The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée: An Older Man, Younger Woman Romance

by Arlo Arrow

  Sixteen

  Grant

  When I get back on deck, Sophia is gone.

  Gone.

  For some reason, I start to panic. I'm sure she just went downstairs to get out of the rain. But I find myself running to the stairs. When I climb down and discover my family members and their various hangers'-on drinking and laughing below deck—but no Sophia—I panic.

  For real.

  I shout to the crew to begin searching for her. I barge into the head, but Cara is the only person in the restroom. I check the second one; empty. The crew is spreading out, shouting her name. And that's when I see a figure—in the water—far away in the boat's wake.

  "Turn around!" I shout. The captain sees her, too, and suddenly the boat is stopping and a lifeboat is being lowered into the water. I can't wait. I'm about to jump in when my father appears by my side.

  "What are you doing, son? Don't risk your life to save hers! You can't jump."

  I stop and stare at his hand on my arm, at his face. Does he really care? He didn't, all growing up. Maybe once upon a time he was a good man. But after my mother died—out on the water, goddamn it, on the water—he was never the same.

  "How can you say that?" I hiss. "Especially after your own wife—"

  I don't wait for him to say more. I kick off my shoes, but he's right—me jumping here won't help.

  Me getting in the rescue boat will.

  I race to join the crew and ignore their pleas for me to let them do my job.

  "This is my job," I growl. And then no one objects, and within moments we're racing into the wind, fighting the waves, and coming to her rescue.

  It only takes a few minutes to reach Sophia, but it feels like a lifetime. As we get nearer, I cheer for my girl. She's treading water, her face pale, her hair soaked—but she's hanging in there.

  She's fighting.

  As soon as the boat slows, I leap out and into the water, racing toward her.

  "Grant!" she shouts. And as soon as we touch, she wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing. She says my name over and over again, even as the crew lifts her up into the motorboat, even after I wrap her in blankets and hold her tight.

  "What the hell happened?" I whisper in her ear.

  She looks up at me, her eyes full of tears. "I'm sorry. I don't know. I was sick and thought if I ran to the railing, I could…throw up…and you wouldn't see me. I'm so stupid. So, so stupid."

  She squeezes her eyes shut and I know she's trying not to cry.

  "You're not stupid," I whisper into her hair. "It was just bad luck. And you're safe now. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  But as we race back to the yacht and can't help but wonder: did this happen because of me? Sophia's the one thing standing in the way of my father inheriting, isn't she?

  Did Sophia fall overboard…or was she pushed?

  I don't remember the ride back to the mansion. I just know I wouldn't let anyone else touch her. She wasn't hurt, thank God.

  Thank God, thank God, thank God.

  How did I ever think I could let her go?

  I carry her to our room, despite her protests. She's still shaking but to my surprise—more than anything—she's pissed off. At herself. Once we're in the room, she paces back and forth, talking to herself and waving her hands in the air.

  "Thank God I didn't lose your mother's ring. That's all I could think about: Don't pull a Titanic, Soph. Don't let the big blue diamond sink down to the bottom of the lake."

  I grab her and feel like shaking her. Instead, I pull her close to me, and tilt her face toward mine. "That's all you could think of? Sophia, sweetheart, fuck that ring. I don't care about it. I don't care about the inheritance. I only care about you."

  I stop. I said it, and it's true. "I mean it. I only care about you. And I have for the longest damn time."

  "Grant," she whispers, her brown eyes beautiful, her cheeks too cold and pale. "Grant, I care about you, too."

  "Well, what the hell are we waiting for?" I growl. "Let's warm you up."

  I carry her into the bathroom, and start running hot water into the enormous spa-size bathtub in the corner of the room.

  "Come here, Angel," I say. She walks shyly toward me, but I'm not having any of that. Not now. "I want to see you." I kiss her lips, softly. "All of you."

  She exhales shakily, but holds my gaze as she slips her still-damp sundress off her shoulders. Down, over her breasts. The fabric catches on her ample hips, and I take a step toward her and pull it down. It puddles at her feet.

  "These tits," I murmur, kissing my way down to her lace-covered breasts. I suck on one, and then the other, through her bra's sheer fabric. She moans and shivers under my touch. "I've dreamt about these tits for so long."

  I pull the cups of her bra down, freeing her breasts. I take one gorgeous tip in my mouth and suck, hard, while my other hand pinches her other nipple. She shivers and pants, and my cock jerks in response.

  "Getting any warmer?" I whisper.

  "A little." She looks down at me and grins.

  "I'll have to work harder then." I smile back, and for a moment we just stare at each other. Then I unbutton my shirt and pull off the damp fabric. She bites her lip as she stares at my chest. Good. I like that she likes what she sees.

  I definitely fucking like what I see.

  I unzip my pants and take them, my briefs, everything off. Her eyes grow wide as she looks at my hard cock.

  "Can I…touch it?" she says shyly.

  "You can do whatever the fuck you want to it," I growl, pulling her close. Then I kiss her again, rough and possessive. She yields to me, and I press her nearly naked body against mine. She's soft where I'm hard, she's smooth and lush and she smells like the sky outside and tastes sweet as candy.

  Hot.

  I dip my fingers under her panties, through her soft curls. Wet.

  "Let's get you in the tub," I say, leaning over and shutting off the flowing water.

  "One second." She gives me a sly smile. "You said I get to do whatever the fuck I want."

  Then she drops to her knees and takes my cock in her hand.

  "And I want to taste you."

  Seventeen

  Sophia

  I'm a virgin, but I'm not innocent. My roommates in college used to borrow their boyfriends' porn DVDs and we'd make popcorn and laugh at the ridiculous plotlines…while being secretly turned-on.

  I've owned a vibrator or three in my time. And I've read plenty of romance novels with my Amazon Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  But I've never seen such a gorgeous, thick…big…cock before in real life.

  I've also never thought a hard-on could be beautiful before, but Grant's is. It's sexy as hell. The head is thick, plum-shaped, and I can see a tiny amount of pre-cum against the slit. The shaft is long, thick, veined, and when I hesitantly wrap my hand around it, my fingers barely meet.

  It's surprisingly soft, but with a core that feels like steel. I look up at him as I lean forward and carefully, slowly lick the drops of precum from the head.

  Grant groans, a low, masculine, purely male sound that fills me with a sense of pride and power. I smile and work my hand up and down the shaft, opening my mouth and kissing the head at the same time. I gently suck on him, and he tastes clean and slightly salty.

  I slide all of the head between my lips and realize there's no way I can fit his entire cock inside my mouth. He's huge, overwhelming, but I love it. The more I suck and explore, the wetter I get. I press my thighs together, surprised by how turned-on I am.

  "Fuck, Soph," Grant hisses. "That's right, baby. Just like that. Damn, your sweet, hot, dirty little mouth."

  I moan with my lips wrapped around his cock, and I feel it jump and pulse in my mouth.

  "For an angel, you're really fucking good at this," Grant says, his voice hoarse. "Open wider, baby. See if you can take just a little more. Fuck, you should see how sexy you look."

  I suck harder, pulling him in wh
ile twisting my hands around his shaft, a trick I'd read about years ago. Thank you, online advice columns written by gay men. I hope I'm doing everything right. From Grant's low growls and the way his cock feels even bigger and hotter, I think I'm doing okay.

  More than okay.

  I reach down to my panties with my free hand. I need—I need something. I need relief from this burning, building feeling that's taking over my entire body.

  "Oh no you don’t," Grant says. And suddenly he pulls me up to my feet, rips my panties halfway down my legs, and sets me on the edge of the bathtub. He turns off the faucet and then turns to me.

  "The first time you're gonna come tonight, it's gonna be on my cock. But for now…"

  He pulls my panties off my dangling legs and spreads my thighs wide. I gasp as I wobble a bit on the edge of the tub.

  "It's alright, beautiful. Just lean on me." And then Grant kneels down, his muscles flexing as he buries his face between my legs. He throws my bent knees over his wide shoulders and grabs my thighs with his hands. I'm held open, pinned, and balanced…on him.

  And then he kisses me. There. At my core. I moan and close my eyes. My hips can't help but move slightly, and I feel his tongue slide inside me. "Grant, oh my God," I whisper.

  He's wicked and perfect, his tongue on my clit, moving hard and fast. Just when I think I'll crest into an orgasm, he seems to know and pull away. At first I'm timid, self-conscious that this immense, gorgeous man is…buried between my legs.

  But he won't let me go. He won't stop. He seems to fucking love going down on me. And within a few minutes, I'm moaning and crying his name, and shamelessly opening my thighs wider.

  "Please," I pant. "Please, make me come."

  He pulls back, his cheeks red and his face wet. Jesus, because of me. He's wet because of me. Then he stares at me, winks, and licks his lips. And before I know it, he's up, stepping into the bathtub, and pulling me gently in with him.

  I'm riding him, spread across his thick thighs. He fists his hand in my hair and pulls me down, so my breasts press against his hard chest, his cock is trapped and huge between us, and then his tongue is in my mouth.

  "Taste yourself on my lips," he orders between kisses. "I fucking love it. You drive me wild, Soph. I want to eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every fucking day."

  I moan, beyond words. He's grabbing my hips, my breasts, kissing me and stealing my breath, my sense, my sanity. The water's hot, but we're hotter.

  Then he takes my hand and wraps it around his cock. "Stroke me. Hard," he orders. I do it, immediately, relishing the feel of his wet cock.

  "I want you inside me," I whisper.

  His fingers go to my clit, teasing me until I can't stand it. I'm moving, bucking, sloshing water everywhere. Then he begins to finger-fuck me, one finger, then two.

  It feels so good, but… "That's not what I meant," I pant.

  He smiles against my lips, then finds my g-spot and I go wild. I scream, thrash, claw at his shoulders.

  "Oh my God, what are you doing to me?" I cry.

  "Getting you ready, sweetheart." He removes his fingers and I'm left, shaking and ready to come. I feel like he could just touch me—my clit, one time—and I'd explode.

  "Well, let's do it already," I beg.

  He laughs, low and delicious. "Rise up a little bit, Soph. That's it, baby." I feel the head of his cock, pressing at my entrance. He grips the shaft with his fist and I stare down at his burning blue eyes, his tense muscles, his strained face.

  He's holding back. He wants me, but he's holding back because he doesn't want to hurt me.

  I lower myself onto him, but…it won't go in. He smiles at my panicked expression. "It's okay, honey. Relax." And then he leans forward and takes my breast in his mouth. He sucks and teases me, his thumb somehow finds my clit. I moan and grip his head to my chest. And then—

  "Oh, God." He's inside me. He's big and huge and filling me up. He leans back into the tub, and I press my hands on his chest, reveling in his strength.

  "Am I hurting you?" I say, afraid to put all my weight on him.

  He laughs. "Sweetheart, only in the best ways. You're driving me crazy." He wraps his hands around my wrists and pulls my hands down. "You won't hurt me, Sophia. I just don't want to hurt you."

  "You—aren't," I say, staring down into his eyes.

  And then he grabs my hips and begins to move me, slowly at first. Oh, Jesus, so this is sex. He's so big I feel like I'm breaking apart, like he's filled me up and split me open. But it doesn't hurt. I feel…full. Uncomfortably full. But I did it. I can't believe his entire, giant cock is inside me—

  I look down and gasp. "It's just the tip?!"

  He laughs and says, "Sophia, Angel, look at me."

  I do, frowning. He slaps my ass, hard, and I shout his name—and slip down an inch or so onto his cock.

  "Oh," I say. It feels different now. Better. Less tension, more…

  "Ooohh," I moan.

  Grant is moving my hips now, firmly, back and forth. The more I move the wetter I get, and not just from the water. "Oh, fuck," I whisper. He's deeper now, and I press down, trying to take him all. He's so big, so hot, so massive. I'm impaled on him. The more Grant moves, the more I lose control. Then I begin to ride him, figuring out how to move, how to take all of him.

  "Oh, Grant. Yes, yes." I don't even know what I'm saying. I don't recognize the sounds coming out of me. I can barely keep my eyes open. Then I feel his hand on my cheek and when I open my eyes the look on his face takes my breath away.

  I thought there wasn't anything better than riding Grant's cock.

  But now I know—now I know the best thing in life is having Grant inside me, while he looks at me with so much—so much love in his eyes.

  "You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life." Grant's jaw is clenched. He caresses my breast with one hand, his other hand moving down to my clit. He begins rubbing me and I shout from the shockwave of pure pleasure.

  It's too much, his hand, his eyes, his cock inside me—

  "Grant," I say. "Grant." My eyes lock to his. I can't look away. I can't stop moving. "I can't, I can't take it—"

  The build-up of pleasure is so fierce it's terrifying. And he's so deep inside me now that each time his hips thrust up to meet mine, there's a painful tinge at my core. Then he moves down slightly, then back in, and another wave of pleasure builds and builds.

  "Yes you can," he says. "Come for me, Sophia. Come for me, Angel. You can do it. Come now. Come with me."

  And he presses hard on my clit, thrusts deep, so deep—all the way—inside me, and I lose myself, a wave of pleasure washing over me, more powerful than anything I've ever felt before.

  And even as I'm starting to come down, Grant grabs my hips and begins moving me, hard, fast, rough on top of him. I can't even control myself, but I grab the sides of the tub and let him take control.

  Of my body.

  Of my heart.

  My breasts bounce and I scream as he fucks me, over and over and over until with a loud shout he comes, sitting up and grabbing me, pressing me to his chest, kissing me senseless and murmuring over and over, You're mine, Angel, you're mine, you're fucking perfect and you're all mine.

  It's only later, in the middle of the night, with his naked body wrapped around mine that I realize: he didn't wear a condom.

  Eighteen

  Sophia

  "So when are you coming to Florida now?" My Dad's voice is gruff and it's hard to hear him over the ocean wind in the background. Apparently he and Pamela are deep-sea fishing today, and while he's concerned about me I can tell he totally, blissfully happy and in love.

  Life father, like daughter.

  "And what exactly are you doing at Grant's family's home?" he says.

  I wince. Dad knew Grant had offered to let me stay at his Manhattan penthouse. I hadn't quite told him what had happened since…

  "Dad," I fib, "you're breaking up. I'm just visiting. Can you
call me when you're back on land?"

  He doesn't argue, which shows me he's really head-over-heels for Pamela and their new life together in Florida. Normally my dad is the textbook definition of "overprotective."

  I end the call and pocket my cell phone, looking around the lush gardens. I can't believe Grant grew up in such an opulent place. I close my eyes and lay back on the garden chair.

  I can't believe Grant and I had sex last night.

  Four times.

  I'm sore. And happy. And freaked out. The next three times he used condoms. I don't think it's my fertile time of the month, but I haven't exactly been tracking it or anything. I need to talk to Grant about that, but when I woke up there was a note on my pillow along with a wrapped box present.

  And no Grant.

  The note said Grant's grandfather needed to talk to him, urgently, about the will and the family businesses. He thanked me for "the best night of his life" and promised we'd spend the rest of the day together.

  But he hadn't signed it "love Grant."

  I mentally slap myself, then consider actually hitting my own cheek. Someone's got to knock some sense into me. I can't reasonably expect Grant to fall madly in love with me after a couple days together and one night of sex.

  Really, really great sex.

  Is that what sex is like? All the time? For everybody?

  I know I sound like a typical virgin, falling for the first guy who touches me. I can't let that happen. I can enjoy this weekend. But for all of Grant's kindness and saying "you're mine," what does that really mean?

  I need to get my head on straight.

  Of course, he'd also left me a gift box full of lingerie. Beautiful, silken teddies and bras and panties and garter belts that must have cost a fortune.

  If he really loved you, he'd buy you something else. You know what you buy the woman you're fucking? Lingerie.

  My interior monologue is a real downer today.

  If he really loved you, he'd get you a ring.