erin,” she gasps as I position my tip at her entrance.

  “Nice to meet you, Erin,” I tease as my cock knocks at her dripping wet front door. “I’m—”

  “I fucking know who you are,” she growls at me through her teeth. “Fletcher.”

  I smile. “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

  “Only every fucking night when I have to hear some bimbo yelling it through your floor.”

  That fucking tickles me, you know? The thought that she’s been thinking of me like I’ve been thinking of her.

  It’s crossed my mind once or twice, I have to admit. Maybe I’ve been bringing all those bimbos home with me just to fucking tease her. Torture her.

  Make her want me. Let her know what she could have if she was just brave enough to show up at my door.

  “How long have you wanted this?” I say, slapping her cunt with my iron-hot twelve-inch cock.

  “Long enough,” she says.

  And I don’t know how she does it—some twist of her hips maybe? Maybe my cock just gets a mind of its own.

  But before I know it, I’m inside her.

  Her wetness. Her heat.

  “Erin,” I gasp, because she steals the fucking breath from my throat.

  “That’s right, jackass,” she snarls. “Say my name.”

  Just like that…we’re gone.

  I plow her. I use her. I fuck her harder than any woman I’ve ever fucked before in my life.

  I take her rougher than even seems right. She’s a good girl—goddamn, she’s the best girl—the kind of girl that should be put on a fucking pedestal and worshiped. Adored.

  But I didn’t even taste her cunt before I stuck my c
ock in her.

  There was no room for foreplay—only need. I’m fucking her like she’s Bad, capital B.

  I can’t help myself. It’s what my body wants and my cock fucking demands. But next time—and there will be a next time, so help me god—next time, I won’t make that mistake.

  I don’t make mistakes like that twice.

  Thank god she can fucking take it. Her cunt is more responsive than any cunt I’ve ever met—and my mouth, my body, my cock were all made to please.

  She should be whimpering right now. She should be gearing up for a breathy, earth-shattering orgasm that will leave her so spent she drifts right off to sleep and stays that way for days. But I guess all that keeping her awake that I’ve been doing hasn’t exhausted her nearly enough yet.

  Because instead, she’s moaning—low and deep, the kind of moans you just can’t fake. She’s clawing up my back with her glossy nails and marking the flesh of my shoulder with her sharp, white teeth. We’re fucking ruining each other.

  Nothing has ever felt so right in my entire life.

  “Take it! Take it, you dirty little slut,” I find myself barking at her. “Take my fucking cock!”

  “Give it to me!” she takes her lips off my shoulder to bark right back.

  “Yeah? You fucking like that?”

  She sinks her teeth into my shoulder again in response, and I have to grab her pretty little throat just to keep her from drawing blood.

  “I thought you were a good girl, Erin,” I pant, balls-deep in her wet, throbbing cunt. “Who would’ve thought you’d turn out to be such a horny little bitch?”

  “Oh, I am a good girl.” She runs those razor-sharp nails down my back until I hiss. “You’re just a bad fucking man.”

  “Is this what good girls do in your book? Come up to the apartments of strange men with their smooth little cunts dripping?”

  “Good girls…”

  She’s getting close. I can fucking feel it.

  “Good girls put men like you in their place.”

  “Yeah, kitten? And where’s my place?”

  She moans. She moans like a fucking animal. Like she doesn’t have a single word left in her pretty little head.

  And that’s when I know I have her.

  “I think my place,” I tell her, building to an orgasm of my own, “is right here. Balls deep in your cunt, little girl. Between your sexy fucking thighs.”

  “Fuck!” she shouts.

  That’s when I feel it. Her hot, slick cunt throbbing around me, like she’s trying to milk my cock of every last drop of cum in my balls.

  I don’t even try to hold it back. I just fucking give it to her.

  “ERIN!” I yell. I don’t hold anything back—I yell her name so loud, it probably wakes the entire building up.

  And she yells back at me, “FLETCHER! GOD, YES! FLETCHER! MORE! MORE MORE MORE!”

  That’s not the best part, though.

  The best part is hearing my upstairs neighbors grab their fucking broom and start pounding the handle so hard against their floor that my lights start to shake.

  “If you little shits are about done, go the fuck to sleep already!” a cranky, elderly male voice shouts through my ceiling.

  I fucking laugh as my cum pools around my cock, and I bury my face in Erin’s dark, silky hair.

  “You’re expanding my fan base,” I chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever woken up my upstairs neighbors before.”

  She kisses my neck and looks up at me with a laugh of her own lingering on her lips.

  “Wanna go again?” she asks me.

  I fall in love with her right then and there.

  “You sure you’re up for it?”

  She nods, and I can already feel myself hardening inside her cunt again.

  “I think I’ve earned it,” she informs me. “Besides…I’d love to know what they think about us next door.”

  Alexis and WineBar #2

  So, WineBar was kind of an asshole.

  I mean, what do you expect? He owned a bar. Actually more than one. It was asshole borne out of the confidence of being right.

  I hated him.

  But I could see myself falling in love with him.

  He was too cocky. Too sure of himself. Too confident that he could spin me up, make me laugh, and then leave me hanging.

  A moment with him would leave me forgetting everything going on in my head. All the problems of the world would become silly little annoyances.

  Just like the first time I met him.

  I remember telling my friend, let’s call her Lana, that I couldn’t stand him.

  “Oh my God,” she said after a particularly long rant. “You so love him.”

  “I do not!” I protested.

  “You want to have like all his babies!” she pushed back, making a face as I stuck my tongue out at her.

  We were sitting in a coffee shop in San Francisco. The morning commuter rush of people walked by us on Market Street and they watched us with raised eyebrows.

  And then my phone vibrated.

  It was WineBar.

  He told me he wanted to have dinner with me.

  Didn’t ask.

  Just told me what he wanted.

  And my heart froze.

  Because I said yes, but all I could think was the following:

  “This is the cockiest guy I’ve ever met in my life.”

  Laura

  The beat vibrating through the dance floor pulses through me as I move along to the rhythm. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a need to let loose, but tonight is an exception.

  Being broken up with over a text message isn’t only impersonal, it’s cowardice. Like, he didn’t even have the nerve to approach me in person and explain how over the course of the last two years, he somehow developed some level of disdain for me.

  Nope. He just hid it.

  The whole time.

  And when I just seek understanding on all of it, he shuts me down and says I’m just a nagging bitch.

  I feel like I’m in high school again. If you hate me, fine. So be it.

  But at least have the audacity to be honest about it, and more importantly, have some reasoning to back yourself up.

  I walk back to our table. As I push my sweat-dripped hair back, I see Jeremy just standing with his back against the mirror-lined wall. He’s a great friend for coming out with me and trying to get my mind off of the jerk that left me without any reasoning.

  It’s not healthy to sit and question why over and over. So instead, tonight, we drink, laugh, dance, and goof off like we did years ago when we first became friends.

  As I approach the table, I let out a heavy sigh.

  Dancing now is a lot more exhausting than it was in college. I think when you get out into the real world, it takes a big toll on your ability to shake your ass for hours on end.

  “Are you having a good time?” I ask Jeremy, who has just been a wallflower since he got a beer from the bar. So not like him.

  “Yeah! Absolutely. I’m entertained. You’re really killing it out there, Laura,” he answers.

  “Why don’t you come out here and join me?”

  “Nah, I think I’m good right here,” he replies.

  I latch onto that inner frat boy and try my best to drag it out of him.

  “Oh, come on! When’s the next time we’ll be here? Realistically, it could be a last hurrah for us,” I insist.

  He considers it. I see it in his lips as he gives me that trademark half-smirk and his eyes roll up as though he’s actually looking at a thought bubble over his head.

  But he stays right there against the wall, even as I start tugging at his wrist to come with me. I glare at him to show my displeasure, take a sip of my Sex on the Beach, and return to the dance floor alone.

  And there’s the one thing I don’t see eye-to-eye on with him. He always recognizes a good time and always wants to be around it, but lately he never wants to be a part of it.

  I can’t t
hink of a single reason for him to not get out here and dance with me.

  Shit, he could even find a hot girl for himself and take her home with him.

  I’m not going to lie. If someone approached me tonight trying to give me a good time, I’d probably do it. I’m fragile, full of bad judgement, and incredibly horny now that I don’t have regular, guaranteed sex in the palm of my hand.

  I rotate myself on the dance floor to get a view of anything other than Jeremy just hanging out against the wall, and I get pumped up when I hear the next song starting. I look out ahead of me in the crowd as my hips start swaying rhythmically to the melody. It’s one of those songs you could get really hot and heavy with someone to.

  My hands travel from my shoulders, caressing my breasts, and down to my hips. I’m enjoying touching myself, and I’m fine with anyone and everyone knowing it.

  My light blue tank top barely contains my perky, size-E tits and my erect nipples, hard through the slightly sheer material.

  I’m getting some very hungry stares from some lustful, sexy twenty-somethings.

  As if seeing my tits isn’t enough, I’m also sporting a mini skirt, my black G-string thong totally visible from the sides and the back, my ass cheeks just peeking out from the bottom of the skirt.

  I look fucking hot.

  I’m absolutely smoking.

  Every other girl in this club is giving me the stink eye, and every man here is just eating me up. But as I scan the crowd, I come to realize there’s not one man here that I could see handling the fucking volcano that I am behind closed doors. They’re all in their first couple years of college, and I’m about four years into an actual career.

  I don’t think they would understand, but there’s just so much difference in that time, especially in terms of sexual development. Everyone loves a good fuck, but your definition of a good fuck changes in that time, and we’re just not on the same wavelength.

  Eat your hearts out, boys.

  My buzz is wearing off, and I’m getting a little too real for myself right now, coming to the obvious conclusion that I need another drink.

  Just when I go to step off the dance floor, I’m taken aback by a couple that’s standing toward the far edge of the floor, the guy rubbing the chick’s pussy through her skin-tight leggings.