by Penny Wylder
Once the dishes are done, he says, “I’m exhausted. I’m going to turn in for the night.”
We say our goodnights, and go our separate ways. I try reading, and when that fails to put me to sleep, I think about Heath and I masturbate. Luckily I remembered to bring my dildo. A very important accessory to have when you’re sharing a house with a sexy man you can’t touch. Getting myself off usually relaxes me enough to put me to sleep, but knowing that Heath is just down the long hallway makes thinking about him a poor substitute. I’m tempted to walk in his room naked and have my way with him, but I couldn’t handle the rejection if he’s not into it.
Hours pass and there’s no way I’m getting any sleep, so I decide to get up and get some ice cream and watch TV for a while.
I’m in the kitchen when the door to Heath’s room opens. I didn’t think he’d be up so I didn’t bother putting on a robe. My t-shirt is just barely long enough to cover my ass cheeks.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I say.
He’s wearing only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and damn, he wears them well. I can’t get enough of his bare chest, the way his muscles look as though they’ve been carved out of hard wood. The guy is sculpted, and those arms …
There is nothing sexier than a guy with nice arms. I picture them wrapped around me, pulling me toward him, crushing our bodies together. I realize I’m staring at him, so I look down at the tub of ice cream in my hands.
“No, I couldn’t sleep,” he says. He’s staring at me too, at my bare legs.
“Me neither. I have a hard time sleeping in strange places. What’s your excuse?”
I grab a second spoon out of the drawer and hand it to him. He takes a spoon full of the chocolate caramel swirl.
“My family. I’m always tense when they’re in town. They can be overwhelming.”
He puts the spoon in his mouth, rolls his shoulders and winces. I can literally see the muscle in his shoulders taut with tension.
“Sit,” I tell him. “I have something that’s guaranteed to help you sleep.”
He looks skeptical but says, “Okay.”
I go to my room where I find my toiletry supplies that I brought from my apartment. Inside are some massage oils I was given as a pampering gift from Mandi for my birthday last year. Cinnamon, my favorite scent. It’s also good for sore muscles. I take the oils and head back to the kitchen where Heath is still digging into the ice cream container.
He looks at the oils in my hands, then up at me. I can see the muscles in his shoulders tense up even more.
“Relax,” I say, and put several drops into my hands and rub them together to warm them up. I stand behind him and start to knead his shoulders with my thumbs.
He lets out a quiet moan, then says, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
I work over his shoulders, up the sides of his neck and down his back until he starts to turn to putty in my hands.
“This would be easier if you were lying down,” I say. “Let’s go on the couch.”
“My bed is probably better, it’s more comfortable than that couch. The thing is built for looks, not comfort.”
I pause. His bed? I think he realizes just how it sounds and quickly says, “But I’m sure the couch will be fine.”
“No, let’s go to your bed,” I say.
I follow him to his room. It’s nothing special. Everything is plain, gray, boring. It needs a woman’s touch. He definitely has the bachelor vibe going on.
“Lay on your stomach,” I tell him.
He does and I climb on the bed, kneeling beside him. It’s not a very comfortable position to be in, and it’s hard for me to really dig into the muscles of his shoulders, so I straddle his butt instead. His back tenses up when I do that.
“Relax your muscles,” I whisper to him.
Finally, after kneading his shoulders some more, he starts to relax. Eventually his entire body loosens up. His skin feels delectable under my fingertips, especially at the small of his back. His ass looks nice and firm, I’d like to massage it too, but I don’t dare. I wonder if he can tell how hot I am between my legs, and wet. I’m sure when I get up there will be a wet spot on the back of his pajama bottoms where I’d soaked through my panties.
“Can you take these off so I can rub the backs of your legs too?” I ask, pulling at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
“Um, I could, but I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
“I’ll grab a towel,” I say and go into the bathroom attached to his room and get a towel.
When I get back his pajama bottoms are off. He’s holding them in front of him, and he’s looking at the wet spot I left on the back. His eyes meet mine and I know he knows what caused it.
I pretend not to see it and hand him the towel. His Adam’s apple dips in his throat as he covers himself with the towel and drops his bottoms to the floor.
“Lay back down,” I tell him.
He does, and I start to work on his long legs, moving my hands from the base of his butt down to his feet where I spend a lot of my time. Even his feet are beautiful. Does this man have a single flaw?
I’m so turned on now that it feels like I wet myself. I should probably stop before I do something, or touch him somewhere that will change everything. “You can get up now.”
“I can’t, actually,” he says.
“Why not?”
Did I rub too hard? Did I hurt him?
“I have a bit of an embarrassing situation happening beneath this towel.”
I smile. He should see the embarrassing situation happening on the front of my panties. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen your situation before, after we kissed in the park, and trust me, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
He rolls over onto his back and manages to keep himself hidden by the towel. Sure enough, there is a situation. A very large situation. Without the cage of his suit pants to contain him, I see that he’s much bigger than I originally thought, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the mound hidden by that damn towel. I want to throw it off and expose him.
“You know my face is up here, right?” he says in a teasing voice.
My face is as hot as a kiln. I can only imagine the unflattering shade of crimson it must be.
“I’m sorry, it’s just been a while since, you know … and your skin, my hands, that chest …” I’m just spitting out random words, hoping they come together to make sense.
The way he’s looking at me is not helping matters. He’s looking at me the same way I feel myself looking at him, and we’re both turned on and there’s nothing but that pesky towel, my panties, and a moral dilemma to stop us.
He touches the side of my bare leg, sending goosebumps all over my body. I’m not wearing a bra, so when my nipples harden, it’s painfully obvious.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to me.
“So are you,” I whisper back.
Then I reach out and I touch his chest. He sucks air through his teeth. Touching his chest is not enough for me. I don’t want to just touch him. He looks delicious. I want to taste him too. When I reach for the towel, he grabs my wrist to stop me.
“We can’t—”
“We can,” I insist. “I want to.”
His breathing gets heavier and he lets go of my wrist. I tug at the towel and let it fall. His cock might very well be the most stunning one I’ve ever seen. So many women I know think that a man’s dick is ugly, but not me. And Heath’s is especially tantalizing. It’s big and lovely, the head glistening. It’s a fucking masterpiece. I touch the length at first, gliding my hand along the velvet skin. He makes a dreamy groan as I wrap my hand around him. Then I kneel down and lean forward and take him in my mouth. He tastes as amazing as he looks and fills my mouth nicely. I slowly work his length down my throat and listen to the sexy noises me makes as he enjoys my efforts.
He runs his hands through my hair, taking a fistful as I miraculously swallow the
entire length of him. I work his balls with my finger tips and he starts making a desperate sound.
“That feels so fucking good,” he says.
I come up for air and lick him from the tip of the head, along the swollen vein on the underside, down to his balls. I take one in my mouth, swirl it around with my tongue and do the same to the other.
“That’s one hell of a mouth you have,” he says with a crooked grin.
“You like that?”
“I love it,” he says, his voice thick with lust.
“I want you to fuck my face,” I tell him.
I love to give a soft, sensual blow job, but right now I want to make him dizzy with want. I want him never to be able to resist me again.
“Are you sure?” he says timidly, but I can tell he wants it.
“I can take it,” I insist.
I make my way back up his cock with my tongue, lick the drop of pre-cum from the tip and swallow him back down. Heath cusses and lifts his hips upward to thrust inside my mouth on my way down.
I love having this kind of control over him. The way he begs and pleads for me not to stop. I feel a sense of pride knowing how much pleasure he’s in right now and it’s all because of me. I watch his face as I suck him off, the rawness of his expression, the lust, the restraint.
His breath starts to come in rapid fire, the sounds he’s making are more animalistic. He holds the sides of my face and pumps into me as though it were my pussy.
He stops suddenly and says, “Wait, wait.”
But there’s no waiting. I want him, I want him all. I start bobbing on him, pushing his hands away so I can do all the work. I’m the one in charge now.
“Oh, god, oh fuck,” he chants.
Finally, with an almost pained sound, he lets go and I clutch his hips as he bucks into me. I swallow every drop, and with my tongue, I lick up everything that escaped the corners of my lips from his explosion.
“There, does that feel better?” I say with a twisted, satisfied smile when I release him from the clutches of my mouth.
“Much better,” he says, his voice husky and exhausted.
“Get some sleep,” I say. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
“But, don’t you want me to—”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” I say, and go back to my room where I masturbate yet again.
6
Heath
The next morning, before I leave, I check on Sylph. I knock lightly on her door but she doesn’t answer. Hoping what happened last night between us didn’t freak her out and send her running, I check the door handle. It’s not locked. I go inside. Her suitcases are on the couch, open, stuff spilling out. Then I check her room. She’s lying on her side on the bed, her long hair draped over her pillow, sound asleep. Next to her, on the night stand, is a formidable pink dildo.
I cover my smile with my hand. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to see that, so I sneak out of the apartment without waking her up. I guess she was as turned on as I was by what transpired between us last night. I hadn’t meant to let it get that far, but I have to admit, I’m not sorry about it. I haven’t been that turned on in a long time. She has an award winning mouth. That girl knows how to suck a dick. I’m getting hard just thinking about it. After seeing that dildo on the nightstand and picturing her using it on herself, my flag is at full-mast.
Now I can’t get her out of my mind. I know what she did had nothing to do with money. She knows I’m not paying her for sexual favors. And then she made dinner for me. Those aren’t the kinds of things women for hire do without a cash motivation.
Is it naïve to think there might actually be something between us? It’s not like being a bride for hire is her typical job. There aren’t other men out there who’ve shared this same experience with her.
I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up, so I try not to think about it.
I direct my driver to a restaurant downtown. Instead of letting the wolves get to Sylph right away, I decide to have breakfast with my family first and make sure they’re on their best behavior.
They are already at the restaurant when I arrive, which shocks the hell out of everyone, including myself since I’m usually always the first one to arrive anywhere we go. My time with Sylph last night has thrown off everything. I find myself thinking about her instead of paying attention to the time. One look at my dad’s face and it’s obvious he’s annoyed by my tardiness. My mom doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much outside of all of her fundraisers and luncheons. She’s waiting for me with open arms. From the looks of things, she’s had one too many mimosas already. The twins, Theo and Arora, two years younger than me, wear the same disbelieving expressions on their faces.
“Is this the part where you tell us this whole engagement is a joke and we can go home?” Theo says. He wears a seersucker coat, shorts that hit just above his knee, and boat shoes. A trendy look for the young and wealthy these days, but to me he looks like a tool.
“Where is the girl who stole my darling big brother’s heart?” Arora says. Her saccharine smile does little to hide her contempt.
“She’s busy making wedding preparations. I wanted to see you first and tell you a little bit about her before you meet.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Arora asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “She’s just different. She’s down to earth, and genuinely kind. Absolutely beautiful. Her laugh alone will set anyone at ease. I care about her a lot, so I want you two to be nice to her.” I can hear the change in my voice when I talk about her. The truth behind my words is impossible to hide, which seems to confuse the twins.
“We’re always on our best behavior,” Theo says with a slight tilt of his lips that usually means the opposite of what he’s saying.
“Well she sounds lovely, dear,” my mother says. “And I, for one, can’t wait to meet her.”
The rest of the meal is filled with the twin’s idol chitchat, and on the outside everyone seems to be fine with the engagement. Maybe my parents are, but I know the twins better than that.
During the ride home I find myself excited to see Sylph again. I try to tell myself not to be. This isn’t a permanent situation. It’s best not to get attached. But the moment I walk through the door and see her sitting on the couch with a book in her hands, there’s a twist of longing in my chest. Longing to kiss her, to hold her, to be with her in any capacity. I just want to be near her. That thought messes with my mind, and so I try to turn my face into an emotionless mask so she doesn’t see it.
Her face lights up when she sees me and it’s difficult not to smile, but I manage.
“Hey, you. You’re up early,” she says.
“I went out to breakfast with my family. I wanted to make sure they were on their best behavior when they meet you.”
“You’re really sweet to care about my feelings that way.”
I open my mouth to say, I would never let anyone hurt you, but decide to hold my tongue. I hate the confusion I feel right now. This was supposed to be easy. That’s the whole point in hiring someone to marry me—no attachments, no feelings, and yet I’m breaking all the rules. How did this happen?
“Sylph, about last night … we should probably talk about it.”
“Are you sure you want to talk about it? Wouldn’t you rather have a reenactment?”
She gives me a devilish little smile that makes the traitor in my pants perk up. I was going to tell her that it can’t happen again, but now the words just won’t come to me. Instead I find myself smiling like an idiot. I lean in to kiss her just as there’s a knock at the door.
7
Sylph
I straighten up, try to adjust my clothes. Damnit. Heath was just about to kiss me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since what happened between us last night. Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since our first kiss on our pretend first date. Heath Starre has completely taken me by surpr
ise.
Heath opens the door and standing behind it is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s young, early to mid-twenties, long auburn hair, long limbs. She’s wearing a body contouring dress that fits just right. When she smiles it’s with full lips and straight white teeth. This is the kind of girl I imagine Heath would’ve dated before he started fake-dating me. Jealousy roars through my veins, and I hate myself for it. I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t real with him and it’s going to end the moment he no longer needs my services.
“Hi,” the woman says cheerily.
Heath rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t really going to make me wait until dinner to meet my future sister-in-law, were you?” she says.
Sister-in-law? She must be one of the twins. Relief washes over me.
Reluctantly, Heath steps aside and lets her in. He glances at me with a look full of apologies. “Sylph, meet my sister. This Arora.”
She wears a smile, but there is something very unpleasant about the way she’s studying me. This must be what it feels like to be a hen stalked by a fox.
“Sylph, it’s so nice to meet you.”
I stand up and give her a hug. In the folder Heath gave me about his family, I’ve learned that Arora doesn’t hug. She’s not a physically affectionate person. She’s more a giver of gifts. Which is exactly why I hug her: to throw her off her game the way she has thrown me off of mine by showing up out of the blue.