by Nicole Snow
“You feel it too, don't you?” Hayden takes his lips off mine, just long enough to whisper in my ear, doubling the goosebumps edging every inch of my skin. “Be honest.”
No words. None I care to say, anyway, or else I'm afraid I'll reveal too much, too soon.
I kiss him instead. His teeth pluck at my bottom lip, digging in, holding me about as tight as I'm holding him by the head, my fingernails dragging through his thick dark hair, pushing into his scalp.
“Goddamn, Penny. Good goddamn.” He rips himself away from me, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. My eyes wind down his hips, noticing the bulge where his legs join together. “Much as I'd like this to continue, we have at least another hour where we ought to make an appearance. Tonight, though...”
Hayden doesn't even finish. The very word sends chills up my back, ice and fire, a full body lick spreading from the dull ache he's left in my pussy.
Tonight. We're going to be fucking, aren't we?
My eyes search his. The power, the promise, the joy of his skin on mine are all there. I don't move until he has his hand on the doorknob, giving it a slow twist, just enough time for me to close my legs and stand up without shaking.
“Come on,” he says, taking my arm. “If you're having second thoughts, you can sort them out by the time we're in the limo again.”
My brow furrows. “Sounds like you're the one who's unsure,” I say, gingerly biting my bottom lip, touching the spot where his love bite landed with the tip of my tongue.
“It's a heavy burden, you know. Baby making. Pardon me if I'm a little busy thinking about how I'm going to survive holding every drop in my balls until it's deep inside you, love.”
He's filthy. I'm starting to love it.
Blood rushes into my hand, and then about a dozen other extremities, when we start walking. It's starting to sink in, as quick and deep as my desire, rubbing me raw.
It's going to be a night of firsts, and I'm not talking about our first major public outing as fake husband and wife.
If we go to bed, there's no going back.
Hayden Shaw is going to take my virginity.
He's going to turn my blood to fuel with every kiss, every bite, and every lick. Then he'll ignite me when he finally spreads my legs, rips down my panties, and gives me every devilish inch I felt against my thigh just seconds ago.
He's going to fuck me into a universe I've only read about in X-rated fashion magazines and romance novels with shirtless, tattooed hulks on the covers. And more importantly than anything else, I'm going to come home pregnant. Swelling with a permanent reminder that this facade has very real consequences.
When we're at the table with the refreshments, I practically lunge for a water to cool off. Another silver haired, distinguished looking gentleman with a European accent taps Hayden on the shoulder, pulling him away from me.
My billionaire husband looks back and smiles. “Wait here. I'll be coming soon,” he says.
Coming. Not coming back.
I can't turn my brain off from reading ten different meanings into that, when it's totally innocent. Shame holding onto my virginity for so long has turned me into a complete pervert when I'm the least bit turned on.
I try to distract myself, walking around the outside ring of the dance floor. There aren't as many couples dancing as there were before. I guess the older folks tire out faster than we did – or else they've left to finish the same thing Hayden and I started in that cramped, dark phone room.
A tall dark haired woman swings around in a stocky, younger man's embrace. She winks at me over his shoulder. I smile back awkwardly because I don't know what she wants. Maybe she's drunk.
Hayden is gone longer than he suggested. I'm left alone, downing my water and grabbing another, replenishing the fluids I've sweated out from dancing, kissing, and imagining what's next.
Predictably, it's not long before I need the bathroom.
I see the dark haired woman on my way in, washing up at the sink. When I come out after I've done my business, she's still there, fixing her ruby red lipstick in the mirror. She looks at me while I'm washing my hands, and smiles.
“Isn't he wonderful?” she says sweetly. “Joshua, my date tonight, does fine on the dance floor and with the stuff that really matters.”
I narrow my eyes. I don't follow.
“Excuse me?”
She grins, tugging at her long gold earrings. “Joshua's great. But he's no Hayden Shaw in the sack. How long has he had you? I got two weeks tops, about a month before he found that stupid little girlfriend. Is he still dating her? Or are you guys doing things under the table?”
Whoa, what's happening? I hold my hands up, wracking my brain for what to say, and trying to recover from the shock of running into one of Hayden's old flames.
“We're married, actually.” Jealousy courses through me, forming my meanest smile.
“Ohhh, I heard about that! How silly, of course. I'm honestly surprised you're her. Brie was so much more...blonde. Always thought that was his type. I'd assumed he'd decided to shove his ring on her finger, or else did a quick turn around in divorce court when he figured out he'd made a huge mistake.” The dark haired bitch sniffs. “Well, congratulations. Someone had to put the reigns on the tiger sooner or later, I suppose.”
“Lion,” I snap. “He prefers them more than tigers, I think.”
“Yes, yes, he prefers a lot of things. The man's tastes are divine. He always told me I had the best tongue he'd ever had when I got on my knees. Shame it wasn't enough to keep him interested for long.”
As much as I don't like it, she's doing it. The bitch has an uncanny power to rake her nails through my psyche, kicking up jealousy, confusion, and all the uncertainties I promised to bury for the evening.
She smiles again with that shark-like grin when she's done pursing her lips. “I look good, don't I, hun? Good enough, I mean. Joshua's worth a nice dress and a little make up, but he's no Hayden, like I said. It takes a lot to keep a man like him. You're a very lucky woman, Mrs. Shaw.”
“Don't I know it.” It comes out weak. I'm left standing there as she pads away on her tall, six inch heels.
What is it with these upper class witches and wearing stilts? As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to find my own pair of ultra-high end, intimidating bitch heels with secret daggers stashed in their bottoms. It might be fun before the baby comes.
Ugh, the baby. I lean against the sink, smoothing a hand over my face.
The mysterious slut left nothing to the imagination. Besides making me want to break the mirror when I imagine her stooped down, his cock in her hand, I'm left wondering how many more he's had like her.
Jesus, I never even thought to ask him for an STD test. Though that would probably come naturally if we did things in a doctor's office – exactly what my body decided it didn't want to do in the last sultry hour with his lips all over me.
Splashing more cold water on my face, I dry off, and then head back to the dance floor. When I get out there, I see him through one of the tall exotic ferns lining the room.
He's busy talking, but not with the European gentleman anymore.
Instead, there's a tall, blonde woman in a silver dress who looks about my age. He leans in to whisper something, and she laughs, falling into his arms a second later.
Is this the infamous Brie? The one who gave me hell when I had his phone, and who supposedly has more history with him than anyone?
I don't know. I don't care. I'm fucking furious, and I shouldn't be.
We're not actually man and wife, lovers, or even friends. There's no reason I should feel a knife twisting deep in my guts, but I know what betrayal feels like.
This stings, and I know it's my fault. I expected him to be different, to honor our make believe by keeping us exclusive. Or at least keeping his flings elsewhere private, instead of out here in public, where anybody who knows about me will think I'm a fool.
Truth is, I expected too much. A billi
onaire playboy doesn't change overnight just because he's wearing a wedding band, especially when it's worth nothing, just a lie set in gold.
Pivoting, I make my way to the elevator, riding down to the bottom floor. I fire off a quick text to Reed while I'm waiting for an Uber, telling him not to wait up for me, and let Hayden know I need to sleep.
The ride back to his penthouse alone is just a blur. So are the tears blistering through my dreams about half an hour later, when I'm face down in my pillow. Raw, savage hate claws at my face, leaving me tossing and turning all night.
I hate myself for thinking this would ever work. But I think I hate him more for tricking me into thinking it might.
I wake up the next morning to Hayden sitting next to my bed, a newspaper open so wide it covers his face. Jerking up with a gasp, I pull the sheet tight around myself.
“Don't you knock?”
“Rise and shine. Thought I'd be here all morning waiting for you, love.” He lowers the paper slowly, letting me see the mischief in his eyes.
For a brief second, a smile pulls at my lips. It's slaughtered when last night comes flooding back through my morning grog.
“I want you out of here. Now,” I say, giving him a glare that can't be mistaken for anything except a middle finger.
“Aren't you going to stop and smell the roses? I hand picked them just for you around three in the morning. First morning shipment at my favorite florist.”
I blink. I'm not sure what he's talking about, until I pull my sheet tighter, and sense several long stems tumbling down my legs.
Yes, the jackass covered my bed in at least a couple dozen roses. If this is what he thinks an apology looks like...
“I'm not in the mood for games, Hayden. Take your stupid flowers and get the fuck out!” Pinching my eyes shut, I remember how he pulled the tall blonde into his arms. The genuine smile on his face, how his eyes beamed into hers...
A whole field of tacky red plants won't make up for it.
“What? Can't you at least tell me what I've done to cause such offense?”
“I saw the woman you were flirting with last night,” I say, sitting up straight and opening my eyes. I want to see the shock, the look on his face when the denial starts falling out.
He's an incredible liar. I wonder what kind of load he's going to feed me.
He won't, if I back him into a corner first. “The blonde in the silver dress, I mean. She was all over you. Convenient for me, right after one of your old flings ambushed me in the bathroom.”
His brow creases. I can practically feel the tension when his jaw pinches tight, right before he lifts a hand to his chin, stroking it while he ruins everything with another smug smile.
“So that's it. I saw Clarissa, the dark haired one, out of the corner of my eye. Didn't know she'd hound you like that, or I'd have kept her away. We had our fun for about two weeks, right around the Fourth of July last year.” He pauses, cocks his head, and lets the amusement sparkling in his eyes light up the room. “You're really upset about her, aren't you, Penny?”
“If that's the dark haired bitch with the heels, no. I mean, we didn't have a pleasant conversation when she told me all about how she got on her knees for you in the bathroom, but that, I can forgive. She made it clear you guys are done.” My fingers find the ends of the silky sheet, twisting them in my hands to relieve tension, before I let the bomb drop. “It's the other one who makes me want to get up, walk over there, and throw the espresso right in your stupid, cheating face.”
“Kinky.” The bastard takes his time, lifting his little glass cup to his mouth, sipping the dark rich brew. “If you really want to know, that was Marianne, the co-chair of last night's event. She came to thank me personally for last year's donation, seeing how she benefited from it most.”
“How about telling me something new? The way you took her into your arms was way more than personal.” I wish I could spit nails. I'd impale him against the wall.
Even better, I'd finally see the undying smugness fade away.
“You're right. These things tend to get personal when the clinical trial you've funded cures her five year old daughter's leukemia.” He stands up, forming a fist, crinkling the business paper in his hand.
My ears are still ringing.
Five year old daughter? Clinical trial? Leukemia?
Well...shit. I officially feel like the world's biggest bitch. I'm about to open my mouth when he strides past the bed, heading for the door.
“Hayden, wait!” I stand up, letting the sheet drop, no longer caring if he sees more of me than he ever has in my low cut night gown.
He pauses near the door, and does a slow turn. “You have every right to be upset about Clarissa. I'll apologize for the skanks I had my fun with in the past, who ought to know when to mind their own business. That said, I'm not going to stand here and serenade your beautiful ass while you assume the worst about mine.”
He's angry, and he has every right to be. I'm turning redder than the soft fabric wrapped around me. The deep insult in his eyes shouldn't make him look any sexier, considering the situation...but God help me, it does.
There's more than one reason I'm lost for words. “Look, Hayden, I didn't know. I'm sorry. I never meant to –“
“What? Imagine I'd humiliate you in front of Chicago's finest? All because I can't control myself from humping every halfway decent leg in sight, or because you think I'd get some sick pleasure, letting everybody know I take this marriage about as seriously as what it really is?”
Painful. I look down at the mess of roses on the bed, wishing like hell I'd kept the sheet wrapped around me like a shield.
“Hayden...”
“No, this isn't going to work if we're at each other's throats. It's difficult enough trying to make everybody else believe we're the city's happiest couple.” He takes the last few paces to the door, rips it open, and holds it in his hand. “We'll sit down and talk about this later. Today, I want you to think real hard about whether or not you're really up for continuing our little game, without running back to your room and waiting to chew me out over nothing.”
He's gone. The door slams shut, leaving me alone with my anger, shame, and two fists balled tight, trembling at my sides.
I've married the city's most generous asshole. But what does the fact that he's right to be upset make me?
I don't know where this goes next. I just know I'm scared shitless of losing him.
It takes most of the day to get an answer out of Reed. He tells me over the phone 'Master Hayden' doesn't want to be disturbed, and I should wait patiently like a good little pet until he's ready to talk to me.
Obviously, I'm exaggerating the last part, but it's how it makes me feel.
I want to apologize. I want it fixed.
That's what I'm waiting for when I'm sitting by the window as evening drags on, watching Chicago's endless lights wink on, blink out, and stab at the darkness like beacons.
I can't take this. With a lot of internet detective work, I'm able to find a schedule for him that I think lines up with today.
I'm going downstairs to wait in the lobby. With a little luck, I'll be able to catch him before he has a chance to retreat to his room, bypassing me in the huge condo.
Hayden is right about one thing – if we're going to make this work, we need to repair the damage tonight.
It's about half an hour before I expect him home when I take the long elevator down. The desk clerk nods on my way out. I smile back, so distracted thinking about what I'm going to say to him that I don't realize I'm about to collide with someone until it's almost too late.
Except, it's not just me being clumsy. The woman doubles her speed as soon as we lock eyes, heading toward me, angry and deliberate.
“It's you! God, you're even homelier than the pictures showed.” A curvy, blonde, and very well dressed woman backs me into the corner, just behind the fountain.
Yesterday proved he has more than one nasty ex to worry abou
t. But there's only one name that comes to mind when I stop moving, stand my ground, and take a good, long look at the latest trouble that's found me.
“Brie? What are you doing here?” I ask, eyes drifting to her expensive black purse. It's one of those tiny vanity bags, dark leather, possibly shark's skin. Fitting. And probably too small to smuggle in a bomb, if she's that insane.
“I came to try to talk some sense into Hayden.” She whips her long blonde hair over her shoulders with one jerk, folding her arms, staring me down.
I'm not going to be intimidated. “Interesting. I didn't know he had time in his busy schedule to listen to old girlfriends begging for a second chance. In case you missed the headlines, we're married.” I hold out my hand so she can see the rock on my finger, smiling as it catches the lobby's light.
“Please. You're not fooling anyone, lady, you're a fucking plant. A phony pretending to be the loyal, devoted wife. He was still texting me a few weeks before you tied the knot! Which is interesting, by the way, since he always talked about staying in Paris when he finally got married. I see you're not worthy of a trip overseas.”
“We're leaving next week, actually.” It's a blatant lie, but it's all I can do to stop my voice from shaking, worrying what they were talking about before he came to me with his crazy proposition. “He's going to be home any minute, you know. Should I have you dragged out by security, or do you want my husband to give the order?”
Hearing the h-word causes her ears to go red. Brie's face stays remarkably white. I wonder if it has something to do with the plastic surgery that has her looking eighteen, when she's probably my age.
“He wouldn't dare, and neither would you.” She takes a step forward. I don't move. “I'm onto your little scheme. If I can figure it out, it's only a matter of time before Kayla and the lawyers prove it, too. Hell, maybe I'll help them, and save everybody some time.”
I put on my best poker face. “You're nuts. I don't know what you're talking –“
“Oh, you do, and quite frankly, I'm amazed. It isn't everyday a man of his stature finds a peasant who can play along as well as you, knowing what's at stake.”