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

by Vanessa Winters

  It’s clear and to the point, and I can’t blame him for it at all. I don’t have any siblings, but I know I feel a kind of anger when I think about what that jackass did to Libby and how broken she sounded when she told me about it.

  I can’t tell Darren the whole truth, and that probably wouldn’t help anyway, but I can put some of his fears to rest.

  “I get that,” I tell him. “I really do. She told me about Chris, and if I see him, I might have to punch his face in because he sounds like a dick. But I can promise you I’m not just messing around with her. I like her. A lot. She’s fun to be around and she’s clever and sweet. She makes me laugh and I hope I can do the same for her. I can’t promise you that things will work out between us or we’ll be together forever or anything like that. Because no one can say what might happen. But I can tell you I’ll never intentionally hurt her. I won’t use her or treat her like she’s disposable. I want to make her happy.”

  When I finish, I feel more vulnerable than I have in a long time, and it’s more than a little uncomfortable. These aren’t the kinds of things I usually say to people or let them hear me say about others. But Darren looks less upset, and he sighs and nods.

  “Okay,” he says. “Okay. if she’s happy, then that’s all that matters. She’s an adult, and she can make her own choices, I just want her to be happy.”

  “You’re a good brother,” I tell him.

  He shrugs awkwardly. “Not always. But I’m working on it. Libby deserves that.”

  And he’s right. She deserves the world, honestly.

  Libby

  The night before the party, it’s impossible for me to sleep. My dress is hanging in the closet, and my phone is set with an alarm to give me enough time to get up and shower before I have to meet Annie and Mom to get our hair and makeup done. Ian’s as ready as he’ll ever be, and I’m pretty sure I’ve gone over every stray detail that could make this blow up in my face, and yet I still can’t sleep.

  I stare at the ceiling and then turn over to stare at the wall and then flop over to stare at my closed closet door.

  I tell myself it’s just because I’m not used to being back here yet. The bed doesn’t feel the same way it did before, and I’m more used to being in France.

  There are a lot of things I can blame, but I know it’s really just because I’m fucking nervous.

  There’s a lot riding on this night. My dignity, for one. If it all goes to hell, I could end up embarrassing my grandparents, which will never go away, and if Chris manages to find out I got a fake boyfriend just because he’s going to be there, then I may as well pack my shit and move back to France.

  Ian seems confident it’s all going to be fine, but that’s just Ian. He’s comfortable and confident in almost any situation. After seeing how he handled my family at dinner, I know he can handle this, but the real question is if I can handle it.

  I turn onto my back again and sigh. If I was a more secure person who didn’t get riled up at the thought of seeing my ex again, then maybe this wouldn’t be such a big deal. I could walk into that ballroom and ignore him. Or make idle chit chat with him like he barely matters to me at all.

  In a perfect world, that would be possible.

  But, of course, that’s not how this stuff works.

  Sighing again, I reach for my phone and squint at the time. It’s after midnight, closing in on one in the morning. Everyone I could reach out to to talk me out of this spiraling anxiety is probably asleep at this time of night, like sane people, but I send a text to Ian anyway. Maybe he’ll see it in the morning and have some words of wisdom.

  How fucked do you think I’ll be if I show up tomorrow night on no sleep?

  I put the phone down on my chest and consider getting up and pulling out my work laptop if I’m not going to be sleeping anyway, but I’m surprised when I feel my phone vibrate against my skin.

  It’s a text back from Ian, and I instantly feel bad for waking him up.

  If your grandma is as particular as you make her sound, pretty fucked. Dark circles aren’t couture.

  I’m smiling as soon as I read his text. There’s just something about how flippant he can be about any given situation that makes me laugh, and a knot of the tension eases in me. At least I’ll have him there with me.

  Yeah, that’s a good point. Any hot tips for falling asleep when your brain won’t shut up, then?

  A few seconds later, I have a reply.

  Sex usually does it for me. I can come over if you want.

  It’s complete with a winky face emoji, and I snort a laugh because that’s so completely an Ian thing to do. It’s just a joke, but I know if I tell him to come over, he probably will. I lay there for a bit and consider it. If I’m not going to be sleeping anyway … It’ll definitely be more fun than work.

  You weren’t sleeping? I ask him.

  Nah, I was making a cheesecake, actually.

  At one in the morning?

  Don’t judge me.

  I laugh again, shaking my head. Bring me some cheesecake, and you’ve got a deal.

  It’s so absurd, and I half expect him to say he was just kidding, there’s no way he’s coming all the way out to my place at this time of night, but he surprises me by texting that he’ll be there in about half an hour, and I better be hungry. I can’t help but feel relieved. Having a distraction will be nice, and my stomach growls to remind me that I picked at my dinner hours ago, so I am actually pretty hungry.

  He shows up almost exactly half an hour later with a covered spring form pan in his hands. I let him in and he puts it on my kitchen counter before uncovering it with a flourish. “Ta-da!” he says, complete with jazz hands.

  He looks unfairly good this late, like he could stop and model for a magazine if he wanted. Jeans and a coat on with his hair artfully messy, while I stand here in an oversized shirt with my firm’s logo on it and a pair of mismatched socks on with my hair in a messy braid.

  The cheesecake is, of course, delicious. Tart, creamy, and sweet, just like it should be.

  “Do you have to be good at everything?” I ask him, pouting as I cut myself another slice.

  Ian grins and shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of my charm.”

  “Maybe. But a lot of people don’t like hanging out with people who are so much better than them.”

  “And yet here you are, still inviting me over in the middle of the night.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “I just wanted cheesecake and sex. You just so happen to be the way to get that.”

  “I’d say I’m hurt, but I know how much you like me.” He winks and licks cheesecake off the back of his fork. Something stirs inside of me at the sight.

  He has a nice mouth. Even and full with a surprisingly deep cupid’s bow at the top. His lips are soft, I already know, and his tongue seems clever as he savors the cheesecake.

  I want his hands on me. I want his mouth on me. I want that tongue to lick me the way he’s licking that fork, and I can feel my face getting hot with the realization.

  Ian looks over at me, and I can tell he can guess the direction of my thoughts. He grins, slow and wide, and makes a show of licking the fork again, slower this time. His tongue caresses each tine, leaving no trace of cheesecake behind, and my face flames with heat. My body responds in kind, nipples going hard and tight, and I get a little wet between the legs at the thought of him using that talented tongue on me.

  He winks again and drops the fork, stalking over to me like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

  “You’re terrible,” I grumble, and he laughs.

  “You like it.”

  I can’t even argue with him because he’s right. I like his confidence and I like him, and it’s obvious from the fact that I step closer to him and tip my face up, angling for a kiss.

  He smirks, but leans down to give it to me, lips brushing against mine lightly, a brief tease, before he pulls me closer and kisses me good.

  It’s enough to take my mind off my worries
, that’s for damn sure. It’s enough to have me making soft noises into it, kissing him back, fingers fisting into the fabric of his clothes as I hold on for dear life.

  Ian kisses like he means it. There’s no trace of casualness or apathy. He kisses like he never wants to stop, plying my mouth until my lips part and he can lick inside, laying his claim there.

  His hands roam my body, sliding down my back until they can cup my ass, squeezing and kneading while he kisses me senseless.

  When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let me go, so I’m left panting for breath against him, fingers still tangled in his clothes.

  “Bedroom?” he asks, eyes dark with desire.

  I nod and tow him to my room, leaving the cheesecake for later.

  My room is mostly clean, thank goodness, and he sheds his coat and sweater, standing there in a t-shirt and jeans still looking amazing.

  He’s got muscles from playing sports and working out, and it’s obvious he takes care of himself. I feel sort of dumpy next to him, but the way he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me does a lot for my self-esteem.

  And it gives me an idea for what I want to do.

  I feel bolder with him than I usually do with partners. Maybe it’s because this is genuinely a low stakes kind of thing, and there’s no real danger of fucking it up as long as we both play by the rules.

  So far, the rules seem to be doing whatever we want and attaching no feeling to it, which is working out well for both of us.

  I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, looking him in the eye.

  “Uh oh,” he says, still grinning. “Serious face.”

  “I want to sit on your face,” I say, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything.

  Then he laughs and sweeps me a goofy bow, arm extended behind him like he’s some kind of jester. “Then consider my face your throne, my lady,” he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  We kiss a couple more times while we make our way to the bed. I shed my shirt and panties, standing naked save for my socks.

  Ian looks me over and grins before stripping down himself, revealing a delicious chest and stomach, with a trail of hair leading right into his boxers.

  My mouth waters, and I consider getting on my knees to suck him off, but that’s not the plan. I want to ride his face, and dammit, that’s what I’m going to do.

  He lays down on the bed, and I climb on top of him, straddling his face so I’m facing down his body. Already I can see from the bulge in his boxers that he’s at least half hard, and it’s flattering that he’s into this.

  Chris wasn’t shy about oral sex, but it always had to be on his terms. He was the type to hold me down and eat me out the way he wanted to, making me come until I felt like I was falling apart, but I never got to take the lead. At the time, I didn’t think I minded very much, but the prospect of being on top for once is exciting, and I’m realizing that maybe I always wanted to try it.

  I’m wet already, and Ian teases me with his fingers first, sliding them from my clit down to my hole and circling them back up.

  I shiver on top of him and moan softly, grinding down just a bit.

  It’s clear he knows what he’s doing. His fingers are as nimble and clever as I’d expect them to be with how many women he’s probably done this to.

  And I’m not even jealous, thinking about them. If having experiences with them led him to be here with me, using that experience to make me feel good, then I can only be grateful for it.

  I moan softly when he slides two fingers into me, pumping them slowly in and out. I can hear how wet I am and feel my inner walls clinging to his fingers, trying to keep them deep inside.

  I bite my lip and roll my hips, searching for more.

  When I’m good and worked up, Ian can tell, and he grabs my hips and pulls me down so I really am sitting on his face. I worry for a second about smothering him, but then I feel the touch of his tongue against my most sensitive places, and I can’t help the low hiss of pleasure that slides out of me.

  He laughs, and it’s muffled, but he doesn’t stop, licking me in one smooth motion, and ending with the point of his tongue spearing right into my hole.

  It feels so good, and I don’t hold back from moaning. I can imagine that I feel him smirking his insufferable smirk right against my folds.

  He’s not in a hurry, no matter how late it is. He licks me like I’m an ice cream cone, slow and lapping, savoring the sweetness of my juices. All I can do is press my hips back and take it, the pleasure building just as slowly, spreading through my body like hot fudge.

  I can see a slightly damp patch right on his crotch, and it’s sort of amazing that someone like Ian is getting hard enough to leak precum just from eating me out. On the surface, he seems like the type who would be a selfish lover, all about using his partners for his own pleasure, but I can attest that he’s going to town on my pussy like someone who really enjoys the act.

  With nothing else to do with my hands, I reach forward and start groping him through the fabric of his boxers.

  His fingers dig into my hips where he’s holding onto me, and I take that as a sign that he’s into what I’m doing.

  I stroke him lightly, letting his boxers be a contrast to the warmth of my hand, but soon enough I’m impatient to have him hot and hard and bare in my palm.

  It’s easy enough to slide forward a bit, dragging my pussy over his tongue, so I can push down the front of his boxers and work his cock free.

  It springs forth into my palm, proud and jutting up out of the nest of pubic hair at the base, and I stroke it with my bare hand for good measure.

  I can hear him swearing, muffled while he doesn’t let up on eating me out, and I try to match his pace, stroking him in time with the licks of his tongue.

  After a second, I pull my hand back and spit into it crudely, using the saliva to slick up my strokes.

  “Fuck, Libby,” he groans, coming up for air for a second. “Goddamn.”

  I smirk, even though I know he can’t see it.

  “Who told you to stop?” I ask, trying to be domineering. I ride the high of it for all of a second before my world is spinning as Ian uses his superior size and strength to change our positions.

  Before I know it, I’m face down on the bed, and he’s on top of me, pressing me down further into the mattress.

  “Only good girls get their pussies eaten,” he says, leaning down to say it in my ear. “Bad girls get fucked into the mattress like they deserve.”

  I moan at the prospect, because honestly I can’t complain about either outcome. He slaps my ass hard, and I cry out for him, both in surprise and pleasure. When I feel his cock knocking at my slick entrance, I spread my legs for him and let him push inside in one smooth move that nearly steals my breath away.

  Libby

  Laying in bed afterwards, I think about how lucky I am. Ian’s a good friend, even if he’s not really my boyfriend. I feel like he cares about me, considering he came over in the middle of the night and brought me cheesecake. And sure, it’s probably just because he wanted to have sex, but even that’s pretty nice.

  It’s definitely some of the best sex I’ve had in a long time, and the fact that there’s no pressure on it just makes it better.

  Sure, it’s going to be over soon, and sure I’ll have to go back to dealing with things on my own and not having access to this good sex as much as I want it, but that’s okay. I’ll be better for having had it, and I can move on.

  Probably.

  I try not to think about that part of it.

  Anyway, the party is looming, just hours away now, and we have to get past that before we can do any worrying about what might happen in the future.

  That’s both comforting and terrifying all at the same time.

  Luckily, I feel like I can sleep now, so I curl up in my bed, alone again, and yawn as I get comfortable. I think about what might have happened if I invited Ian to stay the night.

  It’s not something
we do, strictly speaking. Usually we have sex and then we go our separate ways, but it could be nice to wake up with him.

  Morning sex would be fun, and I drift off to sleep thinking about the face he’d make if I woke him up with a blow job one day.

  I’m hunting frantically for my other earring when Ian knocks on the door the next night. Aside from the missing earring, I’m ready to go. Or as ready as I’ll ever be. Hair is done, freshly washed and blown out, half of it pulled back from my face and the rest curling around my shoulders in a lovely style I’ll never be able to replicate. My makeup is tasteful and understated, but it highlights the color in my eyes, making them seem brighter and making my face seem softer and more contoured.

  The dress is the best part, though. Of course, no one wants to outshine Nana on her night, but we’ve all taken the fancy dress directive to heart. My dress is floor length, wine purple, and sparkly. It dips down in the front, showing off a good amount of cleavage (but in a tasteful, elegant way), and the material hugs my hips and ass, highlighting my curves. It has long sleeves and a short train, and I feel a little bit like a sexy princess with it on.

  The heels I’m less sure about, but I can at least walk in them as I go to get the door and let Ian in.

  “Sorry,” I say as soon as the door is open. “I’m hunting for an earring, and then I’ll be ready to go.” I barely glance at him, leaving him standing in the open door while I go back to looking for the dangly diamond earring I know I had this morning.

  I hear him close the door behind him and he lets out a low whistle.

  “What?” I ask, two seconds away from pushing back the couch to look under it.

  “You look fucking amazing.”

  The sincerity in his voice makes me turn to look at him, and when I do I’m struck by two things.