Fake It Baby One More Time: A Fake Romance Collection

by Logan Chance

  “Cookies,” the pressure he touches me with intensifies, “make me think how I only got a small taste of your pussy. I need more.”

  My face is on fire at the casual and unapologetic way he says such naughty things. And then I can’t help myself, I test my dirty talk skills in a breathy voice as his thumb presses against my clit. “You like the cookie warm?”

  “Fuck, you’re turning me on more. I’m hard over here.” He pulls over in a wooded area, and cuts the engine. “I’m starting to crave you, Zoe.”

  “I already do crave you.” And I do. So bad. I grab his face with my hands and devour his lips.

  “I need to feel your tight little pussy, right now.”

  “What about dinner?” I say as he unlatches my seatbelt.

  “Fuck it,” he answers.

  I’m so turned on, I can’t think straight, and after a wrangle of removing my tights, I climb into his lap. He moans as he slides in deep, filling me completely. We’re loud and feral. Like wild beasts, unable to get close enough to one another.

  He pumps his dick inside me, and it feels too good. I love having sex with this man. This can’t be normal. His hands fondle my breasts, and I lean my head back, eyes closed, and bite my bottom lip.

  “Yes, don’t stop,” I say, riding him faster.

  He keeps thrusting, and we rock against each other as our moans escalate. “Zoe, do you feel what you do to me?”

  I keep grinding, seeking release from his torture. And then his fingers massage my clit, his thumb tracing circles against it, and I can’t hold back.

  “I feel you,” he pants out. “Come on me.”

  All my built-up angst explodes, and I tug at Graham’s dark hair as he slams into me, hitting that treasure spot that only he’s ever reached. Before my orgasm is done, he sends me into another with his ragged breaths and soft pleas of how good it feels and how he's so close.

  His head falls back against the seat, and I bring my lips to his. “I’m coming,” he groans.

  As I hold his gaze, my hands cupping his beautiful face, I want to tell him things. I want to tell him how good he makes me feel. How it’s never been this good before. And how I don’t care about the soap deal. But instead, I kiss him through his orgasm. And when it’s all over, he kisses my fingers. “I like doing that with you.”

  “I like the way you do it.” I smile.

  He laughs, then is serious once again. “No, I mean I really like it.”

  “I really like it too.”

  I like it way too much. It’s something I could easily become addicted to and not have the willpower to quit. But, I can’t ignore the fact, he didn’t say he liked me. So, I can’t let multiple orgasms cloud my judgement and twist this into something more. Because that’s all this is—sex. If I tell myself that enough times, maybe it will stay true.

  Chapter 9

  Graham

  “I should just trek off into the damn forest, and keep going,” my father grumbles. “We have enough money to buy a tree so why am I chopping one down every year?”

  “Because it’s tradition,” I mimic my mother’s words. Every year, we do this, and every year dad complains and then complies.

  “Yeah, well, so is turkey, doesn’t mean I’m going out to shoot it.” And then he gets to the real reason he woke me at the crack of dawn when he arrived to hike into the woods for a Christmas tree search. “You’re going to need a prenup if you really plan on marrying this girl.”

  Even though our engagement is fake, I’m offended for Zoe. Having her sign a piece of paper essentially expecting it to fail wouldn’t be in the cards, if this were real. I don’t do failure.

  “We’re good,” I say, stalking away to scope out trees while he continues to advise me of the dangers of not having an agreement in writing while he surveys our choices of pines.

  “Listen,” he says, “I don’t care who you marry. Your mom has her heart set on Trudy because of what she brings to the table.”

  “Yeah, well, she can sit at the table with her then. I’ve got what I want.” I don’t want to be at the table, I want to be coming hard in the car because I’m with someone who makes me forget about the table. Zoe has my head all fucked up. Two nights ago, after I took her back here, and kissed her goodnight, I couldn’t sleep. At All. She’s avoided me since that night, and I’m sure she’s compartmentalized all of this into not mixing business with pleasure. And she’s right; I shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. But, it’s too fucking late. Now I’m trying to not mix pleasure with feelings. I’m not supposed to have feelings. And getting feelings for Zoe is not what I need right now. It’s not what should be happening. But guess what? It kind of is happening. Maybe after we break off this engagement we can go on an actual date.

  “Up here, Graham,” my father calls to me. “Found one.”

  I trod through snow, over to where he stands, eyeing a gorgeous Douglas Fir with full branches.

  “Ah yeah, it’s perfect.”

  We get to work chopping it down and then tie it with rope atop the red sled my father brought along. No one is stirring when we arrive back at the house, and my father and I set the tree up in the living room.

  “A real tree,” Zoe exclaims as she comes into the living room. She takes a deep, calming breath, and lets it out slowly. “I’ve always wanted one, but my mother always does a fake tree.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing fake when it comes to me.” Except our relationship, and that thought stings when my mind goes there.

  “It’s really beautiful,” she says, stepping closer to examine it.

  But what’s really beautiful this early morning is her in something as simple as jeans and a cowl necked black sweater. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, emphasizing the beauty of her face. Is it bad that all I want for Christmas is Zoe? I want her wrapped in a big red bow, that I can undo and use to tie her to my bed. She’s smart, and sexy. And she’s ...cute. Have you ever met a girl who’s just plain cute? Every smile, every little glint in her eyes, is just cute.

  “I’m Douglas, Graham’s dad,” my father introduces himself. “Nothing better than a real tree. Chop one down every year.”

  I give him a little side eye as she shakes his hand and compliments his tree finding skills.

  “It’s great to meet you. I better go find Eleanor so she can inspect it.”

  When we’re alone, I curl my arms around her from behind as she continues to marvel at the tree. There’s no one to pretend around, but I still can’t let go of her. Truth of the matter is, I don’t want to let her go. I like holding her close.

  The smell of warm vanilla takes over my senses, and I nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck, smiling as I kiss along her smooth skin.

  A cough behind us breaks us apart before I can get any further. We both spin around and come face-to-face with my mother.

  “Hey, Mom, didn’t see you there. Like the tree?”

  “It’s perfect,” she says. “Trudy brought breakfast.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not hungry.”

  My mother moves closer, whispering, “Graham, it’s bad manners to not acknowledge her effort.”

  “It’s actually kind of bad manners to have her here with my fiancée.”

  My mother stops short, because she knows I’m right.

  “It’s ok,” Zoe says, placing her hand on my arm, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  Her eyes plead with me to agree, so I do. Ten minutes later, I wish I hadn’t. Trudy brought the cavalry of breakfast. Catered eggs, French toast, bacon, sausage, and anything else you could want fill the chafing dishes in the dining room. Blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes are on display complete with flavored syrups. I’m expecting a damn omelet station, but to my surprise there isn’t one, Trudy explains this is supposed to be an ‘intimate’ breakfast.

  Intimate, yeah, sure.

  The crystal chandelier in the dining room twinkles over the linen draped tab
le as the clatter and clang of the cutlery surrounds us. I’m not even sitting near Zoe, which kind of pisses me off. I’m wedged between York and Trudy. It’s as if everyone is working against us in their rush to the buffet style set up along the wall.

  “How’s resort living?” York asks, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

  “I’m sure he loves being away from everyone, hiding up there in the mountains,” Trudy says, holding her glass of breakfast sangria close to her lips. “You’ve always been a bit antisocial.”

  “Actually, York,” I stress, “it’s going great. I’m just about to add Zoe’s soaps in each cabin.” I give a little wink to Zoe from across the table.

  “Soap?” Trudy says as if I said shit.

  “Zoe makes soaps,” Lindsey offers, when I don’t make any effort to answer.

  “That can’t be cost effective.” Trudy lowers her glass, her eyes narrowing on me. “How much are you probably paying for soaps now? Probably like three cents a bar.” Trudy won’t let up.

  “Something like that.”

  Trudy’s blue eyes glance over at Zoe, and we have the attention of the whole table now. “I’m sure Zoe can’t beat that cost, and even if she did she’d lose out.”

  And listen, Trudy is one hundred fucking percent correct—I’m taking a loss by bringing on Zoe’s soaps.

  “It’s fine,” I say, my voice low and deep, demanding not to be questioned.

  Because that resort is my resort. And if I want to pay extra for soaps, then I fucking will. It’s not going to make or break me. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can say about it.

  Zoe’s face falls flat, and I try to telepathically tell her everything is ok.

  “Zoe,” Trudy turns her attention onto her, “you understand that’s not cost effective, right? You understand business?”

  I don’t give a fuck if Trudy questions me all night about my business practices, but don’t fuck with Zoe. Leave her alone.

  “Trudy, drop it already. I didn’t come all the way here to talk business over the holiday. I’m here to spend time with my family, which by the way, you aren’t a part of.”

  “It’s ok,” Zoe says, focusing her gaze on Trudy. “I’m sure you understand you could’ve gotten this breakfast at a much cheaper price at the grocery store, but you wanted something premium as a luxury for the people enjoying it. Even though it’s not cost effective.”

  York smirks beside me at Zoe’s damn good response. I push back my chair and head over to the spot where Lindsey sits next to Zoe. “Can I sit by my fiancée?”

  Lindsey gets up without saying a word. I slide into the seat, and take Zoe’s tiny hand into mine and bring it to my lips and give it a kiss.

  “I agree with Graham,” my mother says, “we’re not here to talk about work.” She turns her attention onto Lindsey and asks her a question about the girls, effectively ending the discussion.

  And then the whole table comes alive with easy conversation, and I know one thing is for sure, Trudy does not look happy. And that makes me very happy.

  The next day, I’m not so happy. After Trudy’s little breakfast debacle, Zoe seemed to be avoiding me the rest of the day. And night. I knocked on her door, only to get a crack with her eye peeking out telling me she was fine, just needed to rest up for her entertainment extravaganza today.

  “I never thought I’d see the day,” York says, patting me on the shoulder.

  “What day is that?”

  “The day you’d become pussy-whipped over some chick.”

  “Ok, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not pussy-anything. She’s my fiancée.”

  “So, you’ve told us. I don’t care how much I love someone, I wouldn’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater for anyone,” he says as we watch my mother, sister, nieces, and fake fiancée all drive away to shop for Zoe’s entertainment day—an ugly sweater party.

  “Well you will be,” I inform him. “It’s her day, and you’ll be participating.”

  We step back inside and move to the family room.

  “Ugly sweater party.” York takes a seat on the sofa, raises his hands behind his head and leans back, propping his feet on the coffee table. “I repeat, she’s going to get you an ugly sweater.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t mind him,” my father says, dropping down into the recliner, “he’ll be single for the rest of his life. I think I like Zoe for you.”

  I meet his eyes, a little shocked by his statement. “Oh really? Why’s that?”

  “She’s lively.”

  Ain’t that the truth. I’ve never met anyone like Zoe before. And I find myself loving that about her, loving the fact she’s unique, like the engagement ring around her finger. “Yeah, I kind of like her,” I let slip out, forgetting the moment. “I really kind of like her.”

  My father chuckles, loud and deep. “Well, I sure hope so, son.”

  Before I mess up any more, I excuse myself to take care of business. When they arrive back a few hours later, giddy and laden with bags, I pull Zoe to the side. “What’s my sweater look like?”

  She dabs my nose with her index finger and then digs into a white bag. She pulls out a red and green sweater, unravels it and holds it against her chest.

  Horrified, I stare into the button eyes of Santa, and well, she’s got to be kidding. “Umm, what is that?”

  “It’s an ugly Christmas sweater.”

  “Ugly is right. I’m not wearing that.”

  “Why?” Her face twists into an adorable pout of disappointment, complete with big eyes and plump bottom lip. My dick hardens instantly, and all I want to do is kiss this girl.

  My hands land on her hips. “I just can’t wear tinsel.”

  “I think you can.” She inches closer.

  I stare at the sweater again, then at her lips. And I lean in. “Fuck it, for you I’ll do it.” Our lips meet in an instant.

  I’ve never been one for PDA’s—yeah, I’m that guy—but, with Zoe, I can’t keep my hands off her. At this point, I don’t really care who’s around, so I keep kissing her. Until a familiar cough interrupts us.

  “Guests will be arriving soon,” my mother says.

  Guests? How big of a party did they plan? An hour or so later, I find out a pretty damn big one. The house is alive with friends of my parents from the club, and community. My mother doesn’t do small intimate affairs. Go big or go home is her motto.

  Everyone is having a great time in an ugly sweater, and I glance around looking for the one person responsible for it all. Zoe. Her sweater takes place in outer space with kittens wearing Santa hats and eating pizza. It’s god awful. How she can look so beautiful in such an ugly sweater is beyond me.

  “Graham, haven’t seen you around in a long time,” Mr. Vesterlane, Trudy’s father, says.

  His sweater is atrocious. A fuzzy reindeer protruding from his belly bumps me as I shake his hand. “I’ve been busy with the resort, sir.”

  His brow rises. “Quite a spunky little fiancée you have.”

  “Yes, she sure is.” It comes out like I’m talking about her spunk in the bedroom, but I don’t care. She is spunky, both in and out of it.

  He walks away after patting me on the shoulder, and I can’t say that I miss him. I know the Vesterlanes aren’t happy I came home with a fiancée on my arm. Mr. Vesterlane has been trying to get his hands on my resort for a long time. And if I marry his daughter, that’s one step closer to his hands in my business.

  My mother saunters over in a gaudy green cardigan dripping with garland and tiny ornaments, still managing to somehow look couture. “You must really love this girl if you’re willing to wear that in public.” She points to the Santa sweater I’m wearing, like she has any room to talk.

  I laugh. “I guess I do.”

  My mother lifts her champagne to her lips and takes a sip. “The Vesterlanes won’t be happy about this.”

  I face my mother. “Who would you rather see happy? The Vesterlanes or me?” I walk away a
nd head straight for the bar. I grab a bourbon, and then I spot Zoe heading right for me.

  “You look upset,” she says, concerned.

  I throw an arm around her shoulders, putting on a show, but not really. “I’m great now that you’re here.” I lean in to kiss her. “Want to get out of here?”

  She nods.

  I know this is her event, but my mother always plays the gracious hostess, and I doubt anyone will even miss us.

  After grabbing our coats, we slip out the back door, and I fire up the SUV and speed away before anyone even notices we’re missing.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Not far.” I turn onto the gravel road that leads down to the lake. “I want to show you something.” My headlights illuminate the frozen lake as I park along the riverbank. I cut the engine and step out into the cold stillness.

  She exits the car as well, and I grab two lanterns and a blanket from the back of the SUV, meeting her on the other side. “This way,” I say, taking her hand.

  Her warm tiny hand fits so perfectly in mine.

  “Where are we going?” she asks as I lead her into a wooded area.

  “You’ll see.” I squeeze her hand as we walk just a bit further until what I want to share with her comes into view.

  “What is that?” Zoe asks, peering with wonder at the old wooden bridge and small deserted bridge house next to it that time passed by and left untouched.

  “Isn’t it cool?”

  I open the door, following in after Zoe.

  “Wow.” She spins around, slowly, taking in all the wood detailing and carvings.

  “I used to come here a lot over the years.” I point to some of the woodwork. “Whoever built this place took their time with all the details. They hand carved all the designs into the walls.”

  She traces her fingers over some of the intricate wood carvings. “These designs are so amazing. Look at this flower.” Her fingers flow along the petals of a hydrangea carved into the wall. “What is this place?”

  “A long time ago this little house would be a place for passing boats to stop and take a break as they traveled through the lake. I think they would sell ice fishing gear here as well.”