Pretend Married (A Billionaire Love Story)

by Nikki Wild

  “I’ve heard about you,” she said, biting on her lip ever so slightly. Already I could tell there were less than savory thoughts brewing behind those eyes of hers. Patricia was definitely the usual type of woman I would have been with, though part of me wasn’t sure if that was why I was so shaky on this date.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that my reputation proceeds me,” I said, trying my best to sound charming.

  “And it’s definitely quite a reputation,” Ms. Atmore giggled, her eyes dropping below my waist. I instinctively crossed my legs, frowning ever so slightly as I cast a glance over at Gwendolyn for some kind of help. Was this what it was like to go on a date with myself?

  “Your car should be waiting out front,” Gwen said in a less than graceful save. Her voice was nearly breaking from the tension. “Your reservations are already made and everything is ready for you at the restaurant.”

  I almost felt like my stepsister was rushing us out the door, desperate to see me out of her office and perhaps even out of her life. I wasn’t sure why, but that thought brought a lump to my throat. Why did she want to see me go so badly?

  We stood and before I could react, Patricia had slipped her arm under mine as Tina and my sister escorted us to the elevator. I tried to get a look at Gwen’s face, perhaps see if I could divine some reason for her odd behavior, but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get her to look me in the eye. I wasn’t sure why, but her behavior had me on edge.

  We were both escorted down to the lobby, Tina and Gwen both seeing us off from the front doors as the limo driver stood at the ready, the door already open for Patricia and I to step inside. I should have appreciated all of the things that Gwen was doing, how facilitating she was being to my plan for revenge against my father, but now that it was all underway I was almost a little annoyed with her effort. Why was she trying so hard on this? I couldn’t imagine she put this much effort into her other clients, or that she cared this much about me even receiving my inheritance. So what was it that was making her go the extra mile, all while pretending she didn’t even give a damn enough to look me in the eye.

  “Your sister told me that you were in the military,” Patricia said as the limo merged into traffic, quickly on our way to the restaurant that Gwen had picked out for our dinner reservations. “That must have been terribly exciting.”

  “Not as much as you’d imagine,” I said, shrugging half-heartedly. “They don’t permit the aristocracy to engage in much excitement when they’re serving in the Royal Army. You’re usually there to look nice and stay out of harm’s way. They liked to handle men like me with kid gloves.”

  “It couldn’t have been all bad,” she said, scooting herself a little closer to me on the seat. “Must have had your pick of the local girls, did you? Cute boy like you?”

  “No,” I said, frowning as I gave myself a bit of room from Ms. Atmore. “The Afghani women don’t take kindly to soldiers defiling their daughters and wives.”

  My date frowned, obviously displeased that I’d rebuffed her flirtations. Normally I’d have played along, teased and flirted for the entire car ride and on in through dinner, but something felt wrong about all of this. It was almost like the setting was right, but the person that was on it with me was entirely wrong. I didn’t want Patricia. I wanted someone else.

  The driver pulled us up just in front of the restaurant’s main doors, opening the door for the two of us as we made our way inside. The car ride had gone on with an uncomfortable amount of silence, one that perhaps would be fixed once the two of us were happily filling ourselves with food.

  While Patricia and I were both from money, it seemed that neither of us were particularly fond of the stuck-up attitude of London’s upper class, something that Gwen must have known when she picked the place that we’d be sharing dinner. The dress code was rather lax, sort of an “upscale casual” feel with a modern twist in the decor that I actually rather enjoyed, especially over those faux-French-style places that you’d find people of our “class” inhabiting.

  The two of us were seated at a secluded table toward the back of the restaurant, all the better for a romantic evening. At least that must have been what my sister had thought. There was wine already chilling for us as we sat down and a centerpiece of roses that I’d not seen on any of the other tables. Gwen was pulling out all the stops for this, and that only seemed to make me feel worse about it.

  “Seems like someone wanted this to be a special night,” Patricia purred as she took her seat, eyeing the wine chilling beside the table. “I’m normally not the biggest fan of sit-down places like this, but I’ve got to give it to your sister—this place is really nice. Not like all those other old fashioned and boring places my dad kept dragging me to when I was younger.”

  The two of us ordered fairly quickly sending the waiter off about his business, though I’d have personally have preferred him to stay for the rest of the meal. I didn't want to truly be alone with Patricia, not when I knew that she’d try to turn what could have been a moderately pleasant experience into something I wasn’t intending on our first date.

  Even the thought crossing my mind sounded wrong. Normally I’d have been the last person to take things slow on the first date, but for some reason I had almost zero interest in Ms. Atmore, especially not sexually. I knew who I wanted, I knew exactly which woman I had been craving for days… and it was the only woman I couldn’t have.

  I went through the dinner on a strange sort of autopilot, my responses short and rather vague at times, something that Patricia seemed to notice only slightly. Perhaps she knew that I was playing hard to get, because the more detached I was the harder she pushed to turn things more and more… adult.

  Patricia, despite my feelings at the time, seemed to be a lovely woman, and were I feeling like my old self I would have skipped dinner and had her bent over a public bench before the clocks had chimed for six-o’-clock. But I didn’t feel like my old self… I felt like someone different… someone I’d never met before.

  I knew that I should be more interested. Patricia was honestly everything that I should have been looking for in a partner—she was smart, charming, witty, and as a bonus she seemed to have almost as dirty a mind as I did, every other word out of her mouth a veiled flirtation that evoked the thought of stealing away to somewhere private where I could have my way with her. Before the Army I might have taken a woman like her in a heartbeat, using her for my own satisfaction before we parted ways to find our next temporary lover.

  Small talk had never been my strong suit growing up, and it certainly wasn’t a favorite pastime now, either. Our conversations were stilted and awkward, especially with my own disease seeming to make matters worse. When the time came to leave, I happily paid for the check and the two of us made our way out to the limo that had been waiting for us yet again. We had the car for the whole night.

  Normally when I had the pleasure of a personal driver and an eager woman at my disposal, my first thought would turn to the abundance of trouble we could get up to in the back seat. It had been so long since I’d had the two in combination that I almost didn’t even consider it at first.

  Maybe I’m just out of practice, I thought as I sat back into the back seat. This could be what I need to turn my thoughts back around.

  Apparently Patricia was having the very same idea, her finger pressed down on the control for the privacy screen that separated us from the driver. I looked at her, watching those full lips turn up into a wolfish grin that I’d seen so many times.

  Once we were hidden from our drivers’ prying eyes, Ms. Atmore undid her seatbelt and got down onto her knees in front of me, her eyes cast up through those long lashes as her hands began to rove over my thighs, her nails raking over my slacks.

  “You haven’t been quite the man they told me you were,” she said, her hand sliding along my inner thigh and up to the bulge of my cock. “You’re so distant… almost like I haven’t been forward enough to keep you entertained.”


  Her fingers tugged at my zipper, biting on her lip as she waited to see if I would resist. As much as I wanted to tell her no, I also knew that I had to try and make this date work. If we had a little more adult fun then perhaps I’d be a little less stressed about what my stepsister was doing at that moment.

  Patricia slowly pulled my zipper all the way down until my fly fell open, revealing my silk boxer shorts underneath. Once again her hands greedily explored this newly revealed territory, eager to discover if the rumors that had undoubtedly surfaced about me had all been true.

  “Good lord,” she gasped as I felt her slide my cock from the confines of my underwear, her hand wrapped around its lengthening shaft as she marveled at the cold steel piercing its head. “I didn’t think you actually had it.”

  “There it is,” I said, trying to sound at least somewhat flirtatious as she ogled my dick. “In all its glory.”

  “Oh, glorious is certainly a word for it, you naughty boy,” Patricia giggled, chewing nervously on her lip. “Never been with a man with his cock pierced like that… should be loads of fun.”

  Her hand began to slowly work me from the tip all the way down to my base, her eyes locked on mine as she began to jack me off. I was surprised at how skilled she was, my cock hardening like a rock in her hand. But despite all of that I still didn’t feel right. Something was wrong.

  Whenever I looked down at Patricia I wished that it was someone else—someone I had wanted ever since that night together in that pantry. When I looked into this woman’s eyes I kept trying to picture my Gwendolyn there between my legs, her eyes locked ravenously onto my throbbing member in preparation to slide it all the way back into her throat. But try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the fact that it wasn’t her. It wasn’t my Gwennie.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, putting my hand over hers to halt her expert ministrations. “I don’t think that I can do this, Patricia.”

  For a long while she stared at me, her mouth agape in what could either have been shock or preparation to suck me off. Either way she did not at all seem particularly thrilled that I’d just refused her attention.

  “Are you really telling me no?” she asked, her eyebrows rising in a mixture of incredulity and annoyance. “How in the world does a bloke get his cock played with and then just up and tell a girl no right when she’d about to suck him dry?”

  “I just don’t think that this is the right thing to do,” I tried to explain as she—thankfully—released my cock from her tight grip. “You seem like a wonderful woman, and I had a fantastic time at dinner. But I think this is moving a bit fast.”

  “Right,” she said, rolling her eyes as she sat herself on the seat opposite mine. “Unbelievable.”

  I almost felt bad that I’d refused her, either that or I was ashamed of how soft I’d become since I’d been away. I could hardly believe that I was refusing to get a blowjob just because of one girl. It was ridiculous. Unheard of! Tristan Wolfe hung up on some girl that he’d almost fucked?

  But she wasn’t just “some girl.” She was Gwen, the one girl who’d told me no in my entire life. The one girl who wanted her time with me to be special, instead of all the other women who were in it for a good time—to say they’d been done by the son of a royal duke. Gwen valued what it would have been to have slept with me for more than just my name or who my father was. Gwen had wanted me. And I wanted her… at least I did now.

  “I’d like to go home,” Patricia said, her tone icy. “I believe that’s more than enough reason to call it a night, I think.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” I said, wishing I had less awkward way of saying I was sorry. Patricia could have been the perfect match for me that no longer existed, the Tristan that loved dirty sex with women I hardly knew. But that Tristan died back in Afghanistan. “I really do apologize.”

  “Fuck off,” she spat as I rolled down the privacy screen to address the driver.

  “Ms. Atmore would like to go home,” I said, heaving a sigh as I turned my gaze toward the window, letting my mind drift away with thoughts of my stepsister as Patricia fumed on the other side of the limo. I wasn’t sure how badly I had messed this up, but I knew more than anything else that by the time Gwen had heard about what had happened tonight she would be royally pissed.

  7

  It was another late night for me, but not because of work. Ever since Tristan had come into my office, I was not in the best of moods, and since tonight was his first date with the lovely Patricia, I was sitting up fretting about just how much the two of them were going to kick it off. My continued correspondence with the young woman had me absolutely sure that the two of them were going to hit things off splendidly, which only made me feel worse.

  I tried so hard not to think about what they might be doing there in that restaurant, or in the limo I’d arranged afterward. I wanted their first date to go perfectly. I wanted to make a solid impression for my stepbrother. Patricia was perfect for him, and I was determined to make sure the two of them ended up together. The faster that this was all over the better off I’d be in the long term, especially in terms of my own mental health. This entire business with Tristan was sure to drive me mad the longer it dragged on.

  It’ll all be better once he’s married and you won’t have to worry about him inserting himself into your life.

  But it wasn’t my life I wanted him inserting himself into.

  I sighed heavily and took another long drink from my wine glass. I knew I’d been far too heavy on the drinking of late, but with everything that was going on I wasn’t sure I could handle it sober. There was too much for me to handle, too much that I had to juggle on an emotional level. Checking myself out for a while until it all blew over just seemed like the right thing to do. Once Tristan and Patricia were off on whatever exotic vacation he would most certainly plan once they’d decided to bed one another, I could take comfort in the fact that I would not be tempted again by my stepbrother’s sumptuous body again. Even I knew that once he was married my mind would never dare risk that. Even I had standards.

  I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth that the wine brought to my body as I sank deeper into my comfortable couch as the soft sounds of one of the many renditions of Beethoven danced through the air of my apartment. It was nearly midnight, and I’d heard not one peep from either Tristan or Patricia on their date, something I was hoping was a positive omen. If they weren’t calling me then it meant that the two of them were hopefully enjoying one another's company—perhaps even intimately.

  I hated that I was hoping for my stepbrother to bed another woman. It brought a sour taste to my mouth and I wanted to scream, but held in my distress like a lady should. I could weather this, just as I had weathered storms like it before. I knew that even though Tristan was what I desired, it was not what was best—we always want what we can never have.

  It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve that I heard my phone begin to buzz, slowly moving itself across the black wooden surface of my coffee table. My stomach tightened as I recognized Patricia’s number emblazoned across my screen. Had something gone wrong? Was everything okay?

  I felt as though I’d been frozen as I watched the cell phone buzz in its demand for my attention. I swallowed hard and reached out against the will of my fears and put the device to my ear, bracing myself for what might come from the other line. Despite my fears, I hoped that it was good news.

  “Patricia, hello,” I said, my voice tense. “Is everything alright?”

  “It very well is not,” she shrieked over the receiver. I jerked the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what that man did to me?”

  My eyes widened. Oh, God…

  “I—I have no idea, Patricia. Tell me, very calmly—”

  “I won’t be calm about this!” she cried, her anger and her tone rising the more she spoke. “That bastard dumped me out of the damn limo on my doorstep! And right after I offered to nosh him off! You set me up with a right ungrateful prick, you did!”

&
nbsp; I could feel heat blooming in my cheeks at the very thought of the two of them in the back of the limo, her lips wrapped around Tristan’s considerable member. I swallowed, trying to push the image out form the forefront of my mind as I focused on the present. Why in the world would he do something so stupid?

  “I’m so sorry, Patricia,” I said, trying to compose myself the best I could, trying to push through the haze that the wine had thrown over my mind. “If there’s anything that I can do—”

  “Just make sure the next bloke you throw at me appreciates when a woman gives his bell end a little attention, yeah?”

  “I… of course. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I find you a new match.”

  “Be damn sure you do,” she said. “And ‘ta very much for the shite evening.”

  The phone beeped to indicate that the call was over, though it was more than a full minute before I took the phone away from my ear. I began to question the very fabric of existence as I wrapped my head around the fact that Tristan, my absolute sex-fiend of a stepbrother, had refused to allow a woman to go down on him. Something didn’t seem right, there was no way that he’d ever have passed up that kind of an opportunity to be serviced by a gorgeous woman he’d likely just spent the whole night flirting with over oysters and champagne.

  I needed answers.

  I furiously pressed my thumbs against the screen of my phone, tapping in my brother’s number before practically smashing the call button as hard as I could. I was enraged, utterly boiling that somehow Tristan had managed to cock up a perfectly simple first date. So what if he had his knob handled for a moment? Wasn’t that part of what he was looking for in a damn wife?