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

by Arlo Arrow

  "Sophia, I said stop," Grant shouts, and then he's on me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight.

  "Let…me…go!" I shout right back, trying to kick his shins.

  "That's it. If you won't listen to reason, I'm going to have to tie you up."

  "What!" I shriek. He sets me down, but before I can even move, he's pushed me back against the door and caged me in with his huge body.

  "What do you want?" I yell.

  He kisses me. He freakin' kisses me. Hard, punishing, and my traitorous heart wants me to let him in.

  Instead, I keep my lips sealed shut and kick him in the shin.

  "Ouch. What the hell are you doing?" he growls.

  "Me? What are you doing?" I shriek. "You just kicked me out of your life! You just chose your business over—over—" I stop shouting and stare at him. I'm heartbroken. I realize I'm not going to leave my heart here, like I feared. I can't, because he's ripped it to shreds. There's nothing left to leave.

  “You chose money over me," I say calmly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pack my things and get the hell out of here."

  "Sophia, wait." He grabs me, wraps me in those warm arms. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to cry. I hate that it feels so good to be in his traitorous embrace.

  "I didn’t choose the inheritance over you," Grant whispers fiercely in my ear. "If you would have waited for one damn second, you would have seen me give the ring back to my grandfather and tell him he can have it all. Every last damn cent. Because there's only one thing in this world I want."

  He turns me in his arms and stares deep into my eyes.

  "There's only one thing in this world I can't live without. And that's you."

  "You crazy bastard," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. "Don't you think you could have led with that fact?"

  A smile breaks across his face and my whole world transforms. "Well, I had a plan. Apparently a bad one, but it was a plan nonetheless."

  And then he drops to his knees. Right in front of me.

  In the hallway.

  "What are you doing?" I whisper.

  "I don't think you liked the first ring I gave you."

  "What are you doing, Grant?"

  "So I designed another one." He reaches into his pocket, his burning blue eyes on me the entire time, and takes out a small, velvet box. "I was going to give it to you in front of my grandfather, but I think doing this alone is better."

  "Grant…"

  "Especially because—whatever your answer is—I'm going to make love to you right after. If you say 'yes,' I'm going to pick you up and carry you to bed and make love to you all night long to celebrate. If you say 'no,' I'm going to do the same damn thing, trying to convince you that no one will care for you more than me or love you—truly, honestly, and completely—more than me."

  I can't speak. I can't breathe. "Is this really happening? Is this real?" I whisper.

  "You tell me," he says. "Sophia Marina Martinez, will you make me the happiest man in the world and agree to be my wife?"

  "Yes," I whisper. "Yes, Grant Montgomery Blackstone the frickin' Third, yes, I will marry you!"

  "Then it's real, Angel." Grant slides a ring onto my finger and stands up, taking my face in his hands. "I love you, Sophia. For real. For always."

  And then he wraps his arms around me, and I wrap mine around him, and we kiss until I can't breathe anymore, until the only thing that exists is his heart beating under my hand, his lips on mine—

  "Wait! I didn’t look at the ring!" I lean against his chest and hold my shaking hand in front of me. I'm wearing a platinum band with one ridiculously large, Princess-cut diamond in the center. Then I look closer. The band isn't exactly plain. On either side of the stone are small, engraved…I look up at him, amazed. "Angel wings?"

  "You saved my life," Grant says. "But more than that, you saved my soul. I love you, Angel. Oh, and do you remember when I said my grandfather was a crazy old bastard? It turns out he still wants me to inherit everything: I think he just wanted to jump-start our relationship. By giving me that ridiculous ultimatum, he helped force me to see what's really important to me. What's the most important thing in my life: you."

  And then he picks me up carries me into the bedroom. Grant is still kissing me when he drops me on the bed and climbs up over me. My arms are entwined around his neck and I can't let go, I can't stop kissing him.

  It's real. It's real. It's real love.

  He can't stop kissing me, either. But, multi-talented man that he is, he somehow reaches up under my dress and removes my panties, and then I spread my legs and he's inside me, thrusting hard and fast, and rough and perfect.

  "Sophia," he gasps, entwining his hands with mine and holding me down on the bed. I'm pinned there, by his massive cock, his hard thighs, his hands pressing into mine—but most of all, by the loving, fierce, naughty look in his eyes. "You may be my angel, but I'm about to get fucking devilish with you."

  And then he does, all night long.

  Epilogue

  Sophia

  Three Years Later

  Grant bends me over the railing of our private balcony, his hands caressing my hips. "I like you like this," he murmurs quietly, from behind me.

  "Like what? Nearly naked and on display?" I say.

  He laughs, and the intimate sound sends shivers down my spine. "I always like you nearly naked. But I meant, pregnant. I like you like this." He reaches his arm around and caresses my burgeoning belly. "Let's have five more."

  "Don't get ahead of yourself," I laugh. "Let's see how we handle one."

  I still remember, after our first time together, how worried I'd been that I might get pregnant. Then I'd been amazed at how disappointed Grant was that I didn’t get pregnant.

  After he asked me to marry him, he'd insisted on a short engagement period. He said he could wait on children as long as he had his beautiful wife by his side.

  "Let's see how you handle this," he answers, his talented hands working their way down and between my legs. He parts my slick folds and finds my clit, pressing slow and steady, just enough to make me moan and drive me wild.

  "And you're not on display. Not exactly." His voice is amused, teasing. "I don't think anyone's watching."

  My hands grip the railing and I look out over the Paris skyline. It's almost four in the morning here and we might be the only people awake in this boutique hotel that overlooks the entire city.

  But since we just flew in from California, our bodies think it's only 7 p.m. The trip was a last-minute gift from Grandfather Blackstone, who had forced Grant to take some time off from running the Blackstone empire before our child arrives.

  It's also perfect timing in my Master's program. I've been studying finance in developing countries while working at one of the Blackstone non-profits. When I first said I wanted to get a job helping people, Grant had offered me an executive position with the non-profit. I'd told him thanks, but I'll start as an intern. I'd worked my way up to a program coordinator position, and I'm hoping to finish my Master's thesis over the next three months. After that, I'll take a break and decorate the nursery.

  And after our time in Paris, we'll stop and see Grant's father. Once his dad got out of an extended stay in rehab—recovering from a well-concealed alcohol addiction—he'd moved to Europe and had actually spent the last year working on a farm with monks.

  Apparently Papa Blackstone is super-Zen now. I'm just glad all the men in the Blackstone family are working on their relationships.

  I'm also excited to see Paris again; we haven't been here since our honeymoon. And to spend one week, uninterrupted, with my husband.

  Grant had suggested the perfect cure for jet lag: a drink on the balcony. Since I can only drink water—flat, thank you very much—and Grant can't keep his hands off of me, our drink swiftly evolved into kisses, then caresses, then me on my knees, sucking his cock—until he told me he didn't want me like that. Not right now.

  Not in my delicat
e condition.

  I would have argued but I was kneeling on a concrete balcony. Holding onto the railing is much more comfortable.

  Grant loves my pregnant body. He can't stop touching it. He's so proud of my curves, my belly. I can't believe three years have passed and we're still as in love with each other as during that first, "fake fiancée" week.

  "Would you like it if people could see us right now?" Grant whispers in my ear. His fingers move faster now, slipping inside me to work that special, magical spot. My knees almost buckle and I close my eyes as a rush of pleasure takes hold.

  "I wonder what a man out walking his dog would think if he glanced up and saw you.” My husband's hands go to my hips now, steadying me. I know what comes next: his thick length, the pressure as it parts me, opens me, slides inside.

  "Ah, yes," I moan as he fills me up. Gently. Too gently.

  "You'd like that?" Grant laughs.

  "I was responding to your cock inside of me," I pant. "But you're going too slow." I wiggle my hips and try to meet his thrusts. No one ever told me how horny, how sensitive, how easily aroused I'd get when five months pregnant.

  "I'm going just right," he growls. "I want to fuck you for the next hour. Slowly, leisurely."

  "You're killing me," I moan.

  He chuckles. "My greedy, sweet little wife. You want more? You want it faster?"

  I slam one hand on the railing. "Yes!"

  "Too bad." I can feel his body covering mine, his smile against my shoulder. "I want someone to see. I want a man to look up here and see these gorgeous tits." He passes his hand over my swollen, sensitive chest. He plays with my nipples until I'm writhing underneath his touch.

  "Grant, please," I whisper.

  "Can you imagine that? He'd be so fucking jealous, Soph. You don't see how men look at you. You don't know how your skin fucking glows. And your smile. Angel, I nearly come every morning, just looking at your gorgeous smile. I might have to lock you in the hotel bedroom all week, or you're going to have a line of Frenchmen, following you around."

  "Locked in a bedroom with you sounds divine," I whisper. "Just make me come. Please, babes, harder. I need it. I need you."

  "Mmm, I can never say no to you, can I?" he grunts, beginning to thrust, faster, harder.

  "Perfect," I gasp. Now I have to hold on tight to the railing. Grant's hips slam into me, my entire body shaking each time he bottoms out. Fast, faster, his cock creating a delicious friction I can't get enough of. I'm getting close, so close.

  "Open your eyes, Angel."

  I do. Below us, the city glitters like starlight spread across the earth.

  "I want you to know," Grant says, fucking me faster and faster, harder and harder. "I want you to know that all of this—all this beauty, all this wealth—it means nothing without you, Sophia."

  He wraps his arm above my stomach, under my breasts, and pull me up so he can kiss my cheek while he fucks me. "I love you, Angel. Loving you has shown me what's really important in life. You saved my life when you agreed to be my wife."

  "You saved me," I say, tears filling my eyes. And then he moves just the right way, and his fingers find my swollen clit, and I lean back onto him—onto his strength, into his arms—and my world explodes in pleasure. I feel as bright and glittery as all of Paris. I'm still shaking when Grant comes inside me, exploding in a hot, swift rush, filling me deeply.

  He picks me up and carries me to the bed, laying me down gently and sliding under the covers to hold me.

  "Can you imagine what would have happened if I never asked you to be my fake fiancée?" Grant says, his voice low and intimate in the dark room.

  "No," I say. "But I'm glad you did. Because it helped us discover what's real between us."

  He smiles in the dark. I can feel it against my skin. "Yes. Real respect, real friendship, and real love."

  I kiss him and feel his cock respond, growing hard and longer against my thigh. "And now there's one more, big, real thing between us."

  "Hm, maybe we should explore that, as well."

  And then he kisses me, moving over me in the dark, and makes me see stars, all over again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The End

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  Also by Arlo Arrow

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  About Arlo Arrow

  Arlo Arrow writes contemporary steamy, taboo romances for your pleasure. Some of these include older man, younger woman romances. He recently graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in creative writing and loves hanging out with his dog, Rocket.

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