Ryan’s no longer satisfied to be the kind of guy he once was. For one thing, there’s me, and I’ve already moved into his place. He’s still the same commanding guy he always was, but there’s something else there… he says I’ve changed him in ways I can’t even imagine.
He’s also no longer satisfied to just live off the profits of his algorithm, letting his company function just as a sales team. He’s back in the office, working tirelessly on new and innovative programs.
He hired me back, of course, and I head the development team in the office. I thought I’d be out of my league here, but it turns out I have a lot of good programming ideas. I don’t always know exactly how to implement them, but that’s why there’s a whole team at my disposal, after all.
Ryan’s no longer called the Douchebag Billionaire. Articles now actually use his real name, and there was a flood of articles featuring our relationship, describing how he’s turned his life around.
“Well I guess you won’t be coming back to work at the furniture store,” said my mother, when we talked on the phone.
The wedding is scheduled for six months down the road, once we get our newest piece of software up and off the ground. Hailey, of course, is my maid of honor. We made up, of course. A life with Hailey wouldn’t be a complete life for me. But a life without Ryan… at this point that would be impossible to even dream of.
My parents, and everyone else I invite, are thrilled about coming to the wedding, perhaps more so than usual, since it’s going to be quite an expensive and fancy affair. Ryan’s company is doing better than ever, and the money is rolling in. I never have to worry about money ever again, but the work is fun, exactly what I want to be doing, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
The wedding date seems to zoom up out of nowhere, burning through calendar days.
Before I know it, it’s the night before the wedding.
And I’m at Ryan’s house.
“Aren’t I supposed to be staying somewhere else before the wedding night?” I say, snuggling up to Ryan on the couch in his living room. “I’m not supposed to see you for a full day, right?”
The soothing sounds of outdoor fountains come faintly into the living room.
“That’s just a superstition,” growls Ryan. “And plus, don’t you remember that you’re not longer a virgin?”
I laugh. “How could I ever forget? But I’m still pure, aren’t I?”
Ryan chuckles deeply. “Of course, baby. But I’m about to change that.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Come to the bedroom and you’ll find out.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say, as his body presses against me, and his mouth mashes into mine.
I know I’m wet. My clit is already swollen. My body is eager for him. I feel his rock hard cock pressing into me.
But before things go too far here on the couch, he picks me up and walks me to the bedroom.
I gasp when I see the room.
“When did you have time to do all this?”
The lights of the master bedroom are off, but the entire room is filled with small candles that cast flickering light on the walls.
The sheets on the bed are pulled partially down, and the entire surface is covered in beautiful rose pedals.
“I thought it’d be a surprise for our pre-wedding night,” growls Ryan.
“It’s breathtaking,” I say.
It’s only as Ryan lowers me to the bed, that I notice the long strips of silk that are hanging off the bedpost where they are tied.
“What are these?”
“You’ll see,” growls Ryan, as he ties me up, gently.
Now he’s removing my clothes, and his. I watch as he unzips his pants and lets them fall away, and as he pulls out his massive cock, already erect and swollen for me.
He pulls tight the last knot, and my wrists are attached securely to the bedposts.
“I like this,” I say, my eyes locking onto his.
“I thought you would,” he growls.
His hands brush across the bare skin on my arms. His tongue twirls around my erect nipples. I’m already panting.
I moan as his hands move across me.
“Fuck me, please,” I moan, straining my arms against the silk bindings.
Ryan’s on top of me, his rippling abs pressing against me. His cock enters me, and I gasp.
“It’s going to be a long night,” growls Ryan.
THE END
Turn the page to read Daddy’s Virgin Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance
Daddy’s Virgin Bride
A Fake Marriage Romance
Olivia
He doesn’t just enter the room. He takes the room, as if by force. His presence is commanding, and his shoulders are huge, muscular, and wide.
Except for his suit, he doesn’t look like any billionaire finance man I’ve ever seen. His hair isn’t slicked back, and he’s not clean shaven. His stubble is a fine grit that runs along his razor-sharp jaw line.
An intricate tattoo is partially visible on the side of his neck, above his shirt collar. Normally I don’t go for tattoos, but on him… it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Everyone stares at him. It’s impossible to look away.
He’s a head taller than everyone else, and he moves with the muscular power of an athlete.
A look of intense concentration runs across his face. The message is clear: he’s the boss, and he’s not taking shit from anyone.
“That’s the boss,” whispers Natalie, one of my coworkers.
“I don’t think anyone would doubt that,” I say.
Before Natalie can say anything, his eyes lock onto mine.
I second guess myself at first. Out of everyone here, why would he be staring at me? Does he think I’m someone else?
But there’s really no second guessing. He devours me with his eyes.
I should look away, but I just can’t.
“He was staring at you,” exclaims Natalie, when he finally moves into the next room.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper. “He couldn’t be.”
But it becomes clear that he is. There’s no denying the fact that he’s staring right at me, without breaking his gaze as he moves across the floor.
He moves out of the room, and everyone’s gaze follows him until he’s gone.
I hope Natalie doesn’t notice that my breathing has grown more rapid. If I had a fan with me, I’d fan myself.
“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” I say, trying to play off my blushing face.
Natalie just gives me a look. “Don’t worry,” she says. “He made me feel the same way the first time I saw him.”
“I don’t know if I can get used to that look,” I say.
“You’re new here, right?” says Natalie.
She’s actually one of the few people here whose name I know.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s my first week.”
There’s so much more to my story, but I’ve grown cautious about overwhelming people by dumping my whole life story on them, so I just try to keep it simple.
“Well, welcome aboard,” says Natalie. “Looks like the boss has taken a fancy to you.”
We introduced ourselves my first day on the job, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t remember my name. I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, though, by reminding her. I tend to remember people’s names when they don’t remember mine, and it makes me nervous.
Natalie heads out of the mailroom, clutching a bundle of copies.
I’m the mail room worker. But there isn’t really much intra-office mail these days, with email and all. Mostly, working in a mail room these days means being something like a secretary’s assistant. I help people make copies. I scan documents, and print things, along with making posters for business presentations.
I never thought I’d be working in a mail room. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. But less than a year ago, I was on track to finishing law school. I was
working like a demon, studying 80 hours a week, and I was on track to graduating first in my class. Basically, I was headed for a successful career right after graduation. People said I would make partner within a few years.
Then came the fatigue, which hit me like a ton of bricks. People said I was just overworked and exhausted, and that’s what the doctor said at first too. But the diagnosis quickly became more severe, the specialist telling me that I had full blown chronic fatigue syndrome. It was like drowning—just trying to do everyday tasks became impossible. It was a herculean effort just to lift my arm up, or to try to get out of bed.
It didn’t help that my dad used my identity to create a bunch of credit cards in my name, squandering a huge amount of money and then leaving me with the debt. That was the straw that broke my back, so to speak. I felt I couldn’t trust anyone. Just thinking about it made me even more exhausted.
Here I am, a little less than a year later, basically completely recovered. I don’t have any more fatigue. I got into meditation and yoga, and learned to go easy on myself.
Losing my virginity wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of things to deal with when I had all that crazy fatigue.
I try to keep my mind focused on reloading the paper for one of the printers, but my mind keeps going back to that man, the boss, who wouldn’t stop staring at me. Even though it’s been almost ten minutes since he’s passed by, I’m still flustered.
Does he stare that way at everyone? Or is it just me?
He couldn’t possibly see something special in me, could he?
But even amidst my doubts, deep down, I know the answer: no, that was a special look, just for me.
But it’s not like I can do anything about it. The last thing I need in my life right now is more complication. I’m trying to simplify. Keeping things simple is what’s kept me from the fatigue.
And it’s not like I have any experience anyway.
I graduated high school early, and then graduated college early. I was the youngest student in my law class. I was always motivated, an overachiever. That meant that I never had time for socializing, or for… sex.
Yup, I’m a virgin.
Hardly anyone knows, except my best friend June. After all, in this day and age, it’s considered something shameful. It’s not exactly something you go around telling people.
But, at this point, I’m getting the feeling that I just need to go ahead and do something about it. It’s becoming a problem, a problem I keep telling myself I should tackle with the same enthusiasm I always tackled my studies with.
David
As usual, it’s a long day of business as usual. That essentially means keeping people in line, and doing what’s necessary to maintain my power in the finance world. The competitors are always at my throat, always looking for a weak point, but it’s easy for me to show them that I’m not someone they want to mess with.
Despite the long day of meetings and heated private calls, the sight of that girl in the mailroom won’t leave my mind.
She was hot, and not in the normal way. It’s like she has no idea how fucking hot she is. I could just see it in her body, in the way she stood, in the little movement she made.
She couldn’t look away from me. That’s to be expected. I tend to have that effect on women, whether I try to or not.
My cock’s swelling just thinking about her on my drive home.
But I’ve got other things to occupy my mind.
A thousand of them.
Anyway, she’ll be mine sooner or later. I’ll make sure of that.
I downshift my BMW M3 and slowly pull into my driveway, making sure not to scrape the bottom of the car.
The garage door senses the device in my car and automatically opens, swiftly and smoothly.
I park the M3 next to my other car, a Porsche 911, and get out.
“Nancy?” I call out, entering the house from the garage.
“Welcome home, Mr. Masters,” says Nancy, appearing from around a corner in the hallway. She can be strangely formal sometimes, but I like to keep a distance between myself and my employees, anyway.
“How’s Laura doing?”
“She’s in bed. She had a tough day at school.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“I don’t want to bother you with it, Mr. Masters. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want her falling behind in school,” I say. “See to it that the tutors are aware of the situation.”
“Of course, Mr. Masters.”
I nod my head stiffly.
Laura’s my daughter. She just started fourth grade this year. She needs to do well, and she has all the opportunities I can give her. She’s in the best private school here in Philadelphia, and she’s got the best tutors money can buy. I don’t see what my ex-wife has to complain about.
My phone rings, and I groan as I look at my ex-wife’s name on the screen.
“Let’s keep it short this time, Alicia,” I say as I pick up.
“How dare you talk to me like that!” She’s talking a mile a minute, rapid and frantic. She’s probably on something again, but who the hell knows what. Our marriage fell apart when she decided she liked drugs better than me or our daughter. Yeah, addiction is a disease, but she’s had all the help she could get. I sent her to the most expensive addiction centers and bought her the best counseling available. And she kept making the wrong choices.
Great, we’re already at it.
“I’ll talk to you any way I like,” I say. “Where are you, under a bridge somewhere?”
“I’m clean, don’t you know that?”
“We’ll see what the court says about that,” I say. “Listen, I’m not going to stay on the phone long. You’re clearly on something. If you have something to say, spit it out now.”
Her voice suddenly changes in tone. It becomes low, slower, and sinister. “I just want you to know,” she says, “that I’m going to get her. I’m going to get full custody of Laura, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve got a plan this time,” she says, her voice becoming darker. “You’re never going to see your daughter again.”
“This has been fun,” I say. “Next time, call when you’re sober.”
I hang up the phone to the sounds of her screaming at me.
I don’t see how she could possibly get full custody of Laura, especially since the last I heard she was kicked out of a halfway house for drug use. It’s just another one of her delusions, and it’s sad that this is what’s become of her. But it was never going to work out between us anyway.
Since the divorce, I’ve made sure to provide for Laura—giving her the best of everything.
And I’ve had my fun, too. I’m not exactly the type to stay at home after work. Unless there’s female company involved, and we’re headed straight to the bedroom. Nancy, my daughter’s caretaker, knows not to disturb me, and I’ve paid to have my bedroom soundproofed.
I head to the bar in the living room and pour myself a whiskey on the rocks, settling down into an armchair. Nancy has made herself scarce, and isn’t anywhere to be seen.
The cleaning staff comes every day when I’m at work, making sure everything is immaculate.
I chuckle to myself, thinking about a judge ruling in Alicia’s favor, especially if he could see this place. I mean, how could Alicia possibly provide a better life for Laura?
My phone rings and I groan again. It better not be someone from work. I told my assistant not to bother me at home unless it’s very, very important. Like nuclear meltdown level important.
But I grin when I see who it is.
“Jordan!” I say. “You’d better not be calling to ask me for money again.”
“No such luck,” says Jordan. “Just thought I’d see what the hell you’re getting up to tonight.”
“Looks like I’m staying in tonight. The ex-wife called and killed the urge, if you know what I mean.”
/> “That’s the way it goes with ex-wives,” says Jordan. “I should know. I’ve lost track of how many I have.”
“I don’t have any idea how you make all those alimony payments.”
Jordan chuckles. “Good investing, just like you taught me. So what was it this time? She wanted money to get high?”
“It was weird. She threatened to take Laura away from me. She said she had a plan. Honestly, it sounded pretty bizarre, but you know her.”
“Just a delusion, probably,” says Jordan.
Let’s hope so, I think to myself.
Olivia
I ride the trolley from Center City, where I work, to West Philly, where I love. I get off the crowded trolley at 46th and Chestnut, right by Clark Park, a sloping park tucked away in the middle of the city.
It’s still light out, and I can see the trees that are turning orange and brown for the fall, preparing for the coming winter months, when the wind will blow fiercely through these streets, gaining strength with each building they pass.
My feet are tired as I walk the two blocks to my apartment. I’m only 21. My feet aren’t supposed to be tired yet, are they?
People drive by lazily and angrily in their cars—that’s a style of driving that only true Philadelphians can accomplish. Everyone’s angry and casual at the same time, not bothering to follow the traffic laws. People say that the lines on the road here are more suggestions than rules to follow.
As I cross the street, carefully stepping over the trolley tracks that run down the middle of the road, a biker swerves at the last minute.
If I was a regular Philadelphian, I’d yell at him and possibly chase him down. But I’m not like that.
People might describe me as overwhelmingly studious and shy.
Maybe that’s why I’m still a virgin, even at 21.
I used to think it was worth it, sacrificing my social life for my studies. Now, after the fatigue incident and dropping out of law school, I’m not sure.
SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance Page 47