Boardroom Bride: A Fake Fiance Secret Pregnancy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  My legs come out in a perfect split. I throw my head back and revel in the feel of cool air against my hot pussy, bare and on display, dripping wet and begging to be taken by my men.

  I’m not worried about falling anymore. I know the sheets are going to hold my weight.

  If I do fuck this up, I know Eric and Chase will be there to catch me—and even if they won’t, for once, I finally feel like it’s okay.

  I don’t need them to catch me.

  I can catch myself.

  I start another climb, up and up until I’m no more than a sexy focal point on the ceiling for the crowd.

  The music is coming to its end.

  Let’s wrap this thing up.

  My body feels as if it’s going to burst into fucking flames. My insides are alight, and all of my nerve endings are standing at attention.

  I’ve climbed so fucking high I can’t make out anyone or anything below.

  But I know what’s down there in the crowd, all buff and handsome and muscular and waiting for me.

  And I know I have to come down sometime. Might as well make it on cue.

  I let myself fall.

  At first, my fall is slow and controlled. My body tumbles downward, but I’m taking it one spin at a time.

  Then, I start picking up speed.

  Faster and faster I spin towards the ground.

  The silk glides against my body with total ease.

  My pussy is throbbing. It’s so fucking hot it’s burning me up.

  The harder it throbs, the better it feels. The sensation sends explosions coursing through me.

  Holy fuck, I’m going to come.

  The crowd is terrified. I can feel that nervous energy pulsating through the crowd watching me—just like I can feel my own fucking pleasure pulsating through my cunt.

  “Someone catch her!” a man yells as I threaten to crash right through the stage.

  Tough luck, buddy.

  I don’t need anyone to catch me.

  Not this time.

  The crowd gasps again, bracing for impact as—finally—my head comes down towards the stage.

  I stop at the last possible second, only fractions of an inch from the ground.

  My naked body is totally fucking exposed.

  I’m upside down, panting, breasts heaving, as wave after wave of pleasure slam through my body.

  Raucous applause fills the room and assaults my senses.

  My eyes are wide open—so is my mouth.

  I spread my lips into a smile as the orgasm subsides and gives way to something almost just as good.

  The sweet elation of success.

  Kara Gilmore, the girl who fell.

  And this time, it was actually on purpose.

  Kara

  I muddled my way through the parade portion of the pageant.

  I lifted the weights I needed to lift.

  I fucking nailed my talent act, and I’m pretty fucking sure the crowd has fallen in love with me all over again.

  I honestly fucking think that, if I can manage to avoid making an ass of myself during this speech, I could really fucking win.

  The topic I’ve got to speak on is close to my heart.

  What does being naked mean to you?

  I mean, how much more fucking personal can you get, right?

  Chase, Eric, and I worked hard on the speech I’m supposed to give. We’ve crafted it to be perfectly Miss Sexy Universe-worthy.

  It’s salacious, funny, and yeah—even a little dirty, because that’s what people seem to love about me. Who would’ve thought, right?

  But the longer I stand naked before the microphone, the more I dread letting those prepared, polished words come out of my mouth.

  The answer we’ve prepared…it just doesn’t feel like me.

  I clear my throat, realizing that I’ve been standing up here way too fucking long without saying anything. If I don’t get a fucking move on, the judges might think I’m suffering from stage fright and disqualify me.

  I take a deep breath and stare out into the audience. I know they’re all waiting for me to give them what they came for—blowjob jokes, sassy quips, and intimate details about my kinky sex life.

  I hope they’re not too disappointed with what they’re going to get instead.

  “What does being naked mean to me?” I start, repeating the question for the crowd’s sake—and my own. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious, right? Being naked means showing off my hot little body, flaunting how slim and slender and sexy I am for the whole world to see.”

  The crowd hoots and hollers at that. I guess seeing me naked again is exactly what they showed up for.

  “It wasn’t always like this, though. I didn’t always have a body that could be described as slim or slender,” I say. “I used to be fat. And when you’re fat, the world treats you differently. If you’ve never been fat, you probably won’t know what the I’m talking about—but anyone who’s ever been overweight can tell you that it’s true.

  “Our society frowns upon fat people. We judge them, we criticize them, and we put them in a box. If you’re fat, then society says you’re all kinds of other things. You’re lazy. Hopeless. Unattractive.

  “When you’re fat, no one is supposed to want to see you in swimsuits or skimpy clothing—and they certainly don’t want to see you naked.

  “In fact, when you’re fat, sometimes it feels like you’re not allowed to exist at all.”

  I set my jaw, letting that idea sink in. Nobody in the crowd is hooting or hollering for me now.

  But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been given a platform, and I’ve got something I want to tell the world.

  So I’m going to fucking use it.

  “I wanted permission to exist,” I say into the mic. “So, I starved myself. I calorie-counted, crash-dieted, and deprived myself as much as I could for two whole years of my life—two years that I’ll never get back.

  “It was a tough, terrible, and lonely time. And then I lost a lot of weight. Once I was thin, doors started opening for me—like the door that brought me here to this pageant where I’m standing naked before you tonight.”

  I gave the crowd a small smile.

  “I’m allowed to exist now that I’m thin—but at a cost, right? Because now, I’m photographed by a rabid paparazzi. My tits and ass and thighs are discussed on morning talk shows. And every time I log onto my social media accounts, I get to see exactly how much people love me, hate me, want to fuck me, or want me to go die in a fire—thanks, internet.”

  I wink at one of the cameras hovering over the crowd. That’s a clip that will be on YouTube in the morning. I have no doubt about it.

  I took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t lose weight for me. I didn’t lose it because I wanted to feel better or live a healthier life. I lost it because I wanted to look good naked—and look where that’s got me.”

  I spread my arms out, gesturing to where I stand on the stage.

  Naked in front of a crowd.

  “For me, being naked used to mean being terrified. But now? Now I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean. Should it mean feeling sexy? Feeling approved of? Feeling like I’m wanted or loved—or even just liked?”

  I gave a low chuckle, looking at the silenced crowd.

  “Should it mean feeling comfortable in my own skin? Or should it mean that I’m the best candidate to sell fitness products to people who are just as scared and sad and lonely as I used to be?

  “The answer is different for everyone—and I think, more than anything, what being naked means to you...should be up to you to decide.”

  My hands have stopped shaking, and my shoulders are pulled back. I know I look fucking fierce right now, but being naked has nothing to do with it.

  “I’ve learned a lot on this journey. Of course, I have regrets. But my biggest regret of all is that I spent so much time agonizing over how good I looked when I was naked—when I could have been focusing on liking myself and not worrying so
much about what everyone else thinks about me.

  “But by all means,” I say, shrugging and staring my audience down, “let me keep baring my tits out for you all so you can jerk off to this footage while you decide how good I’ll be at convincing other women to buy into a fitness routine.”

  The audience is silent. I swear, if someone were to drop a pin right now, I’d hear it. The calm that had settled over me during my talk is gone. I’ve blown it.

  It was a lecture, I know, but I felt it needed to be said.

  Will Eric and Chase be mad because I blew my chance at the crown with the speech?

  They fucking helped me write the one I didn’t give. Of course, they’ll be mad.

  I get off the stage and start looking for my men. I brace for the tongue-lashing they’re going to serve me when they find me.

  I probably deserve it, but fuck it. I said what I said—and I meant it.

  Kara

  Okay, this shit fucking ran away from me—and fast.

  Walking off the stage and away from the cameras, it doesn’t feel fast enough, though. It feels like a continuation of the slow-motion horror show that my trip keeps turning into.

  The whole world wasn’t there to see me climbing like a badass to new heights, but the whole world’s now reeling from watching me stumble and tumble down at the last fucking second.

  I stand by what I said. That speech, probably still playing on closed captioning in a hundred different fucking languages around the globe, is the result of a hot mess of my own oversized baggage.

  I’m talking about some monstrously heavy fucking shit that I knew I was carrying but didn’t think about. Before my widely broadcasted speech, I couldn’t even put it into words.

  Of course, I ended up dropping it, spilling my shit all over the place. And, really, it’s no goddamn surprise that it happened in front of the entire world.

  The hot, blinding lights and the amplified sounds of the pageant winding down are thankfully growing distant as I plod away from the stage.

  Production assistants, stage crew, prop wranglers, and a whole bunch of random fucking people are milling around the backstage. After sweating under those lights for an eternity, I can’t really see shit just off-stage.

  I can tell everyone’s ignoring me, acting like I’m an invisible naked specter. Really, what does anyone have to say to me at this fucking point?

  Congratulations?

  That would just be mean, and I’ll give most of the people here some credit—they’re not going to be that fucking brutal.

  Most of them, anyway. Including my fellow contestants—most of them will be professional and not fucking cunts, even after that display.

  My eyes are adjusting to the light, and I don’t see any of them traipsing around. It’s not like I’m too worried about running into them, anyway.

  Chase and Eric, on the other hand…

  I’ll have to try to explain, and they’ll have to try and understand. I know they’ll be disappointed, but fuck, so am I.

  I’m not disappointed at myself for that speech. In a way, it’s probably the best speech I could’ve given. But I’m still disappointed at the way things are going to turn out because of it, because I didn’t stick with the plan.

  I’m confident I’ll get through an entire widely broadcasted pageant with literally nothing to hide, and I’m just as fucking confident that Eric and Chase are concerned with me not sticking to the plan.

  That’s probably all they’re concerned with right now...wherever the fuck they are.

  All the effort and time we put into this...just for me to stand there and intentionally throw away any chances I have of winning.

  To me, it’s more complex than that, but to them, surely...

  “Kara!”

  Fuck, how far am I walking? I turn around at the sound of my name, only because I recognize that booming voice. It’s a voice that I still fucking love hearing say my name, even when it’s because of disappointment.

  “Kara!” Chase calls again, even though he has my attention. He and Eric are standing way behind me, just off the side of the stage.

  That’s why Chase is smiling: because even though he’s disappointed, he’s still tickled that I would just fucking walk right past them on my way off stage.

  I traipse back to where they’re standing, looking at the ground, trying to think of what to say for myself, but...fuck it, I said what I wanted to in my speech. They can think whatever the hell they want.

  “Kara!”

  I’m still looking at the ground when I hear Chase’s voice rumbling my name like two inches away. I look up, startled, to see Chase and Eric smiling.

  “Is this the way you guys are going to deal with this?” I ask quietly.

  “What?” Chase asks with a little laugh.

  “By fucking laughing at me? Well, I guess that’s...”

  “I just thought it was funny that you didn’t see us.” Chase’s eyes are on me, and they’re still filled with genuine laughter.

  “What makes you think I didn’t see you?” I’m starting to smile a little, despite myself.

  Chase takes me into his arms, instantly melting away all that dumb angst and worry.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” I say with a big, unavoidable grin.

  “Does this?” Chase whispers in my ear before setting a leisurely, loving kiss on my cheek.

  “Hey, do you have any questions for me?” Eric interrupts before I can answer.

  I might have some questions, but I hold onto them, letting Eric give me his own cozy hug and tender kiss.

  “Actually,” I begin, sliding slowly from Eric’s arms, “I’m assuming that you guys must be pissed, or I was assuming...”

  “Why would we be pissed?” Eric has an endearing look of earnestness on his face.

  “You guys must be angry because...” I start again, searching for the words while Chase and Eric watch me.

  I start to forget the speech, the pageant, the whole fucking thing.

  “I went off script, way off, and I’ll probably lose now, I guess.”

  “We don’t give a shit about that,” Eric snaps immediately with pure, assured Eric-ness.

  “You don’t give a shit about winning?” I can’t help it. I’m so thrown by their attitude that I need to ask some fucking questions.

  “You came here to compete, and that’s what you did,” Chase says with deep, heartfelt care in his eyes.

  “So? Anyone can compete,” I utter quietly. I still don’t quite understand, but I’m feeling powerless in the face of Eric and Chase’s warm reception.

  “Not like you did,” corrects Eric.

  “What do you mean?” My mouth is dry, my ability to speak is breaking down, I’m still full of adrenaline from performing, and now, I really want to hear Eric explain how awesome I am.

  “With all your heart,” Eric began, “you showed the world what you’re made of, and you didn’t yield for a fucking second. That’s something to be proud of, no matter what the judges fucking think.”

  “I know I’m proud of you,” Chase interrupts. “You did what you wanted to do, and you just said ‘Fuck the bullshit,’ and went for it. I... I love that. So much.”

  “You were you, Kara—stubborn, no bullshit...You couldn’t have been more you, and I’m in love with that. I’m in love with you.”

  I nod a couple of times, because what can I even say at this point? I might start fucking crying if I say one word.

  “Both of us are,” adds Chase.

  “Okay, I get it.” I smile, yielding the argument.

  “I hope you also get that we would never stop loving you no matter what you did out there.” Eric softly takes my hands into his. “Not that it needs to be said, but...”

  “Just in case there’s ever any doubt,” Chase says, finishing Eric’s thought.

  I nod again, another unstoppable grin taking over.

  “Noted,” I state, feeling myself starting to glow. “I feel the same.”<
br />
  I tingle when Eric leans close, then closer, before smoothly planting a kiss on my lips. He takes his sweet—and I do mean sweet—fucking time with it and making sure that I feel his warmth.

  My eyes flit over to Chase, who then does his best to best Eric’s kiss with a lustful, electrifying snog that transports me away from this cold, crowded hallway to someplace warm and wonderful for a few seconds.

  I snap out of it when a garbled announcement blasts through the speakers out by the stage. I’m trying to listen to the announcer in vain when I see several other contestants scurrying over towards the wings of the stage to listen closely.

  I leave Chase and Eric for a minute to join my fellow contestants, but the jumbled announcement ends before I can join the crowd.

  I don’t know if anyone could have heard that announcement, but I might as well ask someone.

  I look to my right, and the closest person to me is Miss Sexy Australia. She’s looking right back at me, too.

  Fuck it, I feel like we’re supposed to be enemies because she hates me or something, but I couldn’t care less right now.

  “Did you get any of that?” I ask Miss Sexy Australia’s glowering face.

  “Uh, did you get any of that?” she repeats mockingly.

  “Look, I just want to know…”

  “Look, you, Miss Sexy Naked Preachy USA, I don’t know how you managed to land not just one, but two blokes who are hotter than snags on the barbie. That is impressive, I reckon.”

  “Okay, thanks. All I wanted to know is…”

  “I mean, with a cunt that’s yeastier than a Vegemite sandwich, I reckon that’s a real accomplishment.”

  I give up.

  “Good luck to you, too.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer is much clearer this time, “the judges have conferred and the results are in.”

  The contestants around me start buzzing like excited bumblebees, and Miss Sexy Australia is glowering nervously at the stage.

  “So, without further ado, it’s my honor to announce the second runner up for Miss Sexy Universe…”

  The buzz is growing to hushed yet excited gasps and murmurs.

  “Miss Sexy Japan!”