by Virna DePaul
“Fucking?” I smile that she can’t even bring herself to say the word. She’s like a deliciously innocent schoolgirl. “Yep.”
She throws herself down on her sofa and buries her head under a pillow. “I want to die.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d want to continue where we left off.”
Her eyes widen, and I almost laugh at the expression on her face. She’s tempted. But then she shakes her head. “I can’t, Simon. I’m sorry. But would it be unfair if I…”
“If what?”
“If I asked you to stay a little longer? Just in case…you know…” She waves one hand.
“You really think your mum would stake out your place to see if I leave?”
She shrugs. “You see the problem with white lies?”
“But you want my help. Does this mean you’ll consider helping me?”
She hesitates. “I really don’t think I can. But if you stay…I’ll consider it.”
I grin. “Good enough for me.” I hop over the back of the sofa and make myself comfortable.
She perches on the other end of the sofa, as far away from me as possible, downs the rest of her vodka, and stares into the empty glass. Getting that blush to fall over her cheeks is starting to feel like my new favorite pastime.
I think one touch would send her skyrocketing to the ceiling. So of course, I do. I reach over and push her hair out of her face.
Yep. She doesn’t merely flinch—her head nearly grazes the ceiling, she’s so wound up.
“Relax, love. Don’t mind me. What would you normally do, if I wasn’t here?”
She looks up. “I’d…watch TV,” she mutters, embarrassed.
I nod. “Then go on.”
She glances at me, then reaches for the remote cautiously, as if I’m tricking her into something. I give her an innocent bat of the eyelashes. She flips on the television and of course, the brand new episode of Alien Love pops up. Marissa must have TiVo’ed the show the other night. I don’t usually watch myself on television but it looks like we’re up to the episode where Candace Porter, the character played by Ava Brice, and I are hiding out in a trailer park in the desert, and it’s so hot we’re both wearing very little. Makeup had to constantly lube us up with baby oil to keep us glistening with sweat from the first take to the last. Now, Ava and I are hiding out under the trailer from a suspicious neighbor, and we’re making out again. I cock an eye at Marissa and laugh because her blush has returned. She moves as if to change the channel but I can tell from the way her eyes are glued the screen that she wants to watch.
“Keep it on, love,” I tell her with a wink. “I want to know what happens.”
She sucks in a breath, puts down the remote, and leans back, still not looking relaxed. “So you like watching yourself on the screen?”
“I rarely do, truthfully.” I grin at her. “Do you like watching me?”
She bites her lip, staring straight at the screen, drinking in my naked body there, since she can’t bring herself to look at it in the flesh for more than a blink. “I’ve never missed an episode. It was better, though, before you and she got together. You know, all that sexual tension, all that will-they-or-won’t-they. Even with that green skin, you have practically every girl in the nation drooling…” She must realize she’s babbling absently, because she suddenly shakes her head. “God! I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, you, here. You must get tired of girls ogling you.”
I can’t help being amused. She’s turned on, those nipples are a dead giveaway, poking through her sweater. “Marissa,” I say gently. “Look at me.”
She shakes her head.
“Marissa…”
It obviously takes all her strength, because she clenches her teeth as she turns to face me. The blush deepens as she takes in my naked form. Goddamn, she’s so sweet and innocent.
I smile at her, unabashed. “Yes, I am quite used to women treating me like eye-candy. And as you said, it can get tiring. But since we’re here, alone, with no one to tell us what we should or shouldn’t be doing, I wouldn’t mind you treating me like regular candy. Feel free to taste what you like. It will be our secret.”
She gasps in shock but there’s an equal amount of delight in the sound. With all the issues of People magazine she has lying around—something tells me she likes to live vicariously through celebrities. Perhaps her stuck-up family and her cheating boyfriend wouldn’t approve of her getting a little wild herself, but I can tell from the hungry way she’s looking at me, she has it inside her.
She just needs the right person to unleash it.
I take her hand gently and put it right where she’s looking, on another tattoo—this one of a skull—on my chest. Her fingers are cold but warm to my touch, and I suck in a breath when she gently caresses me, her hand moving to feel every sinew. She’s getting into it.
Thatta girl. I knew you had it in you.
“How long has it been since you had an honest-to-goodness petting session, Marissa? One you knew wouldn’t go very far, but far enough that you just couldn’t resist?”
She takes in a shaky breath. “I’m—I’m not sure what you mean.”
“No? In high school, did you ever have a boy panting over you, knowing he wasn’t going to get underneath your clothes but determined to give you pleasure anyway?”
She licks her luscious lips and shakes her head. “In my experience, boys and men don’t waste time on anything that doesn’t get them what they want most. In bed or out. And when they’re done with you, they’re done. And they don’t care what state they leave you in.”
As she’s speaking, I can tell her mind has gone somewhere dark, likely to some former boyfriend who done her wrong, and I don’t want that. I reach out and press my thumb against her pouty lower lip, and she gasps. “You know, something told me those would be your feelings on the matter. You’ve definitely missed out. How about you let me take care of that for you?”
She shakes her head, then immediately nods, so used to being the good girl. But the thing is, as much as I’m attracted to Marissa’s prissy attitude, there’s something about her—maybe it’s the way she rolled her eyes at her mum without realizing it or the fact she can’t stop herself from making a biting comment now and again—that tells me she’s got a bit of bad girl in her. And I want to see more of that girl.
I smile. “Come up here.” I turn her and guide her body so that her back is against my chest. I know it’s a bold and abrupt move. After all, I haven’t even kissed her yet, but instinctively I know Marissa doesn’t need a slow and tender build up to sexual intimacy. She already wants me; in order to encourage her to act on that desire, I need to bypass the normal course of things and simply make her feel as much as possible.
“Watch what I’m doing on the screen. How I’m touching her as though I’d die rather than be ripped away from her body. That’s how I feel, right here, right now, with you.”
Her eyes are glued on the screen again, where Ava and I are going at it pretty good, her breaths coming even faster now.
“I want you to say it. Say I want you.”
“You—you want me,” she whispers.
“Not her, because that’s fantasy. But right here and now, I want you. Say it.”
“That’s fantasy. You don’t want her, you want me,” she parrots obediently.
“That’s right, my good girl. Now, I’m going to touch you. Only over your clothes. And the only thing I’m after is your pleasure, Marissa. Nothing else. May I touch you?”
She hesitates only two seconds before nodding vigorously, then she does something that makes me so hard I almost see stars—grabbing my wrist, she leads my hand between her legs, parting her thighs slightly, giving me better access.
Her skirt is already hitched up to her upper thighs, and I tug it up, being deliberately rough, which makes her moan as she leans back against my chest.
I cup her through her panties and groan. She’s so damn wet. Her tits are heaving. I stroke her clit
through her underwear in time with my thrusts on the screen until she starts to abandon her sensibilities. She begins to rock against my hand.
“That good?” I ask.
She nods and lets out a “Mmmm.”
Now she’s really getting into it, closing her eyes and rubbing her hands over her tits, grinding her ass against my hardness. She bucks off of me, moaning. “Oh, God. Keep going.”
I knew there was a wild girl under the country club exterior.
She’s already close, after only a few minutes. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to taste that skin of hers, to be inside her. But right now, it’s enough to see what I can bring her to with just my hand over her clothes.
The answer to that question is that I can bring her to a trembling, screaming orgasm so quickly it kind of shocks me. She sinks her fingernails into my splayed thighs as her body shakes and she moans out her pleasure. Finally, when I’ve prolonged her orgasm as long as possible, she collapses back against me.
Slowly, I work my hand up her body, rubbing her stomach, then her tits, and then I cup her throat as I plant a kiss on her temple. Every once in a while she shivers, and I find myself feeling perilously close to tenderness for her.
Slowly, she turns her head to look up at me. To my surprise, there’s no remorse in her gaze, just satisfaction. She smiles wickedly. “That felt so good. Do you want—”
Whatever she was about to say—and I’m pretty damn sure my answer would have been HELL YES—is interrupted when her phone dings with yet another text.
Almost immediately, the playfulness in her eyes fades and dies. She bites her lip, torn between wanting to either shut out reality or face it, but ultimately, old habits prevail.
“I—I’d better see who that is,” she says before pulling away.
Reluctantly, I let her go.
* * *
Marissa
Oh my god, oh my god.
I just let Simon Dale, AKA Borg, bring me to orgasm with his magic hands.
I’m torn between mortification and wonder at my own daring.
I’d only just met him, and yet the attraction was so magnetic it had felt completely right to have his hand up my skirt, stroking my pussy. Letting off steam, not trying to live up to the Woodcrest name. Just doing what felt right for once when I haven’t allowed myself that in such a long time.
But now, what had felt right moments ago suddenly feels wrong. All because I’d gotten a damn text from my mom, and I was suddenly reminded Simon hadn’t even kissed me before he’d caressed me. Like he’d been on a mission.
To get me to come, yes.
But also to get me to agree to pose as his fake girlfriend.
It’s the only thing that makes sense, and the realization sends a myriad of emotions crashing through me.
Shame being at the forefront.
He’s just another bad boy, wanting to use me for whatever he can get before he leaves me. Okay, so he probably won’t be leaving me by fleeing from the police and leaving me in a wreck of a car to possibly die, but so what? He can still destroy me. Destroy the safe, respectable life I’ve worked so hard to build for myself over the past ten years.
I stare at my mom’s text: Shall we say 6 tomorrow? Would love to get to know that man of yours better. He I approve of.
And then I do something that shocks me even more than orgasming so quickly at Simon’s touch; I throw the phone at the far wall, where it hits with a loud thud.
“She’ll never let me forget the past,” I yell, then run my hands through my hair in frustration.
Simon frowns and suddenly pulls me into his chest for a tight hug. “Hey, hey. It’s going to be okay.”
I burrow my face into his chest, relishing the sudden feeling of warmth and security. His strong fingers splay against my back, as if he really means to shelter me from harm.
The notion is so ridiculous I snort. “Easy for you to say. You get to live your own life. You aren’t constantly reminded of the mistakes you made and how if you don’t tow the line, if you aren’t good, if you aren’t careful…” I shake my head and blink rapidly to hold back my tears.
He pulls back and hooks a finger under my chin. “Believe me, Marissa, I’m constantly reminded of the mistakes I’ve made in the past. No, I don’t have a mother who’s reminding me of them, but the knowledge it there, nonetheless.”
“What mistakes have you made?”
His expression closes off. “Do you really want to play the ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ game?”
I blink. No. I certainly don’t want to share with him the mistakes I’ve made. I shake my head and he visibly relaxes.
“Look, we are both living under the weight of other people’s expectations at the moment. The difference is I’m choosing to navigate a certain path in order to ultimately get something I want. What do you want, Marissa?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Then it’s high time you figure it out, don’t you think?”
I nod, sniff, then paste on a completely false smile before pulling myself out of his arms. “Well, er…thank you for staying. And for…well…”
He grins and bows slightly. “I’m happy to be of service. I hope to be of service again. And before you say what I know you’re thinking, what just happened between us has nothing to do with me asking you to pose as my girlfriend. You’re a glorious woman, even more when you’re shaking in the throes of pleasure, Marissa Woodcrest.”
“Um…thanks?”
He chuckles. “My pleasure.”
I lick my lips and we just gaze at each other for a few moments. Then I sigh with real regret. “I’ve thought about it, and I can’t do what you want, Simon. It’s best if I just tell my mom we broke up.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but he just shrugs. “If that’s really what you want, I understand.”
Of course it’s not what I want. I want to see him again. I want to have his hands on me again and so much more than that. But I can barely handle my life as it is, let alone try to pretend to be something I’m not.
You’re already pretending to be something you’re not, a voice whispers inside my head. Every time you play the good girl because you don’t want to disappoint others, you’re pretending.
With the ease of practice, I shove the voice away.
“I’d like to help you, but I’m not good at lying. It just wouldn’t work—they’d see right through us.” Not to mention that I’m way too attracted to him as it is. “But good luck on getting that part.”
“Thank you, Marissa. I appreciate that. I should be going then?”
I walk to my front window and tilt the blinds. It looks all clear. Then I look back at Simon. He’s slipped on his pants and is buckling his belt. Clothed, naked…he’s so perfect. My tongue wants to give the length of his body a thorough sponge bath, but instead I will it to say, “Yes. Just go.”
He reaches for his shirt, and although I’m scared to death of what we just did, it feels like a fate worse than that to have him cover that perfect body up. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” Put your hand up my skirt again, though, and I totally could.
He nods, then leans down and kisses my cheek. “Too bad. It could’ve been amazing. Best of luck to you, too, Marissa.”
Chapter Five
Simon
The following morning I wake on my sofa, naked and bloody hung over. After leaving Marissa, I’d gotten back to my shithole apartment over Elfie’s biker bar and felt too horny to call it a night. I’d headed into the bar and met a regular there named Suzie and tossed back a few shots. Ten minutes later, we were in the loo and Suzie was jazzed to give me a blow job, only no sooner had I reached down to unbuckle my pants than it hit me—I didn’t want her mouth on me. I wasn’t even half-hard at the prospect. The thought of Marissa and what I’d done to her in her cottage, however…
Now that was enough to have me hard and aching.
The realizati
on had been a startling one to be sure, almost as startling as the fact I immediately left the bar to jack off in my shower.
I’d settled for thoughts of petting Marissa and my own hand over an actual blow job, and I’m still a little freaked because of it.
Marissa is beautiful, sure, but she’s more than that. She’s a mix of contradictions. I like the way she blushes. I like the way she looks at me through those heavy-lidded eyes that say “take me now” even as she utters a word that few women have ever said to me: No. I like the way she tries so hard to be a compliant daughter with her mum, but isn’t quite able to hide the part of her that would just as soon stand up for herself and tell her mom to go to hell. I like the fact she has no problem telling me that very thing. Why she can do it with me and not her mom, I’m not sure, but it’s obvious there’s something in her past that still has a hold over her.
Wiping the bleariness from my eyes, I look around. My four-hundred square foot Sawtelle apartment is a shithole, for sure, nothing like the $5 mil mansion my co-star Ava Brice just bought in Beverly Hills, but it keeps a roof over my head.
Besides, it’s luxury compared to where I grew up. Plus, it offers me the privacy I crave. Elfie’s is one place even the paparazzi won’t brave, considering knife-fights happen there quite frequently.
Marissa and her mother thought I fit in at that country club. They thought I was one of them.
Sometimes my acting skills can be so damn good I impress even myself.
But the truth is, it’s smoke and mirrors. That damned monkey suit and the Porsche are rentals (you can rent anything these days), and even when I was a sewer rat back in London, I’d been cultivating the accent to go with the place I wanted in this world. If little Miss Country Club knew of my upbringing, if she saw my home and that I’d much prefer my Harley to a $500,000 sports car, she’d have run in the other direction rather than let me drive her home. Her mother would certainly have demanded it, playboy reputation or not.
The ironic thing is, even my damn playboy reputation is about as real as my Armani suit and Porsche. Early in my career, I dated one leading lady, and it was a serious relationship. Until it wasn’t. After that, I dated here and there, still hopeful I’d find “The One.” It was only after the mess with my ex Janelle that I accepted I was meant to be single, stopped dating and kept things strictly physical with women. So it was complete bullshit (though bullshit of my own making) that I was now having to make up for a playboy past with a make-believe girlfriend.