Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day

by Sierra Sparks

  "So, if you tell them we're engaged, they'll know they won't have to worry about liability?" Liz asks me, interrupting my train of thought just before I was about to admit to myself the feelings that have been lurking beneath the surface this whole time, bubbling and stirring and threatening to explode.

  I love her. I love this fucking girl so much.

  "I can explain," I tell her, feeling bad that she thinks I'm just lying to save my ass when actually, for the first time ever, I wish my lie could be true.

  "It's okay," she says, smiling. "It makes perfect sense. You did this to help me, and also you. Fair's fair."

  I pull her into me and smell her hair. It always has the scent of cherry blossoms, so she must use a shampoo like that.

  I'm glad she's not mad at me— after all, how could she be? I saved her from the wrath of her mother— or at least some of it. And she seems to understand that this arrangement benefits me too.

  So why do I feel let down that she accepts it so easily? Did I want to torture her by wanting her to want this to be real instead of just pretend?

  "And when do I start working for you?" she asks, with a challenging sparkle in her eyes.

  "Oh, I… I just said that, so your mom wouldn't think…"

  "That in our fake engagement scenario, I was marrying you for money? That I was going to be your kept wife?"

  "Something like that," I admit with a grin.

  "Well, I appreciate you carrying out the lie to its fullest extent, but I'm going to need that part to be true," she says.

  I look at her. I could easily find an opening for her as a receptionist. But I don't want her to have to work for me, even though the thought of having a reason to see her every day excites me. I want something altogether different for her— for us.

  "I do have college tuition to pay," she says, "so I'm going to need some money. And I look forward to having a job and some financial independence from my mother."

  "You can start tomorrow," I tell her.

  It figures that the one woman I want to be with, to take care of and provide for completely, is the only one who isn't a gold digger and who is content to find her own independence. That thought fills me with a mixture of sadness and pride.

  I look at her and decide I'm mostly so proud of her even though she's accepting our new fake reality a bit better than I would have hoped. I suppose I wanted her to protest, to beg me to really propose to her.

  But I should have known better. Liz isn't a weakling and that's one thing I love about her. She comes across as stand-offish and shy, but it's only because her mother has scared her into being completely obedient at all times. Her real spirit— the one who mother couldn't break no matter how hard she tried— is strong, brave and, despite it all, even kind.

  As Liz returns my gaze, she looks like she's melting for me. And that's another thing I love about her— that this strong woman becomes so weak in my presence, so turned on by my touch that she'll submit to me and let me do as I please with her.

  I lean down to kiss her.

  "I guess this is the first time we're actually completely alone together," I tell her. "And in someplace other than my office."

  "I guess we should take advantage of it, then," she says, and winks.

  "I guess you're right."

  Chapter 28 – Derek

  I think about lifting Liz up and carrying her up the stairs to the bedroom. But with her legs wrapped tight around my waist, and the warmth of her pussy radiating into me, I know I just can't wait. I have to christen this kitchen table and every other spot in this apartment.

  I take off her skirt and panties, her bra and blouse and then lay her back with her legs spread wide open like they always are when I examine her. Only this time, she's completely naked, completely uncovered, completely mine to do with what I want without the threat of anyone getting in the way.

  "I love your curvy body," I tell her, tracing my hand up and down her breasts, her stomach, her sides, her hips, her thighs.

  I do the same thing with kisses now, my lips traveling the expanse of her body. When I get to her inner thigh, she moans.

  "I want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel," I tell her, pressing on her clit while my tongue traces teasing circles around her labia.

  "Oh, you always do, Derek," she says.

  "But I haven't tasted your sweet little pussy, and that's a shame."

  "That's definitely a shame, I agree," she says.

  I bend down and take her clit in my mouth, gently sucking, prodding, biting.

  "Oh, my God," she says, her hands gripping my head. "That feels so amazingly good."

  I reach up and trace the skin around her nipples before twisting them as I simultaneously suck harder on her clit. She wraps her legs around my head and lifts up her hips.

  "I love how you eat my pussy," she says, grinding herself into my mouth.

  Her perfect juices drip out of her pussy and I slurp them up while playing with her clit.

  "You're going to make me come, Derek," she says, her breathing getting heavier and her fingers grasping my hair harder.

  I suck on her clit until she's moaning, crying out, "Oh my God, Derek, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming."

  Then I pick her up and set her down on the floor. I reach for the condom in my pocket and then take off my clothes. She's doggy style in front of me on all fours on the kitchen floor. This is a position I'd never be able to take her in at my office, so I love it.

  I spread her legs open wider, so I can see her entire pussy and ass in front of my face. I spread them open and then I can't help but put my lips back on her pussy once again, loving the taste of her wetness and feel of her folds against my mouth.

  I gnaw on her clit while I insert three fingers into her pussy hole.

  "Derek," she screams, not having to worry about being quiet or holding back any more. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

  Finally satisfied that I've made her feel good, I plunge my cock into her eager pussy. I hold onto her hips and thrust in and out of her, loving how amazing it feels to watch her ass bounce against me while I fuck her.

  "Does this feel good, my little slut? My little fake fiancé?" I ask her, as I slap her ass.

  "It feels so good, Derek."

  "Were you a naughty little girl? You were caught sneaking around and your mom found out? You deserve another spanking."

  Whap.

  I hit her again, leaving red marks this time, but she moans as if she likes it.

  "Yes, I'm your naughty little girl. My mom caught you fucking me."

  I ravage her with my cock, while my finger traces the outline of her ass hole.

  "I'm going to take your anal virginity too," I tell her, and the thought makes my cock swell hard and full inside her, filling her all the way up. "But not yet. I have to give you something to look forward to."

  "I'm not giving that up until I get married," she says, with a laugh.

  I can't tell if she's joking, and I can't tell if it's a challenge. Maybe she wants this to be real, too. Or maybe she really does want to save that part of herself for her wedding night.

  I thrust a few more times inside her until I just can't take it anymore.

  "Well one of these days I'm really going to do it," I tell her. She can take my statement— said immediately after hers— in whatever way she wants. "I'm going to fuck your perfect little asshole."

  As I say it I stick my thumb into her asshole and she jumps, but then she leans back into it, as if she likes it.

  "That's right, you're my dirty little girl," I tell her, pounding her pussy with my cock while I spank her ass. "You want my cock in your ass. And you want me to fuck your pussy raw, so you can feel my cum shooting inside you."

  Just then I do start to come, and she does as well.

  "I'm coming with you, Liz," I grunt, grabbing her ass and pulling her towards me so that I'm stuffing her pussy with my cock as much as possible.

  "Oh, my God," she says, colla
psing onto the tile floor. "I'm so exhausted."

  "Me too," I tell her, joining her and sneaking my arm under her head.

  She buries her face into my bicep.

  "That was amazing," she says. "I like it in the office, but I love it here where we're free to be as loud and crazy as we want to be."

  "Do you love it enough to write about it in your diary?" I ask her, taking out the crinkled-up piece of paper from my pocket.

  "I want Dr. Monroe to tie me up and take me from behind…" I begin reading, and she grabs it out of my hand.

  "Stop it!" she says. "It's embarrassing."

  "Oh, it is not," I tell her. "It's amazingly hot. You should write erotica."

  "Yeah, well you should narrate it, since you're so good at speaking into your recorder during our little office exam sessions."

  We both laugh, but I don't think it's a bad idea.

  "I really did like being able to scream your name nice and loud," she says. "And not having to worry about anyone interrupting us. Although sometimes that's half the fun— as long as it's not my mom."

  "We'll still do that," I tell her. "And this too. I think this fake engagement is going to work very well."

  "Me too," she says. "Except, I just remembered…"

  "Yes?" I ask her, looking into her mischievously sparkling eyes.

  "I have no way to get to my job tomorrow, or to class for that matter."

  "No problem," I tell her, glad she's asking for my help for once. "I have an extra Maserati you can use."

  "Seriously?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

  "You know I don't lie about something as important as a Maserati."

  "Only about something as important as an engagement, huh?"

  "Very funny," I tell her, reaching down to squeeze her on her perfect, curvy ass.

  It was a funny joke though. And it shows me she's having similar feelings about this fake engagement as I am. I think she wants it to be real. And I do too, although I'm not going to risk rejection by telling her that.

  It would be a crazy idea. She would laugh me out of her temporary apartment. And I want to spend the night with her and fuck her all over again in the morning.

  So, I just sigh and run my fingers through her hair and say, "You really are quite the catch, my little Liz."

  Fake engagement or not, I'm glad I caught her by whatever method I could.

  Chapter 29 – Elizabeth Jane

  As soon as I pull up into the parking lot, Diana, who was walking into Messer Hall for our class, hightails it over to me.

  "Woah, woah, woah, Elizabeth Jane," she says, whistling. "Where'd you get this nice car?"

  "It's Liz now," I tell her, smiling.

  "Huh?"

  "I go by Liz. Not Elizabeth Jane. Not Elizabeth. Just Liz."

  "Nice," she says. "Liz, huh? I like it. It suits you. Well, at least it does now, anyway. So, what's the story with this car? You go from always needing your mom to drop you off and pick you up, to… a Maserati?"

  "Yeah, a lot has changed," I tell her. "What do you think about writing erotica?"

  "Huh?" she asks again.

  I can tell I'm confusing her more than ever, but the grin on her face lets me know she likes it.

  "You've read my diary entries and written some of your own about Dr. Calvert," I tell her. "So why don't we join forces and write erotica? Maybe other people will like it. Maybe we can make a little extra dough."

  "Sounds like a good plan," she says, nodding her head. "I'm impressed that you came up with it. And I'll gladly participate. A lot of things have changed for me too."

  "That's great," I tell her. "And actually, I'm not the one who came up with it. But that's one of the things that's changed for me."

  My cell phone vibrates, and I look down to see the number who's calling.

  Oh, my God.

  My stomach immediately twists into knots and my heartbeat races.

  "I have to take this phone call," I tell her, her face falling because I know she wanted the scoop.

  "It's important," I continue. "But we'll catch up soon. I promise."

  "Okay, Liz," she says, the smile returning to her face. "I'll see you— and yummy Dr. Calvert— in class."

  She skips off, her short skirt blowing up in the wind and nearly revealing her ass cheeks that were already poking out from underneath. There's something different about her, too. Her step is lighter, bouncier. She seems happier.

  Good for Diana. I'm happy for her, and happy that I'm happy. At least I think I am, although I'm not sure how I'll feel after I answer this call.

  "Hello?" I say hesitantly, into the phone.

  "Hello, Elizabeth Jane," the voice on the other end replies. "I was so happy to hear that you had called me."

  I gulp, not sure of what to say next.

  As if trying to make sure he knows who I am— although I already do— he adds,

  "This is your father."

  "Yes," I answer, feeling stupid but not knowing what else to say. "Hello."

  "I've been waiting so long for you to call me."

  "But mom said…"

  He sighs so loudly I can hear it through the phone.

  "I was afraid of this," he says, before I can even finish my sentence. "She didn't give you my number, did she?"

  "Not exactly," I say, half defending her because she's the one who raised me while he split— as she always loves to remind me— and half upset at myself for believing her. "I saw the card with your phone number on it. But she told me she had called it and it was disconnected. I stupidly believed her. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," he says, his tone turning gentler. "I can completely see that happening."

  "She told me you left us high and dry," I continue. "That you abandoned us."

  "Oh, Elizabeth Jane," he says. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I suppose you didn't get any of my letters, then? My emails?"

  "Letters?" Suddenly I realize. "No, no letters. And right after I saw the card with your phone number on it— which I've kept in my locked diary all this time, but never dared try to call it myself until now— we moved away."

  "So that you'd never get another letter from me," my dad says, sounding sad. I swear it almost sounds like he's crying.

  "This is awful," I tell him. "Would she really do this?"

  "Your mom is… sick," he says, sounding much nicer about it than I would. But I understand.

  "I know," I tell him. "It's like some kind of mental illness."

  "Exactly," he says. "I'm glad you understand. I was afraid it would make you too hard, too cynical."

  "It almost broke me, but I didn't let it," I tell him. "I still have room in my heart for love.

  Room enough to be with Derek, whom I now must admit to myself— even if I can't admit to him— that I love. I try to play it cool about this fake engagement and I do appreciate him helping me during this transition period where I leave my mom's house, but I don't know what I'm going to do after he merges with the new business partners and our fake engagement ends. I guess I'll just enjoy it until then, but it'll be heartbreaking when it's over.

  But thanks to Derek's support, I was brave enough to call my dad. Strong enough to open my heart up to the possibility that maybe he and I could have some kind of relationship. Although apparently, he's been trying to do that all along.

  "What did you mean about emails?" I ask him. "You said you sent me some?"

  "Yes, in one of the earliest cards I sent you, I told you I had set up an email address, just for you and I to correspond, and that I'd be sending you emails. It's DadLovesEJ@greatemail.com. This was back when Greatemail was still popular," he chuckles. "The password is DadAndEJ.

  "Wow, Dad, that's so nice of you," I tell him.

  "I had told you that if you wanted to tell me anything at all, you could drop me a line. And that I'd let you know what's going on in my own life. I've sent you emails there at least weekly since then. If you'd like, you can log in and catch up on everything you'
ve missed. Even though I've lived a pretty boring life, so you might not be able to stay awake."

  I laugh. But then I grow serious.

  "Thank you, Dad," I tell him. "I'd love to check it out. So, what exactly happened between you and Mom, then?"

  "I didn't leave her like she told you," he insists. "To be honest, I'd thought a lot about leaving her, because she could be so cruel and…"

  "Crazy?" I venture.

  "Something like that." He pauses. "But I wasn't sure I could go through with it. I had taken vows. I believed in commitment. She joined a cultish church, though, and became obsessed with trying to save me from hellfire and damnation."

  "Wow," I tell him. "She's still pretty religious now, but we go to a Presbyterian church. It's nothing that crazy."

  "It's because the church she was a member of was driven out of town," he says. "They were advocating for the literal stoning of anyone who disagreed with them. They were going door to door and leaving hateful messages on the doorsteps of anyone who refused to repent."

  "Oh, my God," I say. "I had no idea."

  "Yeah, it was pretty bad. Obviously, I didn't agree with any of it. They had someone from CPS come talk to us, because they thought your mom might be poisoning your mind with that stuff. It was a fine line between religious freedom and emotional child abuse, but in the end, they told your mom she had to go to parenting classes and agree not to take part in the hateful acts towards others."

  "And how did they determine…?"

  "What was hateful and what wasn't?" Dad asks.

  "Yeah, exactly."

  "Good question. But at about that same time, there was a local petition going around and anyone associated with this cult was being shunned. So, the cult moved to a different location— where, believe it or not, even more people who believed in this hateful stuff lived— and your mom didn't go with them. She said she never meant to be hateful. She wasn’t a part of the super nasty stuff, more like, a churchgoer. So, she switched churches and toned down the fire and brimstone rhetoric."

  I'm silent, letting all of this soak in.

  "So," I finally say. "How does this explain what happened to you and her? I mean, other than the fact that she was nuts?"