Baby for the Brute_A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I snap my fingers. “Then the illusion fell away. I was living somebody else’s life, but it wasn’t as easy as just taking the reigns again and turning things around. I’d pushed what I actually wanted down for so long that I wasn’t sure it was even in there anymore, if I was even in there anymore.”

  “Wow,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, Chris.” She reaches to squeeze my hand across the aisle, but I wave her off.

  “No, you shouldn’t be,” I say, standing. I turn my back to her and start to head back toward the courtyard. “I don’t think there’s any good left in me. Spend long enough hating and I guess you can burn away all the good.”

  I’m surprised to feel her small arms slide around me from behind, her face pressing into my back gently as she squeezes me into a hug. “There’s good in you. I’ve seen it,” she says. “I think you’ve just convinced yourself it’s not the real you.”

  I stand there for longer than I intend, drinking in the softness of her. The way her warmth seeps into me and thaws some of the frost from my bones. Like always, I’m driven by a need to sabotage the moment, to chase it away before I can start to let myself think it might be real. I pull away from her, shaking my head.

  “This was a mistake,” I say, pressing as much disdain and carelessness into my voice as I can manage, despite my pounding heart and tight throat. “I don’t need you. Enjoy the castle, I’ll send a tour guide in for you.”

  I reach for the door but Lindsey’s small hand presses to the wood, making a feeble attempt at stopping me from pulling it open. “Stop it,” she says.

  “What?” I ask, rounding on her.

  “I don’t buy it. Show me the real you. Stop pretending you’re so damaged and mean and hateful. Show me what—”

  I close the distance between us in a half step, bending to reach the soft skin of her neck with my lips. I kiss her there, savoring the sweetness of her skin and the smell of innocence that clings to her like armor, so frail and perfect that it’s begging to be shredded.

  “You want the real me?” I growl against her skin, running my lips over the goosebumps that form in the wake of my touch. “You want the gloves to come off?”

  She breathes something between a moan and a gasp, letting me drive her back until we bump against a wall inside the ornately carved wooden confession booth. I yank the red curtain shut behind us, pulling back only enough to see her face wrapt by lust, completely closed off to the rest of the world and content to exist in only this moment where the blood reds and sapphire blues of the light from the stained glass fills the tiny space.

  I use one hand to keep her where I want her, pinned to the wall by her wrist. With my other hand, I pull her legs up, wrapping them around my waist so her groin digs into my abs. Her skirt rides up until the only thing between her sweet sex and my body is the thin white fabric of her panties and my shirt.

  “Just a fucking taste,” I growl before I bite at her bottom lip and suck it into my mouth. Her hungry tongue flicks out, seeking mine.

  It’s not a slow, passionate kiss. It’s two starving people lashing out in lust and anger and confused emotions. It’s lips crashing together and wet passion as she grinds her hips into mine. I pull her down by her tight little ass until her already-soaked panties are against my hard cock. I can feel the heat radiating from her juicy little slit and the way her arousal is dampening my pants, but I can’t stop myself from grinding into her because the sound of her moans is so fucking good, so pure.

  She gasps in my ear, every single breath like a piece of her submission, just one part of the collection that I grab up and stash away greedily until I can have every last bit. I know her mind must be going fucking wild with doubt and regret and shame and fear, but it only makes it sweeter, more visceral. She wanted to fight this with every last bone in her body and still she couldn’t stop it when it came streaking toward her with the inevitability of a meteor.

  Me and her. Her and me. From the moment she stumbled up the mountain toward my cabin, the universe was setting events into motion that would lead to this moment, whether we knew it or not. We were both sliding down the same hill that landed us here. Pulled by gravity and fate, together for one final tangle before we’d go our separate ways—because no matter how good this feels now, I still know how it ends. Even as her small hands dig at me and claw for more flesh and more to satisfy the overwhelming need she feels, even now, I know this will end like all the times before.

  “Say my name,” I rasp between kisses. I run my hand across her chest, gripping those small, perky tits for the first time and relishing in the feel of her hard nipples. “Open your fucking eyes, look at me, and say my name. I want you to know who you’re cumming for.”

  She does as I ask, eyes dreamy and intense. “Chris,” she breathes. “Chris!” she gasps again when I increase the pace, dry fucking her with my erection that is starting to feel like it could explode from the pressure if I don’t get it into the heat of her cunt, but this is new. This experience, this prelude to the final event. Despite all my talk, I’ve never actually felt what I wrote about, the kind of connection and experience that can define a lifetime and shape people into something they weren’t. The women I’ve fucked claimed they felt it, but it never touched me.

  This though…

  I’m just tasting the appetizer right now, the first glimpse of how this could all end, and fucking her the way I want would be like throwing away all the nine courses and diving straight into dessert. Not a chance in hell.

  So I keep my dick in my pants and I keep her soaked panties on her, even though I have no doubt she’s deep enough in the haze of lust that I could take whatever I want from her now. She digs her fingernails into my neck, breathing hot breath after hot breath against my chest until I feel her tensing all around me.

  And that’s when I pull away, peeling her off me to leave her half-sitting against the confession bench with her legs splayed and her white panties on full display, lips red and swollen from the abuse I gave them. She just looks at me with a stunned expression.

  I grin as I pull the curtain aside and step out, moving into the other side of the confession booth where a carved wooden screen separates us, leaving me with only a view of her red and blue hued silhouette on the other side. “Finger yourself for me, Lindsey,” I say, grinning like the asshole I am.

  I pull my cock out, palming my length and eagerly waiting for the first sounds to indicate she’s obeying me.

  “What?” she asks finally.

  “Finger. Yourself. Put your fingers in your panties and rub that wet, swollen clit until you cum. And don’t be quiet about it, because I’m trying to get off over here.”

  There’s a moment of stunned silence and then a faint rustling sound. I grip my cock harder, rubbing up and down as I strain my ears for any sound she’ll give me, any hint of her submission.

  I hear a wet sound and a soft exhale from her, like she’s trying to be quiet. Her shyness only makes it that much hotter. I bite down on my lip, forcing myself to go slower so I don’t cum yet. I don’t want my arousal to drain out of me before I can fully enjoy every single moment of this.

  The sounds of her fingers against her clit are clear now as her breathing gets heavier and heavier.

  “Dip your fingers into that sweet honey,” I growl. “Two fingers up to the fucking knuckles. I’ll know you’re obeying by the sound, so don’t try to trick me.”

  There’s another pause, but I hear her make a sound of slight discomfort that makes my cock twitch as I picture her sliding those delicate fingers inside her pussy like the dirty fucking girl she is. She can walk around outside with her innocent curls and big hazel eyes like the sweet and pert next door neighbor all she wants, but I have her right where I want her now. Exposed and so goddamn desperate for my cock that there’s nothing she won’t do for me, no request that’s too dirty or too crazy to try, because she’s not going to stop until she’s fucked me, and she’s just beginning to realize it.

  The sou
nd of her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy nearly makes me lose all control and go back to her side where I can ram my cock inside her tight walls and make her scream my name. I fight it, gripping my pulsing cock with a tight fist and working my hand up and down, pausing when my orgasm threatens to come.

  “Three fingers,” I say.

  There’s another pause, which I’m coming to love as I picture the stubborn, proud Lindsey I’ve come to know with her legs spread and her fingers buried in her sex. I picture her face contorting while she grapples with the fact that she’s in a confession booth in a castle that’s a few centuries old taking sexual orders from a man she probably hates, and I love every bit of it.

  “Ah!” she says softly, sucking in a sharp breath before I hear the wet sound of her fingers driving inside her again.

  “Good,” I groan, stroking myself. “Curl your fingers up against your walls now. Faster.”

  Her breathing is heavy now, labored. She’s close. So close.

  “Cum all over those fucking fingers for me and say my name when you do.”

  Her breath hitches and her pace nearly doubles for a few seconds before it falters and I can hear the telltale intakes of breath and gasps of her orgasm.

  “Say my name” I breathe, my own hand furiously pumping at my cock.

  “Chris,” she gasps. “Oh God, Chris!”

  “Over here. Now,” I say.

  There’s more rustling and then a few seconds later the curtain to my booth opens. She’s standing there, dress pulled back down to cover herself, but I can see the wetness still on the fingers of her right hand and the way her eyes are half-lidded tells me she’s still feeling the fading waves of her orgasm.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me jacking off my hard cock for her, pre-cum glistening on the tip.

  “Swallow every drop,” I say, reaching for her hand and pulling her forward and down so she’s forced on her knees between my legs.

  I watch the protests and arguments forming and falling away on her lips. I silence them all by pushing her head down toward the tip of my cock, and like the good girl I knew she was, she opens up, taking me in.

  I roar with the pleasure of it, basking in how insanely good her hot little mouth and tongue feel around my throbbing cock. I take her hand and put it on the base of my cock, moving it for her at first until she takes over, sucking me off with increasing ferocity.

  It doesn’t even matter that the blowjob is sloppy and the handjob is even less impressive. I’m so over the edge that the sight of her perfect lips wrapped around my cock is enough to drive me to a muscle-clenching orgasm that has my cock pulsing and my fist tightening around her hair.

  “Fuck!” I growl.

  She pulls back, hesitates for a moment, then swallows with a guilty grin. She wipes a bit of my cum from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

  I take her wrist and lift her hand to her mouth. “Every drop,” I say.

  She meets my eyes and licks the last of it up, chest still heaving.

  I tuck my cock back in my pants and let out a long, contented sigh. Lindsey sits down with her back against the wall, pulling her knees up and not even noticing that she’s flashing me with a perfect shot of her wet panties as she does. Her eyes are distant—haunted almost.

  “Go easy on yourself,” I say. “It’s just lust. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” I wish my own words didn’t sound so hollow even to me. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but it did. Didn’t it? Aren’t my veins still humming with an electricity that has me feeling alive and giddy like I’ve never felt? Aren’t I already trying to find ways to justify dragging out “this experience” for as long as I possibly can before I cut her loose?

  “Maybe that’s why I feel like such a failure right now,” she says, unable to meet my eyes.

  “A failure?” I ask, actually stung by her reaction. She’s not supposed to be ashamed, not on any real level, at least. Guilty, maybe, but shame?

  “You have no idea how hard I tried not to end up in this position. I just—” she blows out a breath and pushes her hair from her face. “I don’t want to say it. It will sound stupid.”

  “Say it.”

  She chews on her lip and picks at her fingernails, still not looking up at me. “It’s like I’m mad at myself for not feeling worse about what just happened. Like some inner grandma is wagging her finger at me and it’s just not sinking in.” She pauses, eyes hardening like she’s talking to herself now more than to me. “I’m allowed to make my own choices and my own mistakes. I don’t have to be the responsible one every minute of my life.”

  “You’re right,” I say.

  She finally looks up at me, expression open and vulnerable for the first time since I met her. “So what do I do?”

  “You come have dinner with me in the castle like I was planning before our little detour. You keep trusting me, keep letting me take the wheel for tonight.”

  She makes a face that tells me she thought what just happened was the experience I’d been talking about.

  I can’t help but chuckle. “This was barely an appetizer.”

  15

  Lindsey

  When Chris and I leave the little gift shop cathedral, I feel like a different person. Aside from the slight discomfort of my soaked panties and the lingering buzz of heat between my legs from what I just experienced, there’s a lightness in my mind like nothing I’ve ever felt. A burden I wasn’t conscious of slipped away in there, and the weightlessness I feel makes me want to twirl around and smile, but Chris’ form towering beside me is like an anchor that keeps me grounded.

  He’s a stormcloud, rugged and frightening but beautiful if you’re brave enough to stand firm in the face of his power, to bear the brunt of everything he has to offer. Getting involved with him is laced with a bottomless pit of danger, like any misstep or loss of control could send you plummeting into his depths where the hopes and dreams of all the others who came before me lay in ruins, but in that fear is a strange exhilaration. With every step I take and don’t fall, I’m closer to an end goal I can’t even see, but curiosity and lust drive me forward, taking step after step into his darkness.

  I keep replaying what he said in my mind. This was barely an appetizer. I’m sure he’s exaggerating a little bit, at least, because even fully clothed, what just happened with him was the most intense and mouthwatering sexual experience I’ve ever had. Not that it’s a very long list to compare with. I’m suddenly thankful I already scheduled a few blog posts before we came out here, because I’d be tempted to redact my review of his book as soon as I logged into the site and replace it with a glowing first-hand account of exactly how much he knows what he’s talking about. That would be embarrassing though, especially if my sisters decided to read the post, which they sometimes do.

  I do feel guilt for what I just did, but being in another country and so far from my element makes it all feel like the rules aren’t as strict here, like being reckless and wild just fits here.

  It’s just part of your story, I tell myself over and over. This will be the story I tell my children someday when they’re old enough, minus the graphic parts, at least. It’ll be my answer when someone asks what the craziest thing I ever did was. Time will pass and soften the edges of the entire experience until it really doesn’t seem so life-shattering, so dangerous. That’s what I keep telling myself, even though right now it feels like everything and anything I’ve ever cared about hangs in the balance of wherever tonight leads.

  I’m giving a special, irreplaceable part of myself to this man to do with as he pleases, and maybe, against all odds, it will have meaning. More likely though, I’ll look back on this short period of time and feel nothing but loss because I know I gave away what I can never take back to someone who won’t value what he takes.

  Yet, I’m still following him, still walking along at his side and enjoying the sensation like cold fire enveloping me, making my skin tingle all over and my head buzz.

&
nbsp; “Where is everyone?” I ask after we’ve walked through the courtyard and up a flight of stone stairs without seeing a single tourist, despite the crowd when we came in.

  “I bought the place out for the night,” he says. “Closed for business, so it’s all ours. Our own medieval castle, at least once all the cooks and wait staff leave.”

  As if on cue, he opens a tall set of double doors and puts his hand around my back in a simple but possessive gesture that gives me chills. He guides me into a beautiful room, much more intimate than I expected. I was picturing the dining hall to be some kind of airy but stiff room straight out of Game of Thrones, but instead it’s not much bigger than an average family’s dining room, except the walls are carved stone, polished and buffed to a matte finish. The room is at least two or three stories tall, with a stone-carved balcony jutting out from the second floor. Dozens of candles light the space, and a heavy, dark wood table dominates the center of the room.

  “Wow,” I say, running my hand along the table and admiring the flowers sitting in a vase at the center. There are plates and table settings laid out for two already and a pair of servers in bow ties and suits waiting at the edge of the room with trays of water and bread.

  “Please,” Chris says, pulling out my chair and helping me to sit.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. I can still taste the lingering saltiness of his cum in my mouth and now he’s pulling my chair out like a gentleman. It makes what happened between us feel even dirtier, but I’m surprised to find it doesn’t put me off. If anything, it just makes me need to press my thighs together and take a deep breath, because what felt like a full serving of Chris Savage now seems like it was just a nibble. Despite all the logical cells in my brain that are screaming otherwise, deep down, I know I’m not going to be able to walk away from what he’s offering, no matter how many times he tells me he’s going to cut me loose when it’s done. That he’s going to ruin me.