Marrying his Brother: A Fake Fiance Romance

by Tia Siren

  “Of course, I'm talking to you,” she said.

  “No, you're not,” I told her, shaking my head to emphasize my words. “Or at least, you're not talking to me like you were last week.”

  Paige was quiet for a moment, acting as though all her focus was on a sticky spot on the counter.

  “Paige, what's changed?” I asked softly. “I can't help you work through this if you don't even tell me what's bothering you. If I did something wrong, don't you think I deserve to know what it is?”

  Paige stiffened at that, only confirming my belief that I had done something wrong. I frantically wracked my brain for what it could have been, but the only thing I could think of was the thing that I had already come up with: that I had had sex with her, and now she had decided for some reason (out of spite?), she wasn't going to have sex with me ever again.

  I had to admire her strength of resistance. It was taking everything I had not to leap over the bar, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her off into one of the back storerooms. I was hard just watching her, and she wasn't even doing anything particularly sexy. She wasn't even dressed particularly sexy that evening either, unless you were interested in the early '90s grunge look of ripped jeans and an oversized flannel shirt.

  Suddenly, I found that I was very interested in that look.

  I shook my head and pushed my attraction aside, trying to reason through this. “Paige, please can you talk to me?” I pleaded, reaching out to catch her hand.

  To my surprise, Paige slapped my hand away. I blinked, stung by the sudden stroke of violence.

  Erica materialized out of nowhere, giving Paige a pointed look. “Paige, I know you've got your beef with him, but this is your workplace,” she said in a low voice. “As far as the other guests are concerned, you are just a bartender, and he is just another customer. If you want to have a serious conversation, or if you want to give him another slap, I need you to take it someplace else.”

  Paige looked as though Erica had betrayed her, but after the shock wore off, I could see that she understood. She swallowed hard and nodded. “If I'm not back in ten minutes, come get me, though.”

  “I promise,” Erica said, giving me a murderous look.

  I followed Paige outside, feeling surprisingly guilty, even though I didn't know exactly what it was that I had done wrong. Whatever it was, it had to be bad, though.

  “Paige, look, whatever it is that I did,” I began as we got outside.

  But there was something about it, the way the moonlight and the streetlights shone on her face, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the way those eyes shone so innocently. Whatever I had been about to say, I broke off saying it, backing her up against the brick wall of the alleyway and kissing her passionately.

  “Fuck,” I whispered in between kisses. “I missed you.”

  Paige looked up at me with wide eyes. “You missed me?” she asked incredulously.

  I felt a blush spread across my features, and I only hoped that in this dim lighting, she wouldn't be able to see it. “I know it's only been a couple days,” I mumbled, but before I could finish that, Paige had her arms around the back of my neck and was pulling me down into another kiss.

  She took control of this one, and I liked that, I realized. The kiss was messy, full of fire and passion, our teeth clashing against one another's and our lips pressed almost too tightly together. It was enough that when we finally broke the kiss, both panting for air, my lips felt swollen and abused, and from the way she brought her fingertips up to trace the edge of hers, I could only assume that she felt the same.

  I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, I gave a short laugh. “We can't just kiss and forget all about it,” I told Paige. “I really do want to know what I did to upset you.”

  “You didn't do anything wrong,” Paige said shortly.

  “It doesn't seem that way,” I told her.

  “Look, just forget about it, okay? Now, do you want to have sex with me or not?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Paige

  I couldn't believe those words had come out of my mouth. In fact, I felt as though there were someone else there, taking over my body. Surely I wasn't there in the alleyway outside The Shift, making out with Michael. Especially not after my tears the other day. I had vowed that I wasn't going to get close to him again, not when I was so uncertain about this whole situation, this whole agreement that we had signed on to.

  I had known that he was going to show up at the bar, sooner or later, and I had tried to prepare myself for that. I had schooled myself in what I was going to say to him. Erica had promised that she would be right there with me the whole way.

  I scowled a little, thinking about that. Some help she was right now. She had been the one to say that Michael and I shouldn't be alone together, not if I was trying to resist him. But here, she had practically pushed us out the door.

  It wasn't fair to blame her, though, I knew. I understood why she had asked us to leave, because it did look bad for me to have slapped Michael, even on the hand, in front of a bunch of people who didn't know the backstory there. Or who didn't even know there was a backstory. That kind of thing could get a person in trouble, I knew. There was nothing else that Erica could have done. I just shouldn't have slapped him in the first place.

  But I knew that touching would lead to trouble. Would lead to this.

  I couldn't seem to keep my hands off him; even while we weren't kissing, I was running my fingers along his chest, up underneath his shirt. I slid one of my hands down lower, finding his member hard beneath his jeans. I groped him, feeling him twitch in response.

  This was where we always ended up. This was why I had agreed to be his surrogate in the first place, because I wanted him in a way that I could describe. I remembered how lonely he had seemed, last week when we had talked. He seemed lonely again tonight, but possibly even lonelier than he had before. As though he knew exactly what he was missing out on, now.

  He bent so that his forehead was pressed against mine, our breath mingling between our mouths. “You don't know how badly I want to have you, right here and right now,” he growled.

  My breath caught in my throat. “Right here?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  “Right here,” Michael confirmed. “Right in this alleyway. I want to slide my hand inside your jeans”—he fit action to his words—“and feel how wet you are, how badly you want me. And I want to slide my fingers inside of you, find that sweet little spot, the one that makes you moan.”

  I couldn't help responding to him as he did just that. I tried to keep my moan down, mindful of where we were. “We're in public, though,” I reminded him, as though he didn't already know that. And I knew we wouldn't be the first people to do it in this alleyway. Certainly not the first people to ever do it in public. But I had never done it in someplace public before. Heck, I had never even had sex in the shower before.

  You could say that I'd had a tame sex life, up until that point. Sure, I'd slept with a fair number of people, but it had mostly just been quick things at their place or mine, in a bed or on a couch. There had been one time that we'd done it in the front hall because he hadn't been able to keep his hands off me. But I had never been in a position before where I felt like I couldn't walk fifty feet to a more secluded location before I started touching someone or being touched by him.

  Now, here was a ridiculously attractive, ridiculously wealthy man, and he wanted to do it with me in an alleyway, or wherever else he could lay his hands on me. Lord help me, I thought, even though I wasn't sure I was praying for this situation to end or for it to never end.

  The thought sent a thrill through me. I didn't know whether it was more the fact that he wanted me badly enough he couldn't wait the five minutes until we got back in his limo, or the fact that we could be interrupted at any time. We could be seen.

  I wasn't even drunk, which I felt like might make my behavior excusable. No matter how much I wanted to drink myself numb
these past couple days, I continued to remind myself that for all I knew, I was already pregnant. I couldn't drink. Anyway, I had to admit, I wanted it, drunk or not. In public or not.

  No, I thought, shaking my head as though to reinforce the idea. I said that I wasn't going to have sex with him again, not until I figured out what my feelings were on if I was okay with the idea of having his baby.

  But when he leaned in to kiss me again, I felt my resolve melting. I couldn't help being ridiculously turned on, and I leaned up into the kiss. Besides, I was going to have to go back in to work after this, so what could it hurt, if we had sex out here. In fact, maybe it would make things even easier, remind me just how meaningless this was to him. It was just sex, the same nameless, faceless sex that he would have with any other stranger, out in an alleyway. It didn't mean that I was anything special, even if I did end up carrying his baby afterward.

  “Are you going to tell me what's going through that pretty head of yours?” Michael asked, bringing a hand up to cup my cheek.

  I shook my head, forcing myself to keep staring up at him, even though I wanted to cuddle into his chest. There were to be no cuddles with this fuck, however.

  “How do you want me?” I asked, simpering demurely at him.

  Michael's eyes widened, and he made an animalistic noise. He quickly undid the button on my jeans and tugged them and my panties halfway down my thighs. “Bend over and grab your ankles,” he told me.

  I did so, presenting my backside to him. Again, I was struck with the realization that anyone could come by and see us. I had even told Erica to come get me if I wasn't back inside in ten minutes; what if she came looking? I didn't want her to catch us in such a compromising position. Especially not after she'd been so patient, dealing with my breakdown on Monday morning. I didn't think she would appreciate hearing that Michael and I were at it again, even if this time, it really was just a fuck.

  But then again, as Michael shoved his fingers deep inside of me, I realized that this probably wouldn't take anywhere near ten minutes. We were both already so ready for the other, already so excited. I couldn't help it; I was practically dripping with slickness, thrilled by the idea that he would take me out here. It probably wasn't a first for him, like it was for me, but all the same, it made me feel somehow special.

  I snorted quietly. My parents would have a thing or two to say if they knew I felt special being fucked in an alleyway with a guy who didn't want any sort of relationship with me.

  Shame flushed over me, but it only made those prickling sparks of lust all the more pronounced. I could feel them flickering in my core, and I realized it wasn't going to take me very long at all to come. I shuddered with anticipation as I felt Michael line himself up, preparing to breach my folds.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly, still hesitating.

  “Yes,” I groaned, wondering why he suddenly seemed to have some moral sense. I tried to rock back against him, and although that didn't succeed in getting his length where I needed it, at least not right away, it did seem to galvanize him into action. In a moment, he had sheathed himself inside of me.

  I did my best to remain quiet, even though my first instinct was to moan, long and low. It hadn't been too long since we'd done this, but from the way my body was reacting to him, it might have been lifetimes. I could feel myself opening to him, stretching to accommodate him. At this angle, I felt so full, in a way that I had never felt before. As Michael punched into me, I fought to remember how to breathe. It seemed impossible to keep those breaths steady, however.

  “I'm so close,” I whispered, suddenly seeking out his hand, where it rested on my hip, and twining our fingers together.

  Michael placed a soothing hand on my lower back, pumping into me in a steady, measured rhythm. I sighed, feeling more relaxed than I had in a while. I trusted him, I realized suddenly. In that moment, I trusted him more than I had ever trusted anyone else. I didn't know if that was just my mind reacting to the idea that we were outside, that he was solely responsible for keeping lookout, or if it was just that the moment was so intimate that I felt as though I knew what kind of person he was.

  Whatever it was, I would gladly have stayed there in that moment, clinging to his hand and rocked into bliss, forever.

  The moment was too good to last, though. Michael gave a few sharp thrusts, angling upwards, going even deeper into my core. I couldn't help crying out at that, although I tried to muffle the sound with my hand, the one that wasn't braced against the brick wall to keep me upright.

  We came in unison, both practically convulsing in the wake of our bliss. It rocketed through me even more powerfully than in the previous orgasms I'd had with him. It was as though my whole body reacted to the pleasure I was feeling, every single hair standing up and every single muscle clenching and unclenching.

  I would have collapsed, if not for his hands against my hips, holding me in place as he shot cum inside of me.

  Finally, I was conscious enough to straighten up and pull away from him. I winced, over-sensitive, as he slid out of me. Quickly, aware that we were still out in public and that we hadn't been as quiet as maybe we should have, I tugged my panties and my jeans back up. Michael was likewise adjusting his clothes.

  Suddenly, what we had done hit me. But where I expected to feel shame, I felt a strange sense of glee. It was as though something inside me was cheering. As though I wanted to do it again.

  I blushed, pushing aside that thought. If we stood out here going for round after round of sex, we were bound to get caught. Besides, he had already done what he had, no doubt, come here to do: he had filled me with his seed, so that I could hopefully conceive his child.

  Soon, there would be no more need for trysts like this. I would be pregnant, and his work would be done, at least until the baby was born.

  The thought depressed me, and I had a hard time meeting his eyes. “I have to get back to work,” I told him.

  “Wait, Paige,” Michael said, an almost desperate note in his voice. “Please, I didn't mean for that to happen,” he said. “I really do want to talk to you.”

  I shook my head. “Now isn't a good time,” I told him. “I have to get back to work.”

  When I glanced at Michael out the corner of my eye, I could tell that he wanted to say something else. But when I shook his hand off my arm, he had no choice but to let me go. He nodded grimly and watched as I headed back inside.

  As for me, I wanted to say something else as well, but I wasn't sure how to say it. There was a name for it, this feeling that was welling up inside of me. There as a word, a feeling, that perfectly described the way I wanted to wake up with him every morning, the way that I wanted to fall asleep with his arms around me every night. There was a name for this feeling, which I had never expected I might feel.

  But I wouldn't even let myself think of what that word might be.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Michael

  Chris dragged me to The Shift again that Friday night, despite my protests. I had been avoiding Paige just as much as she'd been avoiding me, and I had no desire to show up on a night when I was sure she was working. How did I know she was probably working? Well, it was a Friday night, after all, and I knew she needed the tips.

  I felt guilty about that again, even though I knew I had no reason to. She had been doing fine until I had come along. And I couldn't pay her upwards of a million dollars if she didn't end up conceiving a child. That was the deal, after all; I wasn't just giving her a handout. I understood that her rent was going up and she could probably use the money now, but that wasn't technically my problem.

  All that aside, I didn't want to be there at The Shift, but there I found myself.

  “Come on, I don't get what the big deal is,” Chris said from where he was sprawled across the couch in my office. “You're fucking the bartender, right? Or have things gone sour already?”

  I frowned, wondering how much to tell him. “She's been acting weird lately,
” I finally admitted.

  “What did you do?” Chris asked immediately, sitting up and putting his feet down on the floor.

  I sighed. “I don't know,” I admitted. “She just started acting weird, like she didn't want to see me anymore.”

  “So find someone else to fuck,” Chris said, shrugging. He frowned. “I can see why it would be awkward to pick up in front of her, but if you didn't do anything wrong, I don't see what the big deal is. She's made it clear she's not interested in anything more than you. It's not like she has any grounds for bitchiness if you move on to someone else. Unless she's already pregnant.”

  “I don't know,” I told him. “That's what I just can't figure out.”

  “Huh,” Chris said. “What exactly has she been doing?”

  “Nothing, that's just it,” I said. “She's avoiding me. So I'm avoiding her.”

  Chris smiled a little. “Right, this sounds like high school,” he said. “Maybe it's that time of the month? I know you'd like to think your little swimmers are the most fertile, but maybe you didn't manage to get her pregnant this round.”

  “That's possible,” I said, frowning as I thought about it. Paige had told me that she was ovulating, but she had also mentioned something about having been on birth control and not re-upping her prescription for the month. If I remembered correctly, birth control could mess with a woman's cycle, so maybe coming off it could do the same. How would she know if she was really ovulating?

  I groaned, realizing it could be a whole extra month before she conceived. With things already so rocky between us, who knew what the next month could hold.

  “Look, I'd try to give you advice, but I'm not really a relationship guy,” Chris said. “So, the only thing I'm going to say is, avoiding women never seems to work out.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You're probably right. But what do I even say to her?”

  “Find out what's wrong,” Chris suggested. “Don't chicks love it when you listen to them?”