by Amber Burns
The CEO’s Fake Fiancée
By Amber Burns
The following story is full of romance, sex and sensuality. See the preview below for a bit of foreplay.
Molly
He pressed his lips against my own and kissed me tenderly, explosively. His muscular arms held me in an embrace that was both rough and sweet, all at once. His tongue flicked over mine, and his fingers slid up and down my back. I felt goose bumps leaping up across my flesh; my stomach flipped,and a warmth began to spread from my lips and down to my hips. I felt myself pulling in towards him. My fingers reached and wrapped around his neck,and suddenly they were combing through his hair, dragging him closer, and even closer to me. The next thing I knew, we were falling together, down and onto the floor, into the puddles of feathers; white downy snowflakes flying up and around us as we tumbled to the floor boards and my fingers were working through his hair and I could not believe how beautiful he was. His arms were impossibly chiseled, as if he was a statue of a god come to life, and touching me, embracing me. Our lips colliding urgently, fervently; my glasses falling down my nose as he kissed me again and then again, his fingers tracing the outline of my nipples growing hard and poking through my dress.
His hand slid up my leg, caressing my thigh, sliding the hem of my skirt up higher and higher, inch my inch. My spine curved in anticipation; I could feel myself getting wet. Mr. Cartwright’s fingers inched up my inner thigh, and then he was there. He slid the skirt of my dress up and looked at me full on, his eyes on my eyes, and he fed me a wicked, wicked gaze of copper magic; and then he dove down and began to kiss my pussy. My lips parted in pleasure and my shoulders arched.
“Oh my god,” I said, completely overwhelmed by the way my body shivered and shook whenever his lips and tongue touched my skin.
His tongue began to work around my clit, and I thought I might pass out from pure pleasure right then and there. Somehow, I held on, and the pleasure continued. He made me feel better than I had ever felt before, and I found myself reaching down subconsciously and gripping his hair in my fists. Itugged his lips against my pussy, begging him for more, forcing him to give me more. And then suddenly, his fingers were sliding into me, too, and I cried out.
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Copyright © 2017 by Amber Burns & Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Table of Contents
The CEO’s Fake Fiancée
Chapter 1 - Nikko
Chapter 2 - Nikko
Chapter 3 - Nikko
Chapter 4 - Molly
Chapter 5 - Molly
Chapter 6 - Nikko
Chapter 7 - Nikko
Chapter 8 - Molly
Chapter 9 - Molly
Chapter 10 - Molly
Chapter 11 - Nikko
Chapter 12 - Molly
Overhaul
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
More Erotic Romance From Amber burns
1
Nikko
The bass thundered around me as I leaped up onto the stage and swung the microphone around to meet my lips.
“Alright,” I growled at the sea of decadently clad party goers as they writhed in drunken dance. “Now who wants to really get this party started?”
A rally of cheers shot up across the heavily populated room, women throwing manes of golden hair back over their exposed shoulders, men loosening their ties and raising their glasses of scotch up towards the ceiling. I grinned and reached behind me, my fingers curling around the bottle of champagne that sat on the table.
“Here we go,” I said, my voice heavily laden with anticipation. I watched as the sea of faces became enlivened with excitement and confusion. Perfectly shaped eyebrows leaped up wrinkle-free foreheads; plump lips curled at the corners in pretty, uncertain smiles.
“LET’S MAKE IT RAIN!” I cried, and popped the top of the champagne bottle, sending a stream of fizzy golden liquid cascading in glittering bubbles across the stage.
Then I looked upward and swiftly nodded, and on my command, the glass dome that hung from the ceiling above the dance floor was opened, and champagne began to rain down upon all of the party guests. The crowd of people roared, some of the woman yelping and then pressing themselves against the bodies of men for shelter. Some of the younger people leaping up and down with their perfect mouths held wide open so as to catch the fizzy droplets from the sky. I laughed as I watched the scene, bringing the bottle I had popped to my lips and taking a long, satisfying swig. I swallowed and sighed, tracing the leftover bubbles that still clung to my lips with my tongue. I stood like this for some time, upon the stage, watching over the beautiful, jubilant, sexually charged mayhem I had created. Watching this golden rainstorm of fizzy champagne that rained down from the sky and soaked the party goers in alcohol; pressing the women’s dresses tightly against their curves, making everyone smile and laugh and shriek. I held my arms out and let the scene bask me in delight. I had created this; as I always did. I had made this night one that no one would ever forget.
I was standing there still, just like that, my chest heaving slightly from the adrenaline of observing the gorgeous mayhem I had just succeeded in, yet again, creating when a gentle tap on the shoulder brought me out of my reverie. I turned, my trademark grin still curling across my face, to greet the person who wanted my attention. I assumed it was some party attendee who wished to tell me how awesome the evening had been.
“Oh, hello,” I said, caught off guard as my eyes met the face that stood before me.
The tapping finger belonged to a young woman who did not seem at ease in this environment. In fact, to say she did not look at ease would be an understatement, because this girl looked completely and entirely out of place. The other woman that filled the room wore sparkling dresses made of expensive gems and silky fabrics that clung to the curves of their admirable figures. Their hair fell in lavish curls over thin, naked shoulders, or was piled atop their heads to impressive heights, curling around their cheekbones to shape their perfectly made up faces. The woman that now stood before me, her hands clutched self-consciously to her chest, looked as if she had dressed to blend in with the wallpaper. She wore a simple, shapeless shift dress that fell loosely about her body and had the effect of successfully masking whatever curves might be
hiding underneath the light gray fabric. The dress fell to just beneath her knees and rose to a sharp, protective collar that curled around her thin neck, keeping every inch of skin out of sight. Her light brown hair hung pin straight and tickled the bottoms of her ears. And while the other women that gallivanted about the champagne rain storm wore faces that gleamed and shone with the expert brush strokes of expensive makeup, this woman wore nothing but a simple, clean face. Her honey brown eyes darted back and forth nervously as she attempted to meet my gaze, and her slender lips twisted anxiously as she blinked her doe-shaped eyes up at me. I could not help but stare at this woman that stood before me, so completely caught off guard by her girlish face and modest garb was I. After a few moments of standing frozen, completely confused by her presence amidst the delicious lavishness that I had created, the girl again attempted to speak.
“Mr. Cartwright,” she said softly, parting her slender pink lips and darting her eyes quickly up to meet my own. “I am sorry to interrupt you at such an inopportune moment.”
I shook my head and waved her apologies away.
“Quite alright, it is quite alright,” I said. I was far too curious to discover the reason behind this plain Jane’s interruption to allow the time for regular niceties. I remembered the bottle of champagne that still fizzed between my fingers. I swung it up to my lips and took a quick swig. Then I stopped and extended my hand towards her, offering the bottle. “Did you want to take a sip?” I asked, pressing the cool glass against her clutched hands.
The girl’s cheeks reddened, and she ducked her head downward in an awkward bobbing motion.
“Oh no, Mr. Cartwright,” she stammered, shaking her head back and forth, causing the pin straight hair to slap her upon her flushing cheeks. “I do not think it would be well and right for me to take a drink while on the job.”
I stopped and eyed her curiously, my freshly groomed eyebrow crawling up my forehead in confusion. While on the job? Who was this girlish party attendee, and what exactly was she doing clambering on up to the stage to get my attention?
“Hey now,” I began again, fixing the girl with my most charming smile. “No one here is on any job, except, of course, the job of having the greatest night of their lives!” I poured another swig of bubbling gold down my throat and laughed, wiping my hand across my lips. “So come on, honey! Let us get this party started, just like I said, alright?”
I again made to press the bottle into her pale hands, but this time she stepped back quickly, and with such purpose that my slightly tipsy self-misjudged her intention and the bottle of champagne slid to the floor and exploded into a thousand tiny shards of gleaming, fizzing glass. The modestly dressed woman blushed even more deeply, her cheeks burning a deep shade of scarlet, the tips of her small ears turning pink with embarrassment. Several of the men in the audience whooped and lifted their glasses up as the sound of the glass and champagne explosion met their ears. I grinned and raised my hands up in response to their applause, then executed a quick, mocking bow. The writhing, dancing crowd exploded into a roaring sea of applause and amused laughter, and I turned back to the girl that stood cowering at the edge of the stage, several feet away.
“See?” I said. “Nothing to worry about here. No matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, tonight is destined to be fun, and clearly, entertaining,” I added, nodding to the shards of glass that swam in puddles of champagne across the stage. I stepped over a still fizzing puddle and approached the girl once again. “Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked, smiling pleasantly at her.
The woman blushed again and began to wring her hands nervously as she glanced about, her honey brown eyes darting back and forth anxiously. “I … I was sent to get your attention, Mr. Cartwright,” she began, her fingers knotting around each other and pulling subconsciously at the fabric of her shapeless dress. “The owner wanted to have a word with you. Well,” she stuttered, glancing down at the floor, then quickly back up at me again, “he demanded that he have a word with you, actually. He was quite adamant.” She bit at her lips and glanced up at me from the corner of her eyes.
I smiled down at the poor, confused girl as she stood there, marinating in her own great discomfort. I placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder and grinned in a way I knew would be comforting.
“Hey, now, my dear,” I said, patting her lightly upon her shoulder. “It just so happens that I am, in fact, the owner.” She opened her pink lips again as if to continue, but I interrupted, raising my hand up in a stop sign signal. “Nuh uh uh,” I said, wagging a finger at the girl and stoppering her objection before the words had the chance to slip through her lips. “It is true. You see this beautiful, lavish establishment, spreading out all around you?” I stretched out my arms and gestured across the dance floor filled with shimmying velvet and glittering gemstones and crisply pressed pocket squares. “That is right, my dear, all of this, all of this… it is all mine.” I pressed a hand proudly to my chest. “Mine.” I sniffed and grinned at her, hoping to calm her frazzled confusion. “So there is nothing to worry about at all, because, as you now know, I am myself the owner.”
The concerned look did not fall from the girl’s plain and bare face. She shook her head quickly, again slapping her hair against her cheeks.
“No,” she said, her voice shivering with urgency. “No. You do not seem to understand, and perhaps it is because I have misspoken,” she quickly added. “Let me try to make myself more clear.” She took a sharp breath in and then forced her honey eyes to graze my own. “The owner, of the corporation, wishes to speak with you. Now. He said it was very urgent. The most urgent.”
It was my turn to lose my ease. My shoulders dropped in shock, and I eyed this woman uneasily. Why would the owner of the corporation wish to speak to me? And why now, of all times, at midnight on a Saturday; at what would undoubtedly go down as one of the most memorable parties of the year? I tugged at the collar of my suit jacket and eyed her with distrust.
“Is that so,” I said. The girl’s head bobbed up and down in confirmation, her small pointed chin jutting quickly in and out. “Hm,” I grunted. I glanced at the party that still writhed beneath the stage, still dripping with sexual tension and golden champagne and lusty conversation. They had not taken an inch of notice of this strange conversation that now occupied center stage. “Well then,” I said, regaining my focus and turning my eyes upon the girl. “Where is he? Can you bring me a phone?”
The girl shook her head and glanced upwards, then back at me.
“Not on the phone, Mr. Cartwright,” she said quickly, her cheeks still pink with shyness. “He is upstairs, in the Red Lounge.”
I froze and lost every bit of my usual careful, cool and aloof composure. I stared at this girl, this out of place, blandly clad stranger, and fixed her with a hostile, suspicious expression.
“Alright, girl,” I said, my voice losing every inch of its regular lilting playfulness. “Just exactly who the fuck are you?”
The girl stared at me, her face blank, her lips flapping open and shut in the absolute lack of comprehension. She squinted at me, then blinked rapidly, her eyes no longer darting back and forth but now fixed to my face in a stare of disbelief. Finally, probably due to the steady, icy stare I had trained upon her doe-like face, she managed to force the words from out between her pink lips.
“I… I… Mr. Cartwright, you… I…” she stammered, squeezing her fingers against her chest and wringing her wrists around and around themselves again. I shook my head, urging her to continue speaking. She took a quick little breath and spoke again, pressing the words out quickly and in one rapid stream of air. “You hired me just yesterday, of course, you must remember… how could you not remember? You surely must remember that you hired me yesterday to be your new personal assistant.” She breathed out, her cheeks pink with the fluster of lack of oxygen, and then stared up at me timidly, blinking rapidly, her hands still squeezing at each other in anxious expectation.
&nb
sp; I looked down at the fawn like girl for several moments, taking her in. I wracked my brain to recall the events of the previous day. I had woken up and gone about my usual morning routine, fixed and set my appointments for the week with the help of my secretary. I had reported to the office, spent several long hours attending to the necessary demands of my demanding job as CEO of the country’s most successful corporation. I then jetted to a couple states away for a quick meeting with the factory board of employees (they wanted higher wages; they always want higher wages). Next, I flew back home in time to catch drinks with a pretty young intern looking for advice, or more likely an in, on how to begin a successful career in the business world and then… Oh, shit. Yes. Yes. That was right. And then…