Executive Engagement: A Boardroom to Bedroom Fake Fiancee Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Armand

  Minnie is spread out on the bed under me, and it’s so intense I think I might pass out.

  My cock is so ridiculously hard, all the blood in my body must be pounding at its head.

  She wants me. She wants me as bad as I want her.

  She wriggles closer to me, and I run my hands along her smooth thighs. I can taste her cum all over my lips and smell her all over me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.

  I start to slide into her pussy. It’s so wet and hot. I look up to her eyes and see her staring at my face.

  It’s powerfully erotic. I’ve never had a woman look me in the eye before, not while I’m putting my cock in her.

  They all close their eyes, look away, bury their head in a pillow.

  Not Minnie. She puts her hands on her thighs as she opens her legs further, knees up, feet flat on the bed. Her eyes trail over my chest and back up to my eyes.

  I thought looking at her tight pussy was hot. Fuck, this is so fucking intense! Her dark blue eyes are black and glinting in the dark.

  I want to close my eyes. It’s a natural instinct. But I can’t.

  I look up into her face as my cock goes in, inch by inch. This is not just sex. This is…this is our souls making love.

  It’s like my cock is attached to my heart.

  Not breaking the gaze, Minnie slides her hips down. Her hands find my wrists and grip me tightly as she begins to grind.

  I can’t move for a second as she rocks against me, forcing my cock in. All the way in.

  I’m throbbing inside her with no room to spare.

  A smile slowly creeps across her face. I lean down and kiss her, trying to be soft and gentle.

  She’s a fucking goddess, and yet she’s as delicate as one of her flowers.

  Minnie grabs my head and trails a kiss down to my throat. She drags her tongue up under my ear and presses it between her teeth gently. Her hot breath gasps against my ear.

  “Fuck me, Andy. Fuck me hard.”

  I grab her hips, moaning as my body obeys her without thought or question. I thrust forward on my knees, pounding into her.

  I expect her to close her eyes, roll and thrash, but she doesn’t. She keeps looking at me, and I can’t look away. Her hands grip my forearms, fingers running up and down my hard muscles.

  I’m a thing of strung tension, holding it—just holding it. She’s so fucking hot, I just want to come, and I can feel it racing up on me.

  I can’t bear those quiet eyes anymore. I fall against her.

  Hot nipples jiggle against my skin as I press my body against hers. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, crushing her to me, burying my face in her long brown hair.

  I start gasping as my hips jerk against her, and she opens wider, thrusting and opening up for me.

  I feel her spasming, again and again, hot sweet pussy lips grabbing at my cock from the inside out. She cries out, gripping me around the shoulder blades as her hips rock in time with the shudders inside.

  Feeling the muscles going hot, slick, and loose as the tension bleeds out of her, I let myself go. I thrust hard and fast, slapping against her as she lays quiet and passive, one hand on the back of my head.

  I let out a long, drawn-out moan as I come in stages, bit by bit.

  It’s like my cock is confused or something. I’m still too aroused.

  Once is not going to be enough for me. As usual.

  I collapse down beside her, breathing heavily and shaking. She moves across to me, hugging my chest as she cuddles under my arm. I kiss her deeply and feel her whole body soften against me immediately.

  She’s ready for more—like she was fucking made for me.

  “Maybe we should go back to my place,” she says with a sweet smile. “I’m not even sure whose bed we’re in.”

  I feel an icy shock as I remember where we are. I had totally forgotten.

  Anyone could walk in and see us.

  “Sounds like a good idea. I really don’t feel like going back to my place.”

  “So, I’m just convenient, am I?” She’s joking, but there’s an edge to it.

  She likes her space. Or maybe she assumes that I take her for a quick fuck.

  I tell her about my roommates and our very charitable abode. Why my place isn’t suitable for a romantic liaison.

  She laughs at me. “I never thought you were that kind of guy.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not all bad!”

  I give her a quick run-down on my situation, about my parents and my art. She wants to see my paintings and sculptures.

  “A sensitive soul trapped in the body of a lion.” She sits up and kisses me.

  It feels amazing to have this kind of focused attention. Minnie really gets living for the moment. There is an immediacy of feeling that shocks me to my bones.

  We get up to head back to her place, and I can’t wait to get her alone. Really alone, where I can savor every sweet fucking inch of her.

  As she fixes her dress, I put my pants on, trying to think this through. I can’t just move in.

  I don’t want to worry about that now. I want to indulge her every erotic whim.

  There’s a dim light in my pocket. I pull out the phone. New message.

  Got an old buddy to look at your art. Sold three pieces for over twenty grand. Your dad wants in. He’s putting you back in the will. Calling tomorrow with details for your first exhibition. Trust fund will be enabled by the afternoon. Uncle Matt.

  Minnie comes over and kisses me.

  “Everything okay?”

  I can’t stop grinning. I kiss her hard. I’m so happy I can’t breathe.

  “Everything is great.”

  She smiles back. “Ready to go?”

  “I’m ready to go anywhere with you. Just say when.”

  We hold hands as we leave the room. Wherever we go now, it will always be together.

  Alexis and WineBar #8

  “You have never been happier,” my friend told me as we sat down to lunch.

  And it was true.

  I had never been happier before.

  I was a girlfriend. Who had a boyfriend.

  All that casual stuff was over.

  He was mine. I could rub myself all over him every morning.

  I could hold him whenever I wanted.

  I could be upset and he would always try and make me happy.

  I was his.

  And he was mine.

  And together, we were one.

  “But doesn’t he travel a lot?” she asked me. “Won’t you miss him a lot?”

  I stopped for a moment.

  I had never thought about that.

  Was our love strong enough to last the test of distance?

  I know it’s weird, but I remember thinking this one question over and over. How far would he go to keep me as his personal slut, forever?

  Naomi

  My phone buzzes, and I look to see it’s him.

  God, that’s the third time today.

  Can’t a guy take a hint?

  Reluctantly, I answer. “Hi, Chris. Uh-huh, yeah. I had a nice time, too. No, I’m busy tonight. Sure, maybe another time. Okay, bye.”

  I am so sick of dating.

  At least three times a week, I’m going out with a different guy, and yeah, you might think I should be happy about it, the interest and everything, but the truth is it’s getting pretty dull.

  Christopher stood out as a particularly bad date. He was conceited and just…blasé about everything. He’s a lawyer, and really, that kind of talk gets boring quickly.

  I don’t care who he’s suing or for how much money.

  Ugh.

  When did the city and the dating landscape become so predictable?

  I throw my Chanel purse onto the new industrial-chic chair I just bought and sink down into my soft leather couch. What a day.

  As a stylist, I go out with a lot of industry people. And can I just tell you a little secret?

  Gu
ys in the fashion world…not so rugged.

  I find myself dating a lot of models. Some of them are cool, but for the most part, they’re self-obsessed, skinny, and egocentric.

  I mean, when your date is calorie-counting more than you are, that’s a bad sign.

  Maybe this is just me feeling weary. It’s been a year since my last relationship. His name was Derek, and I’ve never gotten over him—nor do I want to.

  My heart still aches for him every single night.

  And so this revolving door of men has been my way of coping with the past. You see, the relationship ended on bad terms.

  He cheated on me. I never thought that would happen to me in my entire life. I thought we had trust.

  And yet I found myself coming home to find him banging a mutual friend in our bed.

  I’ve been jaded ever since. You would be too if you saw that sight—her legs wrapped tightly around him. He was pumping into her hard, and I walked right in just as she was tearing her nails down my man’s back and screaming his name.

  Fuck, the image of it never gets any easier.

  I drag myself up off the couch to pour myself a glass of Pinot Noir. Something to take the edge off a long day.

  I’m exhausted.

  I mean, it was a long day but a good day. I feel constantly inspired by the models, the photographers, and most especially the editors who fuse their eye for design with my clothing creations.

  I live in a fast-paced world, and I’m one of the best stylists around—which accounts for my growing bank account and this beautiful apartment.

  I moved here after the aforementioned split with Derek. He and I had shared a place downtown, and once we split, he moved in with the dirty tramp, and I’ve never looked back.

  Living at The Bradford has made me feel like I’m finally home. After years of running from my problems and dating bad men, I’m finally in a safe place, a strong place.

  My interior designer friend, Layla, helped decorate my little space in The Bradford, and she made it romantic with a touch of industrial design.

  I take the bottle of red from my little wine fridge and pop the cork. Then I do something devious, something I’ve been prone to do as of late.

  I walk to my window that’s a stone’s throw away from the building next door where a handsome new mystery man has moved in.

  Talk about rugged.

  It may or may not have become a nightly ritual of mine to see what he’s up to.

  Yes, I know it’s weird to be spying on a neighbor, but if you saw him, you’d be doing the same exact thing.

  He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. And his apartment! Though I don’t have a great view of it, well, I can tell that it’s modern, luxe, dark…and big. The guy practically owns the entire floor.

  I’ve seen him looking at me, too. We have a kind of love/hate relationship going on. He sees me, and I see him, but neither of us will admit to it.

  Not that I’ve actually met the guy. I’ve seen him coming and going in a limousine. He’s seen me getting in and out of Ubers.

  That’s about the extent of it.

  That and the couple times I’ve seen him walking around his place with no shirt on.

  The man has abs—rippling, sculpted abs. And that’s all I’m checking on tonight, to see if he’s home and if he happens to be getting out of the shower or home from a workout.

  Before you judge me, let’s just remember that this is New York City. People live on top of each other here, and it’s virtually impossible to look out my window or to be on my little balcony without seeing a straight shot into his apartment.

  It’s unavoidable.

  He’s unavoidable.

  He penetrates my thoughts, and I don’t even know the guy.

  Fuck, I’m getting myself into something deep. I can feel it, and once I’m in, I know it’ll be hard to get out.

  I look through my blinds and sip my wine, but he’s not there.

  Damn.

  It’s better this way, I guess. I need to not have my desire fueled by this neighborly obsession.

  I take my drink to the tub where I draw out a long and relaxing bath for a day well done.

  That’s the thing about living at The Bradford…there’s never a dull moment.

  Paul

  Her legs are spread wide for me. She’s always so eager to have me take her across my desk.

  My secretary, Lydia, is begging for it, and that’s all the motivation I need to drive it home.

  I pump into her roughly and grip her hips between my strong hands, trying to keep her in place and from ruining all the paperwork on my desk.

  “Yes, Paul, oh fuck, yes.”

  Yeah, I know, baby. You want it…bad.

  She came on board to my firm a couple months ago, and we’ve made this a little nightly ritual. It took less than a week of her working for me to have her on her knees in my office, begging to suck my cock.

  Who am I to say no? Paul Armstrong does not say no to a beautiful woman so easily.

  I am, by definition, a player, but Lydia doesn’t know that about me. She might’ve surmised it given the fact that I’ve never once invited her to my place or seen her outside of the office. But I’m not about to ruin the fluid sexual relationship we have going.

  That’s all it is—sex. That’s all it ever is.

  I’m fairly new to the city, came in from London a couple months ago. I live in a nice little place—okay, a nice big place while I look around town for the perfect penthouse.

  I grab a handful of her beautiful tits and then I thrust into her harder than ever.

  My twelve-inch cock goes in deep, and she cries out my name again. I cup a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her gasps for me.

  “Paul, fuck, I’m coming so hard.”

  She always comes hard. Lydia—the twenty-something personal assistant who organizes my life and dresses for my benefit every single day—always has multiple orgasms with me.

  I know I’m the best she’s ever had. I’m the best most women have ever had. That’s why it’s my pleasure to fuck them into oblivion; I’m doing them a fucking favor.

  Today, she’s got a tight little bondage dress on. It’s far too inappropriate for the office, but who am I to complain? She’ll get the message soon enough that I’m not really interested, and then she’ll either quit, move to another department, or hold her head high and come into work every day even as I fuck a new round of women.

  What can I say?

  It takes a lot to keep me interested for any length of time…and Lydia’s just not that interesting.

  Besides, it’s a two-way street. She’s fucking me because I’m the boss and a natural dominant. I’m fucking her because she has nice tits and she’s conveniently located.

  Don’t think I’m an asshole just yet. I’m holding out for love, but at this point in my life, it’s been more about lust than anything else.

  You try finding the whole package in a city like this. I need brains, beauty, and a certain amount of vulnerability that’ll keep my cock hard for a lifetime.

  “Paul, baby, fuck. You’re so hot!”

  Lydia’s screaming and coming all around my thick shaft. I take my time to draw out her pleasure, and then I sink into her deeply and pull out just in time to spray cum all over her tits and torso.

  It glistens so nicely on her flat belly, and I take a second to just watch as she scoops my essence off her chest and licks her fingers clean.

  Good fucking girl.

  I let her pull herself together and make my way to the bar. It’s nighttime already, and I need a fucking drink.

  To say I’m a workaholic is an understatement. I work all the goddamn time, and that’s why Lydia’s so convenient to have around.

  “Mmm, Paul, that was so good,” she says, getting back into her tight bondage-style dress. “Hey, you wanna get a drink somewhere?”

  “Hmm, baby I’d like to, but you know how much work I have to do. You go out, have fun.”
<
br />   She pouts, and I go over to her kiss her softly to remind her that it’ll be this way same time tomorrow.

  “Okay,” she says cheerily as she walks to the door. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Fine,” I say absentmindedly over my shoulder.

  I’m already burying my head in a stack of new reports.

  I work too much, and I know it, but let’s just say it’s more important to me to get ahead then it is to go out on the town for some mediocre fun.

  I work late into the night, and then I hit the gym that’s close to the apartment. I love to work out late, when no one’s there, when normal people have gone to bed.

  That’s when I come alive. I’m a night owl and survive on very little sleep.

  I work out hard, to the very max, then I shower up and go home. I have a black Porsche that I drive when I want to give my limousine driver the night off. He deserves it.

  He has a family and everything, not like me. I have no one to answer to and I like it that way.

  Tonight is no different, and as I click on the lights of my darkened apartment, I can’t help but think of her.

  She doesn’t have a name. She’s barely even a neighbor. But she lives next door in The Bradford, and she’s so fucking beautiful that I find myself staring from my place into her apartment often.

  I just like to get a glimpse of her, to know that she’s okay.

  And I vow to meet her one day soon.

  It just has to look like an accident.

  Naomi

  My heels click on the pavement.

  Blisters threaten to have me walk barefoot.

  It’s been another long day working on-location. They sectioned off an entire Manhattan street just for this photo shoot, and I have to say I did a stunning job. The theme is “Midnight in Manhattan.”

  I swathed the model in black lace, dark blues, and tons of fucking diamonds. She looked ethereal, set against the backdrop of the gritty street—which was kind of the point: midnight in the city.

  It’s late as I walk the last few blocks home. I like to walk in the city when it’s dark and the tourists and the people have faded a bit into the background.