Fake Marriage Act

by Lulu Pratt

  “Just the one,” I say. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. He kisses me back.

  As we kiss, his hands grip my waist and pull me in as close as possible. I can feel his breathing as we kiss. I can feel his heartbeat increase as my body presses against his.

  My hands run up his naked torso, stroking his skin. I rest my hand on his chest. His nipple is between my fingers, and I pinch it lightly. I feel his body react as I do, and I pinch it again.

  In one vigorous movement, he suddenly hoists up my skirt and lifts me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist. We stand in the middle of the living room, devouring one another. I kiss his neck and run my tongue over his skin, loving the taste of him more than I should. His fingers disappear into my hair, and the soft tug he gives me is enough to have my body wet and purring.

  I can feel his cock getting harder and harder as he presses tightly against me. I know him to be wearing boxers underneath his pants, and they are doing little to keep his manhood in check. I bite his lip, and I thrust myself against his thick erection. I want him inside of me so damn bad. I need it. Now.

  He smirks and carries me to the living room. As we reach it, he leans forward and drops me gently onto the couch. The moment I am free of him, my hands go straight for his belt buckle. I can see his bulge now, yearning to be free. I eye it hungrily as I fumble with his belt. Finally, it comes undone, and the moment it is, I drop his pants.

  His cock nearly hits me in the face as it springs from his pants. I waste no time, my hand wrapping around it. It pulsates in my grip, and I squeeze it by the base. He moans, so I squeeze it again. I lick my free hand and wrap it around the head of his big, erect cock. And, with both hands, I begin to stroke it. His thick head is wet with pre-cum, glistening for me.

  I want to say something naughty, but I’m lost in the moment. All I can think of is fitting as much of him in my mouth as I possibly can. I want to impress him, drag him deep into a delicious pit of depravity with me.

  I twist my hands and move them up and down. I lube up his dick as I work him in long strokes. His balls hang heavy beneath his erection, and fuck if I didn’t want to lean in and roll my tongue over them. So I do.

  “Delicious,” I whisper roughly, talking more to myself than to Blake.

  “Fuck,” he groans loudly and throws back his head, moaning in pleasure. I cup his balls, I run my hand over the tip, and I squeeze the base. I do everything I know he loves, and he reacts just as I expect him to.

  He’s almost trembling with need. It’s a beautiful thing, and it leaves me feeling so damn powerful. I lean forward and take him in my mouth. In one movement, I slide it all the way in. I feel it pushing against my mouth and throat as I swallow it. Once it is in, I wrap my tongue around it.

  I pull it from my mouth and swallow again. In and out, I swallow and release. I reach the head, lick it with the tip of my tongue, and swallow. It drips with lubrication, and the sounds coming from him are almost too much. My pussy pulses with anticipation of what’s going to happen.

  I pull the entire cock from my mouth, and the second it is out, Blake takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. He spins me around and unzips my dress. It falls to the floor, and his hands wrap around my breasts. I’m not wearing any panties, and I can feel his cock pressing into my ass.

  “You look so goddamn good,” he murmurs and runs his hands over my ass before squeezing my flesh. “I’m going to fuck you nice and deep right now, Carrie. Just like you like it, baby. Yeah?”

  “Please,” I whimper and close my eyes as he strokes my back. His strong fingers reach the small of my back, and he pushes me forward. I comply, bending myself over the couch, my ass in the air, pussy sloppy wet, just for him.

  I brace myself for his huge cock to bury itself inside of me, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I gasp as he drops to his knees, wraps his hands around my ass, and plunges his tongue inside of me. He enjoys eating me out more than any other man I’ve ever heard of, but I love it. I feel like so naughty when he forces me to take his aggression, but it’s only for him. Like a deliciously dirty little secret. I love it. I love him.

  I have to grab onto the couch for support as my knees nearly collapse. He tongues my pussy exactly how I like it. First, he licks my lips, running up and down them. He now runs the tip of his tongue over my clit. He licks it slowly at first, allowing for it to swell. He wraps his lips over it, sucking it. Faster and faster. He sucks it to my breathing, to my movements, and to the way I moan and tell him to keep going.

  He pushes his tongue inside of me, then out, and then in again. He moves his tongue back to my clit, licking it. He sucks it. He licks it. I scream, and he continues.

  I can feel myself about to come. I can feel my toes tingling and my body shaking. There’s a fire in my belly, and it is slowly spreading through my entire body. Once it envelops me, I will come all over his face.

  But he knows this. He knows my body. Seconds before I do, he pulls his face from me and stands. I let out a gasp of air, wanting him to keep going, but also wanting him inside of me. I want to feel his cock stretching me. I want him to fill me with everything he has.

  I’m still bent over, and he rubs the head of his cock against my lips. He presses it in slowly, and then pulls it out. He rubs it again, and I moan.

  I am about to reach behind, grab it and shove it in myself, when he does it for me. I gasp as it slides into my tight pussy. One inch at a time. I shift my legs open, giving him extra room as he continues to push his thick cock all the way up to the hilt.

  Inside of me now, he slowly pulls it back until it is about to pop out of me. As it reaches this point, he pushes himself forward again, all the way to the base. In and out, back and forth, he goes. He starts off slowly, and I get used to it. He increases in tempo, and I groan in pleasure. He increases again, and I scream.

  His hand comes down on my firm ass, slapping me. I scream again, and I tell him to do it again. He does.

  He punishes me. Harder, faster, he moves. In and out, back and forth. I bounce, too, moving my hips in rhythm to his own.

  It has only been a few minutes, but I can already feel myself about to come. It was always going to be this way. He knows how to bring me to climax. He knows exactly what I want and how to give it to me. But more than that, I know that he is close, too.

  As he punishes me, I feel his movements become more erratic, more unstable. He stops sliding all the way out. He grinds me now. His thrusts become harder, faster, shorter. His hands grip my ass. One of his hands grabs my hair and yanks it down.

  I feel the fire in my belly again. I feel it spreading. I feel his cock, pulsating, stiffening, about to explode. It feels so damn good swelling inside of me, pressing against my pleasure points and beckoning me to release all over him. He’s taught me how to let go of any of my shyness in the bedroom and give myself over to him. I love the way he dominates me and forces me to come over and over before he finally takes his turn.

  We don’t need to say anything. There is no need for him to warn me or me to warn him. He knew how to make me explode, and I was damn good at returning the favor. We were made for each other, and we knew it.

  Together, at the same time, we come. My body stiffens as an electric pulse surges itself through my body. I feel his hot, sticky load fill me up. My toes scrunch, my back arches and I scream.

  And once we are done, once he is empty, he stays inside of me. We both fall forward on the couch. He kisses the back of my neck and strokes my hair. I take his hand in mine and wrap my fingers in his.

  He pulls himself from me and lays on the couch so I can snuggle into him. I do just that. And together, the two of us lie on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms. Sure, it’s going to be hard without Ben here every day, but I have Blake, and as long as he is by my side, everything will be okay.

  Life is just too good, and I have him to thank for that. He’s mine and I’m his. Forever and ever.

  ***

  Thank you for reading Making His B
aby. I hope you enjoyed it.

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  Please keep reading for more stories.

  Relentless Pursuit

  I won’t rest until I have her.

  Every inch.

  When I catch Ava upstairs in my mansion, I barely notice her amber eyes widening with fear…

  Not with my cock stiffening in my pants.

  All I can think about is taking her into my bedroom and giving her the welcome she deserves.

  Before I have the chance, she flees.

  But those moments with her were like a drug.

  I’m hooked. I have to find her.

  So, I do.

  Turns out she’s a life coach.

  Suddenly my life needs coaching, 24/7.

  With every minute that passes, the chemistry between us gets stronger.

  But for some reason she’s resisting me.

  Resisting us.

  I won’t give up. There’s something in her eye when she says my name.

  I know she wants me.

  First, I’ll find out why she’s resisting me.

  Then I’ll make her mine.

  *** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***

  Chapter 1

  Ava

  “Would you just come on,” Petra nags me for the hundredth time.

  She’s always ready before me, and never lets it go unnoticed. We became roommates a little over a year ago, which has been awesome for my social life. Although she’s four years older than me, Petra often feels like a little sister.

  We met several years ago after being enrolled in a few classes together at UCLA, then set up a life-coaching practice jointly and then moved in together when we realized our leases were ending the same month. We spent so much time with one another already, it made just sense.

  It’s the third time this week she’s pulled me out to an event, when I’d rather curl up in bed with a glass of wine, binge watching crime documentaries on Netflix. I guess I’m a bit of a stereotypical only child, nearly always choosing to be by myself as opposed to being in a crowded nightclub.

  “I knew I would come in here and find you like this,” Petra sighs, eyeing me through the reflection of my vanity mirror. Her gray contacts make her look exotic, or so she says. In my opinion, they only make her look older, but I learned the hard way not to attempt to separate her from her false grays.

  “Like what?” I snap, knowing full well what she’ll say. Sometimes, being best friends allows us to read each other’s attitudes with ease.

  “You’re ready, Ava! What am I waiting for?” She shrieks so loud I cringe. Her mouth is only inches from my ear, yet she’s using her party voice as if there’s already music to yell over.

  “I’m finishing my mascara,” I lie. I had completed my make-up about half an hour ago, but not wanting to go out was a good enough reason to delay our departure as long as possible.

  Just then, Petra’s phone vibrates, and she smirks, looking at the screen.

  “Look at you, grinning like a guilty kid. Is that Jacob?” I ask, peeking over her shoulder, but she hides the phone before I can even catch a glimpse.

  “No, not Jacob. He’s so last week,” she says in a mock valley girl accent.

  Petra has been my guide into the strange world of the city of angels. She was raised here, and so it all seems normal to her. Coming from a small town just outside Bakersfield, I’m not used to the fast pace, or the ever-changing trends, of such a big city.

  In my hometown, there’s one diner that’s been there my whole life, and when you want to go out to eat, it’s the only place to go. In LA, there’s a new restaurant springing up every day, and at least twice a month Petra drags me to a grand opening of the new “it” place. I’m still struggling to get used to it all even though I have been here for years.

  “So then who is it?” I wonder, still trying to peek at her phone.

  “It’s nothing like that, Ava. Can you please just come on?” She deflects, focusing on my procrastination to avoid answering the question.

  “Okay, I just need to pack my purse,” I say, walking into my large closet with my lip gloss and mascara in hand.

  Reaching to my top shelf, I pick a black leather clutch purse to match my bandage dress and stilettos. Petra would usually call this a boring outfit, but tonight she seems to be too engrossed in her phone to be the judgmental sister I never wanted.

  “You don’t need all this,” Petra groans as she watches me picking items from my regular purse to pack into my tiny clutch.

  “I need my wallet, Petra,” I roll my eyes, annoyed by her exaggerated need to hurry.

  “No, you don’t. When do you ever pay for things with me?” She tilts her head while resting her hand on her hip before adding, “just bring your license, and you shouldn’t even need that.”

  She’s right. Whenever I go out with Petra, I never have to worry about anything. It’s like she has a key to the city, the way she instantly gains access to every major event. She once told me there’s a secret society of bartenders and doormen, and that every kid from the city serves two years in the nightlife to create their own network. From the stories I’ve overheard, I know she was popular as a VIP waitress during her undergrad years at UCLA.

  With Petra watching me like a hawk, I throw my license, a couple of bills, lip gloss and a pack of gum into the clutch before giving her the “I’m ready, stop hassling me,” glare.

  After quickly typing something into her phone, Petra nods and walks straight out of my room without another word. Following behind like an orderly mentee, I make my way into Petra’s white S-Class Mercedes Benz. The car is too flashy for me even on a normal day. On nights like this one, when she insists on having the top down, I scoff at her desperate ploy for attention.

  Petra doesn’t come from money, far from it actually, but Los Angeles isn’t about what you have, but rather what you look like you have. My best friend plays that game well, and always makes sure her appearance is top notch, regardless of how many late notices she receives for all her unpaid bills.

  “So, where are we going again?” I ask before she turns up the music as she always does. I can’t remember if this is an opening of some sort, or just another club.

  “Wherever the city takes us,” she smirks before blaring the music so loud I instinctively cover my ears, which makes her burst into laughter.

  Looking over, it’s impossible to remain mad at her, and giggles pour from me as I watch her speed through the busy streets of West Hollywood. As the city passes us by, I still find it hard to believe I live here, after dreaming and working hard to make it happen.

  Growing up so close to LA strangely made it more distant. I always felt the need to be someone different to live in a city filled with such glamor, but when my high school counselor introduced me to a program to attend UCLA, I jumped at the opportunity to leave.

  Petra’s heading to Hollywood, so I figure we must be going to a nightclub. A feeling of dread rushes over me. Not that I love either, but grand openings are less pretentious than nightclubs. There aren’t even lines to the parties here. Everyone just crowds around a man with a clipboard, pleading their case to get in. It’s pathetic, but also Petra’s favorite pastime.

  Before I can guess which club she’s going to, she rears off and continues straight to the 101, leaving me confused.

  “You’re going to the valley?” I yell over the music, the disbelief apparent in my tone.

  If there’s one thing Petra hates, it’s the valley. Whenever we have to leave Los Angeles County, she acts like we’re traveling to Siberia.

  Petra doesn’t answer, although I’m sure she’s heard me. Without a word, she makes a left, heading up the narrow streets leading to the Hollywood Hills.

  “The party’s up here?” I mutter, the lo
ud music drowning out my confusion.

  “I just wanted to drive through and see the homes,” Petra answers, although I wasn’t speaking to her more than I was remarking on her strange decision.

  We both enjoy a random drive through a beautiful neighborhood for daydream inspiration, but rarely do these whimsical drives take place on the way to an event. When I hear her phone ding to alert her of a text message, I watch her smirk while she checks the phone before turning down another street.

  “Ooh, look. Some rich asshole is having a party,” she chuckles after turning down the music.

  A young man in a black and white tuxedo comes to the car, looking over his shoulder. The entire scene is a bit strange, but Petra doesn’t seem rattled and I try to take my cues from her.

  “Johnny, get over here!” She yells at the young man before turning to me, “I dated his older brother. We’re so going to this party,” she whispers.

  “Petra! What’s up?” He asks, digging into his suit pocket before pulling out a thin white joint and a lighter.

  “What do I need to get in there?” Petra nods to the large house at the end of the cul-de-sac. There are so many people moving about around the house, it looks like a nightclub.

  “Just one of these,” Johnny grins as he pulls out a red ticket from his back pocket.

  “Sweet,” Petra takes the ticket from him so quickly I could barely get a glimpse of it.

  “Oh, and you’ve gotta let me park the Benz. It’s strictly valet,” he says before sparking the joint and inhaling deeply as he backs away from the car, making room for Petra to open her door.

  “Come on,” Petra turns to me, speaking sternly like she always does when she thinks I might mess up something.

  Shocked by the quick turn of events, I scan my seat as fast as possible, hoping not to leave anything behind, because I don’t even know if I’ll leave with Petra. Whenever we go to events it’s a toss up if I even see her again once we make our way past security.