His Make-Believe Bride

by Frankie Love

  “Good, because I hate condoms.”

  I bite my lip, not having an opinion on the matter, and grateful that Monique had us tested to make sure we were totally clean.

  He lowers me against the pillows, and spreads my legs, and runs his wide palms over my belly, down to my entrance. Looking at me, he loses his smile, he loses the goofy edge that we’ve been teetering on.

  The mood shifts, and suddenly we fall into something cavernous. Something that holds a depth I’ve never experienced with a man in my life. And he presses his massive cock inside of me, slowly filling me, and it hurts like hell. This losing of my innocence and this freefall into his body.

  I hope like hell he catches me.

  But the actual de-virginizing … that isn’t painful. It’s beautiful. I didn’t wear white and I didn’t carry something blue, but I do borrow something.

  I borrow all the courage I seem to have stored up for the entirety of my life. I borrow Delta’s prowess, and I borrow Amelia’s strength, and I give them to Silas.

  I give him everything.

  I give him all of me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silas

  I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to make her cry. But no matter how slow I go, her pussy is tight, and my dick is huge, and there’s no denying that she sheds a tear.

  But dammit, I wipe it away and I rock in her gently, my body hovering over hers as I fill her up. I don’t go all the way in. I know that’s way too much for a virgin as small as her.

  Instead, I go nice and slow—and fuck me now, it’s the best pussy I’ve ever been in. I don’t know why this girl, with her books and her sexy glasses and her perfect curvy body, ended up in my bed, but damn, she’s warm and tight. I watch her writhe beneath me as I hit her g-spot, nice and slow. Over and over again.

  “Silas, you feel so good … it’s too good, it’s all too much,” she moans, her fingers digging into my back as she nears her climax. I smile, loving the way her tits bounce up and down as I fuck her, loving the way her eyes shut as she feels her center light up with my cock.

  “You love it, don’t you, girl?” I move faster, knowing that she’s so close, so ready.

  My cock is on fire, ready to come inside her until she weeps. Ready to come inside her until her pussy fills with my come, until her pussy begs for more.

  I know it will.

  “Oh, ohhhhh, Silas, ohhhh,” she cries, shaking beneath me as her orgasm washes over her.

  I fill her with my release, loving the fact that she’s my wife and her pussy is filled with my come. I don’t want anyone to ever have the pleasure of her pussy but me.

  Catching my breath, I brush back her hair, look into those jewel-like eyes.

  “Well, that was fun,” she says, a laugh escaping her mouth. She bites her lip, instinctively pulling back that perfect sound.

  “So you’re not leaving the first chance you get?” Maybe it’s unfair to ask that of her now, when we just consummated our marriage and my cock is still in her, but I can’t help it.

  She swallows, saying a whole fucking lot in her long pause.

  Are you kidding me with this shit?

  Finally, she says, “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “Right.” I roll off her, not interested in begging her to say something different.

  “Silas, don’t,” she says, grabbing my elbow.

  “What?” I shrug, standing, pulling on my jeans. “What do you want to say?”

  “I don’t know.” She sits up, pulling the sheet around her, her legs curling beneath her.

  “That’s not enough for me, Everly. And I think you do know. You’re just too fucking scared to say it.”

  “I’m not scared.” She sits up straighter, her shoulders square and her eyes focused. “I came out here with you, a stranger. I signed my name and became your wife and I gave you my virginity. I’m not scared.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I pull on a tee-shirt, knowing I have lot of fucking work to do around here after being gone for twenty-four hours. I’m not interested in sitting around discussing what this girl is or isn’t scared of, if she’s staying or if she wants to go.

  I didn’t sign up for that shit. I signed up for a bride who wanted to live in the mountains with me. I signed up for a wife who could make it in the wild.

  Not this. Not a girl like Everly.

  And damn, it’s a shame. Because besides the fact her pussy is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, the tightest pussy I’ve ever filled, when I saw her at the airport I swore she would be mine.

  But a lot can change in a day.

  “The problem is, Silas—and I know it sounds bratty or whatever, but come on—I didn’t think this is where you lived. In a shack. In the middle of nowhere. This is more than I bargained for.”

  “Well, this is what I have to fucking offer you, Everly. Take it or leave it.”

  She purses her lips, totally pissed. “But not until you agree to fly me out of here, right?” She throws up her hands. “We’re back to where we were before you scooped me up in your arms and carried me to your bed. We’re right where we started.”

  I cross to the fridge and grab a beer. Cracking it open, I take a long swig, then turn back to her. “I’m not going to sit here and fight with you for the next week. I have work to do.”

  I leave the cabin, grab an axe by the back door, and head to the woods to chop down a motherfucking tree.

  I wanted a mail order bride to avoid the bullshit of a city girl who was high maintenance and not cut out for this. That was the solitary reason I signed up with Monique’s service in the first place.

  But as I walk into the forest, I see how fucked this idea was. I have a wife I can’t make a life with.

  So how the hell is this supposed to work?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everly

  After pulling on my clothes, I dig in my tote bag for my cell phone, hoping against stupid hope that, by some miraculous occurrence, there’s a signal.

  There’s not.

  Obviously.

  Silas left pissed. Which, okay, I personally think is a really unfair move. It isn’t my fault Monique led me to believe I was marrying some loaded Alaskan man. It isn’t my fault I thought I’d be living in civilization and not in a shack. Like, this isn’t even a log cabin. This is someone’s shitty lean-to. This is not a home.

  And that is seriously all I wanted.

  Yes, I was out-of-my-mind drunk when I filled out the online applications with Delta and Amelia. And yes, I was sober when I spoke with Monique the next day … but I was also desperate.

  And maybe that makes me sound like a twenty-first century entitled twat, some money-hungry fool, but the truth is I am an idiot. I did not think this through. I naively thought … what? That this was romantic? That this was something I could write a book about? That this was better than a random Craigslist roommate and a job at Taco Bell?

  So now what?

  I don’t even remotely know. If I’d ever had a boyfriend perhaps I’d have a clue as to how to navigate the male species, but considering two days ago I’d never even been able to properly greet my mail man without muttering incoherent syllables, I’m guessing I’m not going to figure it out now, on my own.

  I need Delta and Amelia.

  Throwing my phone on the bed I look around the “cabin.” A fancy radio on the desk tempts me for a moment, before I realize hijacking it would require me actually knowing how to work the damn thing.

  The cabin has a small stovetop, a utility sink, a fridge, and a table with two chairs. A wood stove is the focal point of this place, and a substantial stack of wood is beside it.

  There’s a double bed, a bedside table holding a flashlight. Standing, I poke my head inside the only door and find a modest bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and a sink.

  Hooks line the wall of the entire cabin. There isn’t a single closet. Instead Silas has his jackets hung, and there are several empty ones. For me, presuma
bly.

  There’s a chest of drawers, and I pull open the top drawer and find it empty. Inside is a lavender sachet and I press it to my nose, not knowing if I should cry or laugh at the sincerity of the gesture.

  The top two drawers are empty, the bottom two are filled with his long johns, jeans, flannels, and socks.

  The two empty drawers remind me that Silas knew I was coming. He prepared for his wife. And maybe he doesn’t have money like I thought … but maybe that’s okay?

  Oh my God, Everly. This is insanity. Am I seriously allowing a few dried flower buds to sway me so severely? That’s bananas.

  Speaking of fruit, I’m starving. I walk to the kitchen to try and figure out what Silas has in terms of food. Opening the cupboards, I find bags of beans, rice, peanut butter, and quinoa. There are bouillon cubes and salt and pepper, along with bags of dried jerky, dehydrated fruit, and nuts.

  In the fridge there’s a case of Budweiser, a few bottles of white wine, and a few bags of random veggies—ones he must have just bought today.

  The freezer though, is stuffed with frozen fish and meat—mostly labeled moose, but I see a few packages identified as rabbit.

  Oh, heaven help me.

  I am way over my head here. I can’t even eat without serious food prep. And I’ve never cooked dried beans in my life. I was a college student. I lived on frozen burritos, pasta, and fast food. Well, also champagne. And tequila.

  Grabbing a bag of carrots from the fridge, I munch on a few, considering my next move. What I really want is a good old-fashioned cry. Because the sex Silas and I just had blew my mind. It made my heart crack open, it made me feel alive … but it’s terrifying to think what staying here might mean.

  I don’t think I can hack this … but, more importantly, do I even want to hack it? Sure, Silas is gorgeous, but I know nothing about him. Nothing substantial. Nothing besides the fact that his body pressed against mine is delicious.

  But insane sex does not equal a relationship. And the truth is, I came out here under false pretenses.

  I grab my suitcase from the porch and drag it inside. I need to shower and get into clean clothes, but I’m not unpacking. I’m staying for one week, tops, until Silas agrees to take me back to Anchorage—which I will request at an annoying rate—and then I’ll get an annulment, or a divorce.

  Because, yes, Silas is the only man who has ever made me come, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Silas

  You know what sucks more than not having a wife? Having a wife who’s decided she wants out of the marriage less than one day in.

  It’s bullshit, her attitude.

  When I come in after chopping down a shit-ton of unnecessary firewood, I see her sitting at the kitchen table drinking wine with an open laptop in front of her.

  I want to ask her what she’s doing on it—there’s no WiFi out here, obviously. And sitting there messing around on a computer is the least productive way to spend an afternoon in the woods. She could have at least cooked us a meal.

  “You planning on eating dinner?” I ask.

  “No, I already ate.” Her eyes stay fixed on her computer screen.

  I shake my head, refusing to ask anything else. When I came in here, she should have been offering me an apology for getting all snotty with me, not this prissy attitude where she won’t even meet my eyes.

  Fuck it. I grab a beer, take a long pull, and then fill a pot with water. I’ll make rice and chop some of those vegetables I got at the grocery store. I’ve been making my own goddamn food long enough—I can do it tonight, too.

  While the food cooks I take a shower, trying to get my head on straight.

  She wants to leave, that’s pretty damn clear. Though she dragged in all three of her suitcases, I see that not a thing is unpacked. Trying to swallow my ruined pride, I walk to my dresser and look for some shorts. A towel is wrapped around my waist and, as I drop it to dress, I feel a set of emerald green eyes on me.

  Looking up, I catch Everly staring, but then she drops her chin quickly, returning to whatever she’s doing on the laptop.

  Smirking, I take my time finding a pair of shorts. Knowing she fucking loves my cock, I make sure to tease her with it, and instead of dressing I let my hand cover the length of my shaft, slowly running my hand up and down until it’s nice and hard.

  A sharp intake of breath has me turning to look at my bride. She’s biting her lip greedily, and that’s when I put on the shorts.

  Good. I want her needy and horny. I want her to remember what I have to offer. She might not like this cabin, but I know it’s going to be hard for her to walk away from my cock.

  But damn, now I’m hard as hell and hungry for something besides dinner.

  I eat my food in silence at the kitchen counter. I can’t forget the way she screamed my name when we fucked a few hours ago. I can’t forget how good the sound of my name was on her lips.

  Grunting at my misery, I wash my plate and fork, the pan, then I start a fire in the wood stove. It gets chilly out here late at night and in the early hours of the morning.

  I feel her watching me as I start the fire, as I close the cabin up for the night, as I take a piss, and then as I get in bed. The silence is killing me, but dammit, I’m not going to beg.

  I know what I have to offer her, but I don’t want a bride based on my net worth. I don’t want a woman here who thinks my money might change the way I live. Nothing is going to change my lifestyle.

  Once the garden is planted, which is my main priority this week, I’ll take her back to Anchorage. Fuck, I’ll call Monique and let her know what I really think about her modern mail order bride service.

  I’ll tell her she did good finding me a virgin bride who’s so gorgeous she has me jacking off in the shower, has me blowing my load faster than I ever have in my life. But I’ll also tell her that when comes to finding a wife who meets my most basic requirements, she did a really shitty job.

  I can’t sleep, knowing Everly is here, awake, and not beside me in bed. Eventually I hear her washing her wine glass, using the bathroom, and then slipping into my bed.

  Our backs are to one another, and I don’t say a fucking word.

  Neither does she.

  But dammit, I hear her crying herself to sleep—soft, near-silent sobs. And shit, I may have asked for a wife, but I don’t fucking know how to deal with a woman.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Everly

  I don’t sleep. It’s impossible, when the man who had unnerved me, fucked me, and undone me is so close. His back is against mine, and when he rolls over in his sleep his arm wraps around my waist. Seamlessly, as if it was made to be there.

  The problem is, even if I wanted to be here, I have no idea where I would fit into his life.

  I spent yesterday evening on my laptop. I figured I had waited to be a writer until I had some life experience under my belt, and I certainly had material to work with at the moment.

  But as I sat there at the kitchen table, I kept typing a pros and cons list. Pros for being Silas’s wife. Cons for going back to Portland.

  For every pro there was a con. The list was even. I deleted the entire thing, hating that I even started it. It felt so immature, and I’m an adult. A grown-up.

  A wife.

  The thing is, as angry as I was last night, we did get married. And that means something to me. Does it mean anything to Silas? Because he doesn’t seem to really care if I stay.

  And I want to mean more than that to my husband. I wanted to matter, as a person, to him.

  But I guess the fact that he was okay with marrying a stranger answers the question of what I mean to him. He doesn’t really care who I am. He agreed to marry me sight unseen.

  But can I hold that against him, when I did the exact same thing? These questions rattled through my brain all night, and I wish I could hash it all out with Delta and Amelia … but I’m out here alone. If I want to hash anything out with anyone,
it will have to be with my husband.

  Which is not going to happen. He’s a man, a species I’m too unfamiliar with.

  Especially his kind: a man so sexy, so completely confident. A man who doesn’t really need me here at all.

  He makes coffee, dresses, and is out the door without a word. The entire time, I have my back to him, determined not to speak. Because I’m acting petty and don’t know the first thing about navigating relationships.

  But that isn’t true, not really. I have my girlfriends; I had my parents and my grandparents. I know that honesty is the first step in understanding another person.

  The problem is, last night I was honest with Silas. And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like me admitting that this was so not what I signed up for. He wanted me to be accommodating and willing, and not a person with feelings at all.

  Maybe this is why mail order brides went out of fashion at the same time the West was won. I can vote and I can go to school and I have a voice. I need to be with a man who understands that.

  Dressing in jeans and a tee shirt, I pour the last of the coffee into an enamel mug. Realizing that Silas doesn’t have half and half, I moan into the thick black liquid. I take a sip, resigned, and then pull on my Converse and slip outside.

  It’s not even seven a.m., but the forest has been awake for hours, considering the sun rose at three a.m. Trees rustle as birds move about, and branches crack under my feet as I walk toward the lake. Maybe the sweet serenity of the glassy water will calm my nerves. Yesterday, when I gave my body to Silas, I experienced a free flow of emotions … but now they seem to be bottled up tight once more.

  I see Silas fishing at the dock, but I can’t bear to go over to him. I don’t know what to say. I feel tricked into being here.

  And maybe it’s not his fault, but it isn’t mine, either. I just need to get through the week, and get out of his woods. Sure, he was amazing to me in bed last night—and the night before—but that isn’t a marriage.