Off Limits: A Brother's Best Friend Fake Relationship Romance (Fake It Book 1)

by Vanessa Winters

  And it’s inspired by Chris, so that says everything that needs to be said about that.

  Once we have our story down, I call Annie.

  “If I tell you, you were right, do you promise not to gloat about it?” I ask her first thing.

  “Depends. What was I right about?”

  “About how to deal with Chris at Nana’s party. The fake boyfriend thing.” She screeches, and it’s at a pitch that makes my ears hurt. “Jesus Christ, Annabelle,” I groan. “I need to be able to use my ears.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m just excited. I never in a million years would have thought you’d go for it. Who’s the lucky guy?”

  I hesitate, not sure if I should tell her the truth, but then I suppose she’ll find out sooner or later. “Do you remember Ian Black?”

  “The name sounds familiar.”

  “He was one of Darren’s friends in college. They played lacrosse together and he’d come stay at our house sometimes?”

  “Oh! Oooh, he was dreamy. Is he still hot? How the hell did you rope him into this?”

  “He’s still hot,” I confirm. “And I ran into him in a restaurant over here. He’s here on vacation.”

  “Damn, small world. You know Darren’s going to shit bricks, right?”

  “That’s a lovely image, Annie.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I do know what she means.

  As my older brother, Darren has an extremely overprotective nature. He has two little sisters, and he sees it as his duty to keep us safe and keep creepy guys from hitting on us.

  When Chris cheated on me, I didn’t give Darren the whole story because I knew he’d go over to the apartment and try to pick and fight, and that was the last thing I wanted to deal with at the time.

  He knows Ian, but that probably won’t work too well in our favor, considering how Ian was all through college. Darren used to tell me stories about Ian’s conquests, heavily edited, of course. He’d say he didn’t know how someone could have that many women strung along at once, but the two of them stayed friends, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

  Still, it wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Shit,” I groan. “I should probably tell him before the party, huh? So he doesn’t cause a scene.”

  That’s the last thing I want to happen. If anything goes off that takes the attention away from Nana and Granddad (but mostly Nana) there will be hell to pay, and I don’t want to be responsible for that.

  “Probably,” Annie agrees. “I mean, I’d say you could let him in on what’s really happening, but I think we both know how that will turn out.”

  Darren’s a terrible liar, she means, and I wouldn’t put it past him to ruin the whole thing because he’s worried about my virtue or whatever. Which would, in turn, cause a scene.

  “Why does this have to be so complicated?” I whine. “I just want to get this party over with without having to jump through a bunch of hoops.”

  “I know, Lib,” she says. “But it’s just one night, right?”

  “Yeah, one night and then however many nights it takes to get the family to accept that I’m with Ian even though I’m not with Ian.”

  “Yeah, there is that. At least he seems up for it, right?”

  There is that. Ian is making this whole thing better than I thought it could be. “True. I think he thinks it’s all really funny. He’s having a good time coming up with how we got together and all.”

  I very intentionally don’t mention the part where we’ve already slept together.

  That can just stay between me and Ian for now. Or forever.

  Libby

  I see Ian a couple days later when I go over to his house to help him with packing. He’s on his way back to the States soon, and suddenly everything feels very, very real. It’s one thing to do this over here in a different country where no one can see us or form an opinion about what we’re doing, no one we know, anyway, but it’s a whole other thing to go back home and do it and pull it off well.

  Ian, of course, isn’t worried. He’s all smiles and warm grins, showing me where to put things in the boxes he plans to have sent back to America ahead of him.

  “You worry too much,” he says. “It’s not going to be that big of a deal.”

  “Maybe you don’t worry enough,” I shoot back, and then stick my tongue out at him for good measure.

  “You’d better keep that tongue in your mouth if you don’t want me to bite it,” he says, and his voice is low and rough in a way that makes something inside me go tight with want.

  Does he have to be so hot? All the time? He’s standing there in jeans and t-shirt, because it’s warm in the chalet even though it’s almost November. His arms are well defined, and I can’t take my eyes off him for more than a few seconds, which he seems very aware of.

  He doesn’t flex, but every time he catches me staring, he winks at me, which doesn’t help matters at all.

  While we pack things, I fill him in on my family. “You’re going to have to meet them at some point before the party if we want this to work, so you need to know some things about them.”

  I tell him about my sister and the way she flits from job to job, trying to figure out what her dream is. She still lives with our parents, but she’s fine with the arrangement because they let her do what she wants for the most part.

  I tell him about how Darren is a lawyer now, working to make things better for veterans and other marginalized people, and how he believes in his work fiercely.

  I give him a slightly edited version of my mom’s relationship with her parents and how my dad just goes with the flow, trying to make sure everyone is happy and healthy.

  “You love your family,” he says, and it isn’t a question.

  I shrug a shoulder while I wrap a delicate china plate in newspaper. “Of course I do. They’re my family.”

  “Hey, not everyone is so lucky,” he says. “Sometimes family is just something you have to deal with, not something you feel blessed to have or whatever.”

  He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and I wonder if that’s the case for him. I know he works with his father, but his mother doesn’t seem to be in the picture anymore.

  Instead of asking uncomfortable questions, I stand up and brush my hands off, stretching my back with a crack that feels good after so much time hunched over the coffee table wrapping the fragile things that Ian is sending home.

  I can feel his eyes on me when my shirt rides up, exposing just a little skin, but apparently that little bit is enough.

  We haven’t talked about the fact that we had sex at all. I came to his house prepared for it because he’s always been the type to brag about conquests, but he hasn’t said anything.

  The look in his eyes tells me he’s still interested, though, and I can feel my body responding in kind.

  How could I not be interested? He’s handsome and funny and smart, and the last time, he made me feel so good when I was feeling like crap.

  Ian gets to his feet as well and crosses the room in three strides, eyes intent. Without another word, he cups my face in both hands and pulls me into a hot, deep kiss.

  His tongue slides into my mouth, and I moan for him, hands coming up to grip his shoulders, trying to hold on while he kisses me like he wants to devour me in one bite.

  My knees feel like jelly, and my fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer in.

  “Fuck,” he groans when we break to breathe, his eyes dark and wild and mouth kiss bruised. I can only imagine I look the same, and I really, really didn’t come over here for this, but now that it’s started, I don’t want to stop.

  “Yes, please,” I say, surprising myself, and Ian’s eyes flash as he looks at me.

  “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  It’s bold and not like me, but there’s something here. There’s something so different about Ian when I compare him to Chris or even Lucien, and I don’t want to overthink it, I just want him to make me feel
good.

  For once, I want to go off on my instincts, not my worries, so I decide to do just that.

  Holding his gaze, I let him go and drop down to my knees, right there in the living room of his rented chalet. I undo his fly, dragging the zipper down slowly so there’s no mistaking what I’m about to do.

  I can smell his arousal as soon as I get his boxers down, and there’s his cock, fat, thick, and flushed, all hard and ready for me.

  It’s really a very nice dick. Big, but not so massive that I’m worried about it fitting anywhere, and it’s nice to get a good look at if after the first time felt so rushed and random. I stroke it slowly, letting my hand slide up and down the shaft, and the sound he makes in response is deep and low.

  I glance up at him again, and his eyes are trained on me.

  “You going to suck me off, baby?” he asks, and I shiver at his tone.

  “Yeah,” I breathe back. “Yeah, I am.”

  Saying it out loud only makes me more confident about what I’m going to do, and I take a deep breath and lean in to lick him from base to tip.

  I turn off my brain and just work on instinct and feeling, mouthing at him sloppily and lifting his cock to do the same to his balls. I feel dirty like this, on my knees working his cock with my hands and mouth, and it’s a thrill that I want to chase more of.

  He groans and threads fingers into my hair, making me look up again.

  “You’re too damn good,” he says. “So pretty like this. You going to make me feel good?”

  I just smirk and keep working him with my lips and tongue, sucking one of his balls into my mouth and then laving at them both with my tongue.

  It’s messy, and my lips and chin are dripping with drool by the time I work my way back up to the head of him and swirl my tongue around it, gathering the taste of clean skin and salty precum in my mouth.

  His fingers tighten in my hair, and I take that as a cue to stop teasing him and get to work for real.

  It’s easy enough to get the first few inches of him in my mouth, and I bob my head, getting used to the weight of him on my tongue. When he groans my name, it spurs me on, and I suck my way back down further, gagging a little when it goes too deep too fast, but I don’t stop.

  I want this to be good for him, and it’s fun for me, seeing the way his hips jerk whenever I suck my way back up.

  I open my throat as best I can, letting him slide his cock in, and if I choke a little, then it only adds to the experience. I work my way down and down and down, until my nose is pressed right against his pelvis, and I have to swallow around him to keep from gagging, but I feel accomplished.

  Ian swears hotly above me, and I pull off, strings of drool and precum attaching my lips to his dick as I gulp down air gratefully.

  Before I can go back down, he’s stopping me, tipping my head back to look at him by the hold he has on my hair.

  “Wait,” he groans. “Wait, wait, wait.”

  “Why?” I ask, licking my lips. “Don’t you want to come in my mouth?” I ask it innocently, eyes wide, mouth in a little pout, and I’m pretty sure I already know what it will do to him. He groans again, closing his eyes and letting out a messy breath.

  “Fuck yeah,” he says. “I want that.”

  “Then do it,” I say, putting a challenge in my tone.

  That seems to snap him right back into that dangerously hot mode he was in before, and his eyes flash. He looks like he could do whatever he wants to me, and I’d beg him for more, and we both know that’s probably true. I swallow hard, waiting.

  Of course, he rises to the challenge, dragging me back in by the hair and grabbing his cock at the base. He smears it across my face, leaving sticky trails of precum and spit, and when he rubs the head against my lips, I open up obediently.

  He pushes into my mouth and then back out again, dragging his cock over my tongue in slow thrusts that make me feel like he’s using my mouth the same way he’d use any other hole I had to offer.

  It’s hot, scorchingly so, and I can feel myself getting wet as hell in my pants. I palm myself while he works his cock in and out of my mouth, rolling my hips so I can grind down against my palm.

  Ian grins when he sees what I’m doing. “That’s it,” he praises me. “Get off for me while I fuck your mouth, Libby. God, you’re so hot like this. You look so good with my dick in your pretty little mouth.”

  I moan around him, and he shoves in even deeper, making me choke for a second before I relax and let him in. I press against my crotch, but it’s not enough, so I slide my hand into my pants and panties, finding myself so slick and hot when my fingers dip into my sex.

  It won’t take much at this point. The combination of having a full mouth and the sound it makes when Ian thrusts deep inside me is enough to have my arousal ramping up.

  I feel like I’m in a porno, the pretty girl next door type who’s been seduced by a bad boy, fated to be used by him until he’s sated.

  It’s a hot fantasy, and I let it sweep me up, mixing and blending with what Ian’s doing to me and how good my fingers feel when I press them inside my wet hole.

  It’s like being taken from both ends, and for a second I wish I had something thicker than my own fingers to shove into my pussy, something to match the weight and girth of the cock fucking between my lips.

  I can tell Ian’s getting close by the way his thrusts become faster and less measured, and how he groans my name and grunts his pleasure.

  I speed up my fingers, working them deeper into me, letting my thumb rub at my clit in a way I know will make my wrist ache later. But I don’t care about that.

  I’m chasing my pleasure, so close now. It bears down on me, white hot and almost liquid with the way it rushes through my body, spreading out to my fingers and toes while I whine and moan around the cock in my mouth.

  Ian finishes first, spurting his thick, hot release into my mouth. It coats my tongue and when he pulls out halfway through, some lands on my lips and chin. I keep my fingers working and open my mouth for him, so he can see the mess he’s made for himself.

  “Fuck,” he says. “Goddamn. Come on, baby. Come for me. Let me see how good you look coming for me.”

  That’s all the coaxing I need. I fall apart for him, shaking and moaning, humping my own hand until the waves of pleasure finally subside.

  I swallow my mouthful and flop back onto the carpet, breathing hard.

  Ian stands over me, grinning widely. “You’re something else, Libby Chastain,” he says, and it’s clear he means it in a good way.

  Ian

  A few days later it feels so good to be home. I’ve been on vacation for three weeks, just taking some time for myself, and I know now that I’m back, I’ll have to get back to work and back to my life.

  It’s interesting, how nice it feels to know that Libby is only a text or call away, and she’ll be coming back herself soon enough.

  Before I left we slept together again, and while I don’t think either of us meant for it to be a regular thing, it just keeps happening. I don’t have any complaints about it. She’s good in bed.

  There’s an innocence about her that makes everything I do to her feel a little dirty, and apparently, I’m really into that. She reacts to everything so honestly, pleasure and enjoyment clear to see on her pretty face, I have to stop that line of thinking so I can get through customs without popping an inappropriate erection.

  My apartment is cold and feels unloved when I get back. My boxes arrived in one piece, and I spend some time unpacking and getting things set up so it won’t feel like I’m living out of suitcases and boxes for the next few days.

  If I’m going to get back to my life, then I want to do it as smoothly as possible.

  I pull out my phone and see I have a few texts. One from my dad, welcoming me back to the States and wanting to set up a meeting soon. I ignore that one for now. He’s always been all business, and I still need to overcome my jet lag before I can deal with him.

  Ther
e’s a couple from friends, asking if I want to get together soon, to welcome me back, and one from the woman I was seeing casually before I left, asking if I need any help unpacking. I know what that’s code for.

  Thinking about sex and unpacking makes me think about Libby, and I swipe away all the other texts to open my chain with her and send off a quick one letting her know I made it back in one piece.

  She replies quickly, and I smile at my phone like an idiot.

  Welcome back to America! Tell it I’ll be there soon.

  America says hurry up. I shoot back. And something about your sweet tits? I didn’t know you and America were so close.

  I wish I could see the look on her face when she reads my messages. There’s this thing she does where she tries to look like she’s not amused, but it quickly breaks most of the time, and she ends up laughing. It’s a good look for her, and it’s kind of stupid that I’m missing her already, but there it is.

  Aside from being damn good in bed, Libby is a good friend. She makes me laugh, and I don’t feel any pressure when I’m around her.

  She’s never wanting for me to be someone I’m not or trying to force me to do anything I don’t want to do. Which is kind of ironic, considering we’re in a fake relationship. Somehow, though, it’s become one of the most genuine things in my life.

  America’s a perv. she sends back.

  I know, but can you blame it? You do have really nice tits.

  She’ll be making that face again, and I laugh to myself at the thought of it. Maybe it’s good she won’t be back for a week or so. She can be distracting, filling my mind with thoughts of her laugh and her smile and the way she looks with a mouth full of cock, and I do have things to do. Maybe by the time she gets back, I’ll have a better grip on myself.

  It doesn’t seem likely. Two days in, and my dad has already commented on my distracted state more than once. I’ve turned down three dinner invitations from women in the office who like to flirt with me, and I haven’t gone out looking for anyone new. People who know me are surprised, and I don’t really know what to tell them.