Boardroom Bride: A Fake Fiance Secret Pregnancy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb across the soft skin. “You’re a sweet girl, Tatum. I can tell. I have girls throwing themselves at me constantly. I can tell the difference between a nice girl and a groupie just wanting to say they slept with Evan Anderson.”

  I can see her waver, my words making her doubt what she’s doing. “I’m not—”

  “I know you’re not. That’s why I’m telling you that.” It almost makes me want to see her home safely and then be on my way. She’s so much better than the girls that throw themselves at me all the fucking time. But I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away because I also want her more than I’ve ever wanted any of them.

  “If you’ve changed your mind,” I say reluctantly, “it’s okay.”

  “No,” she interjects quickly, then laughs at herself. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want this.”

  Thank fuck.

  I flash a grin. “Good. Because I really fucking want this too.”

  My words are like a signal giving her permission or something. She turns toward me, straddling me and pushing her hands against my chest until I fall back on the seat. Her legs spread wide, she wedges herself against me, and I groan. I’ve been waiting all night to feel those legs around me.

  I run my fingertips slowly up the back of her thighs, cupping her ass and encouraging her to grind against me. It’s almost unbearable, this need I have to feel her on me. To get rid of these clothes between us and feel her. Hot and wet and ready. And I know she will be.

  Tatum digs her fingers into my shoulders and bites her lip. So damn sexy.

  I’m so hard and ready to go, I could yank her jeans down and sink into her right now. Right on the subway. Gritting my teeth, I force my eyes back to her face. I won’t rush this. I want to savor every second.

  But because I just can’t wait for a taste, I slide my hand down inside the back of her jeans reaching all the way under her until my fingers reach her pussy. I need to know if she’s as turned on as I am. If she wants this as much I think she does.

  “Fuck, Tatum,” I bite out when I feel how wet she is. “You’re so fucking wet for me already.”

  My words must be even more of a turn on for her, because as she moans, I feel her get even wetter, soaking my fingers as I brush them back and forth along her pussy.

  “Do you like that, baby?” I ask, teasing her, stroking her gently. “Do you like it when I touch your pussy? Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

  I flick open her jeans and unzip them, moving my hand around to the front so I can reach her better. When I press the tip of one finger inside her, and she cries out.

  “Oh god,” she sighs. “Yes, yes. God, yes, I want you to fuck me.”

  Shit. She’s like a live wire, writhing in my arms like she’s ready to explode, even though I’ve barely touched her.

  I can hardly believe how lucky I am. This night is going to be incredible.

  “I will, baby. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.” She jerks forward, her hips begging for more. “But first I’m going to make you cum with my fingers.”

  I pull her head towards mine and nip at her lips. “And when I get you off this train and take you home, I’m going to lay you out on your bed and fill you with this cock and make you cum on it over and over again.”

  I thrust up against her to show her just how hard I am. How hard she’s made me.

  A shudder races over her body as she looks at me through half-lidded eyes, drunk on lust. “Yes. Please. I want all of that.”

  I thread my fingers through her hair and yank, tilting her head back. She gyrates against me, thrusting her hips frantically against my dick as I drag my tongue from her collarbone, up her neck, to her mouth. “You do want it, don’t you?” I whisper against her lips.

  A whimper is my only answer as she clutches my shirt, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I chuckle in satisfaction. It’s fucking awesome to know that this sexy as hell woman wants me just as much as I want her.

  I brush my tongue against her lips, and she immediately opens for me, kissing me back with feverish need. She tastes like cherries, and I stroke her mouth with my tongue, our lips moving together in a dance that leaves us both breathless.

  I push my finger deeper into her pussy and drag the wetness up to her clit, where I rub her in quick circles. I watch her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and she bites her lip, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

  “Make me cum,” she begs, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to oblige.

  I push another finger inside her and growl, nearly crazed with need. “You are so fucking tight, Tatum.” I drag my fingers out slowly, then plunge in again, all the while rubbing her clit with my thumb.

  She lets out a scream of pleasure, her eyes going wide and locking with mine as I continue to pump my finger in and out of her. Then her body tenses and her inner walls begin to pulse around my fingers. Her legs shake and her head falls back as she cums on my hand, soaking me with her juices.

  I can’t look away. I’ve never seen a woman in such pure ecstasy. I mean, I’ve made plenty of women cum, but nothing has ever been like this. When she floats back down, she collapses on my chest, her breath heaving.

  I want nothing more than to be inside of her. Right now. To know what it feels like to have that tight pussy milk my cock.

  But I plan on making her cum a few more times first. After a minute, she lifts her head and looks at me, wonder on her face. “I have never in my life had an orgasm like that,” she says bluntly.

  I smile and drop a light kiss on her lips. “Just wait. That was only the teaser.”

  Tatum

  I didn’t think we’d ever make it back to my apartment. I almost thought I was going to rip his clothes off right on the subway. Giggling, I shake my head.

  “What?” Evan asks as I fumble with the key in the lock.

  “I can’t believe we did that on the train.”

  He smirks. “Stories from the 6 Train…”

  “You’re not kidding. That one should go down as the craziest one for me.”

  Finally, we’re inside, and I shut the door, looking at him. I want him so badly I can hardly contain myself. I’ve felt him against me, but now I need to feel him in me.

  Evan steps forward. “Think I owe you a few more orgasms.”

  Now it’s my turn to smirk. “I’ll be happy to collect.”

  The next instant, he’s crushing his mouth to mine like he’s starving for me.

  That’s how I feel. Like I’ve been starved of him my whole life, and now that I have him, I can’t get enough.

  I walk backward as we kiss, leading him to my bedroom, and we fall back together when my knees hit the back of the bed.

  Evan lifts up and stares at me for a moment. “So sweet. So sexy.”

  He keeps saying that, but I’m more than happy to hear it over and over. I reach for him, pulling at the hem of his shirt, working it up and over his shoulders, revealing all that intricate ink that winds across his chest and around his arms. I trace the colors, entranced.

  “My turn,” he murmurs, pulling my shirt up. His eyes fall on the tattoo I have on the side of my chest. A bar of music and a bluebird woven together. A grin tips his mouth. “I love it.”

  Then he makes quick work of ridding me of my jeans and shoes, leaving me spread before him in nothing but my bra and panties.

  “My turn,” I echo, sitting up and unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them down with his underwear, revealing his cock. I gasp as it bounces free, so long and thick and hard that I have to wrap my hand around it, have to dip my mouth down for a taste of the bead of precum on the tip.

  Evan groans. “Tatum. God. That feels so good.”

  I smile, loving that I’m making him feel this way. Holy shit. It hits me like a freight train. I’m about to take Evan Anderson’s cock inside my mouth. Mind. Blown.

  I lick a circle around the head, then drag my tongue down his length.
I work my way back up slowly, my eyes on his, then press him between my lips, going down as far as I can, loving how he fills my mouth.

  It’s not long before his groaning and swelling, and he jerks me off of him in a hurry. “No. Need to be inside you. Promised you I’d make you cum over and over.” He winks, pulling a condom from his pants and rolling it on quickly.

  He crawls on top of me, unhooking my bra and tossing it aside. Then he licks his way down my stomach to my panties, grabbing them with his teeth and dragging them down my legs. It has to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Then he licks his way back up my inner thigh, settling his head between them and licking my pussy until I’m writhing on the bed, begging him to fuck me.

  With a growl, Evan grabs my hips and yanks me to the edge of the bed, pulling my legs up to rest on his shoulders. I feel his cock pressing at my entrance. Pressing inside. Slowly filling me up, sliding all the way inside, stretching me in the best possible way.

  Then we begin to move, our bodies in sync, both needy and desperate.

  “Tatum,” he moans. “I’ll take my time with you. Later. Right now I have to have you.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “Yes. Fuck me, Evan. Fuck me hard.”

  He does, pounding into me over and over until I feel like I’m about to explode. And as he swells inside me, his cock becoming impossibly thicker, I feel myself clenching and pulsing, an electric current running through my body, setting off sparks as I cum so damn hard. And Evan’s coming too. Pumping deep inside me while we both cry out in pleasure.

  I gasp for breath, my body shaking with the intensity of the orgasm, and then he’s there beside me, scooping me up and cradling me against him.

  Oh my god. I just had sex with Evan Anderson.

  I laugh. It seems impossible.

  He nuzzles my neck. “That was incredible.”

  I sigh contentedly. “I think I saw stars.” I angle my head to look at him, shaking it with disbelief. “Well, one, anyway.”

  He kisses my shoulder. “Just wait, baby. I have big plans for you. I’m not going to let you out of this bed for any reason until I have to leave for my show tomorrow night.”

  Gravity is playing back-to-back sold-out shows because they’re so huge.

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  He makes good on it. And I go to his show the next day, watching from backstage. Then we go back and do it all over again.

  Ana & Oliver

  Ana

  I scroll through my phone, looking for something fun to do later after school. It’s going to be a long freaking day. I hate the first day of classes. It’s always just a bunch of introductions and syllabus handouts. I’d much rather stay in bed.

  Sighing, I glance up and look around me on the train. It would be a whole lot easier to live on campus instead of at my sister’s place out in Brooklyn. It’s a lot closer to all the action. I love going to NYU. Well, all except the classes part.

  My eyes pause on a man sitting across from me reading on an e-reader. Short cropped hair, just a bit longer on top like he’s going for professional but not quite there. Wire-rimmed glasses, button up shirt, and a man bag sitting near his feet scream that the dude is a grad student. Probably in the psych department, if I had to guess.

  As if he feels my scrutiny, he glances up from whatever he’s reading—probably some Freudian mumbo jumbo—and his eyes lock with mine.

  I feel all the breath fly from my lungs. Holy hell. Those eyes. They’re the deepest brown. Almost black. And they’re looking at me as if he can see straight through me. I feel like I’m being sucked right in.

  Then he smiles, slow and knowing, a flash of straight white teeth that make me wonder what they’d feel like scraping along my skin.

  Shaking myself, stunned by the instant jolt of awareness swirling between us, I quirk my lips up in a grin.

  “You a student?” His voice is smooth and strong, and it rolls over me like honey.

  I arch a brow. “Is it obvious?”

  He gestures at my body, and I look down, confused.

  Yeah, I guess I exude that college girl vibe. Cutoff shorts and an NYU t-shirt, flip-flops, and hair pulled back in a messy bun like I can’t be bothered to take the time to put more effort into my appearance for a class. Which, of course, is totally true. Maybe it’s the backpack that’s the dead giveaway.

  I smile and tip my head to the side, tapping my finger to my cheek as if I don’t already have him pegged. “Let me guess. Grad student. Psychology. Going for your doctorate.”

  He lets out a baffled laugh. “How the hell could you know that?”

  So maybe human nature fascinates me. Especially the way the mind works. Most people write me off as a party girl. Ana, the girl who doesn’t take anything seriously except finding the next good time. They aren’t wrong.

  But that’s only because my take on the human condition is that you better live your life while you can. Don’t waste a second. Live in the moment. That’s my motto. Something I constantly struggle to get my friend Tatum to do.

  As for reading this guy? That’s something that seems to come naturally. The whole world is like a huge social experiment to me, and I’ve become a pro, my fascination with observation making reading people second nature.

  My grin widens, and I make sure to show my dimples, knowing guys are suckers for them. “So, I’m right?”

  “You’ve got me pegged.”

  I bite my lip and arch a brow wryly. “Do I now?”

  He laughs, shaking his head at the unintended insinuation.

  The train screeches to a stop, and we both stand, apparently headed to the same place. We pour onto the platform with all the other people, then fall into step beside each other.

  He looks at me, intrigued. “How could you possibly know that? At least that accurately. I mean, come on. You have to admit that’s crazy.”

  I shrug, looking over at him, realizing just how tall he is now that we’re standing side by side. His forearms are exposed where his sleeves are rolled up, and I can see corded muscles that make me wonder just what this guy looks like underneath those preppy clothes.

  Something tells me that even though my initial impression of him is dead on, there’s something more to him. Intense. Severe. Naughty. A chuckle slips out at the direction of my thoughts.

  “What?” he asks, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “You’re the psych major,” I tease. “Shouldn’t you be able to figure me out?”

  His eyes trail down my body, and I feel a slow thrum pulse through me when they linger on the short hem of my cutoffs. “Not even close.”

  “Looks like you need to spend more time studying if you want to be called Doctor in the future.”

  He laughs as we cross the street and head toward campus, pointing a finger at me. “You’re trouble.”

  I wink and flash my dimples again. “You have no idea.”

  I continue to tease and flirt as we make our way toward the psych building, where my first class is, and—presumably—his too. I slow as we approach the lecture hall, and notice he’s slowing down alongside me.

  Turning to me, he grins a little shyly, reaching behind his head to rub his neck. “Want to grab a cup of coffee later?”

  I take my time to answer, loving that I seem to be making him nervous the longer I make him wait. Finally, I lift a shoulder. “Sounds like that could be fun.”

  He gives me a lopsided smile and pulls out his phone and hands it to me, and I punch in my number and call myself to swap numbers.

  I hand it back to him then wiggle my fingers. “Later.”

  I turn to head into the classroom, nearly bumping into him when he does the same.

  I frown, my eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “This is me.”

  He looks at me for a minute like he can’t quite process my words. “You?”

  I laugh. “My class.” I hook a thumb toward the lecture hall, moving to go in. “Right in here.” />
  The look on his face makes my stomach drop. Because he follows me in, right on my heels. “This is my class,” he says, his voice heavy with disappointment.

  It takes me a minute to fully realize what he means. But when he continues passing by me and heads for the desk at the front of the lecture hall, it’s all totally clear. It’s his class.

  As in he’s the professor. And I’m the student.

  Fuck.

  Oliver

  “I’m Oliver Mason, a grad student here at NYU, and I’ll be your professor this semester.” I address the class as calmly as I can.

  But I can hardly focus on going through my standard introduction and syllabus explanation as I stand at the front of the lecture hall. I can’t keep my eyes from going back to her over and over, the realization pissing me off. This girl—Ana, according to the class roster—is my student.

  I want to grind my teeth together. It shouldn’t upset me as much as it does. I mean, I don’t even know her. We literally spent fifteen minutes talking to each other. But I’m not gonna lie. I was seriously excited about the idea of having coffee with her later.

  And now I can’t.

  From the minute she opened her mouth on the train, I was fascinated. Totally drawn in. Not just because she’s fucking sexy, those long, long legs so smooth and tempting. But because I can tell she’s way more than the flirty image she puts off.

  I sigh and try to get this over with. When I’m done, breezing through the first day bullshit in record time, I ask, “Okay, anyone have any questions about anything?” I just want to get out of here.

  And of course, her hand flies up. I meet her eyes. Teasing. Laughing. Taunting. I want to groan. She’s going to make this semester hell for me. I can just feel it.

  “This end of semester project? The study of social mores. Are there any limitations to what we can explore?”

  I’m torn between feeling dread at what she might say next and being totally turned on that she seems to get this stuff. This topic that I love so much. I can just tell she’s as into it as I am. That’s sexy as hell to me.