Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Candice Wright

  Slipping off my underwear, I paw through the new items until I find a set I like and snap off the labels so they can be scanned at the counter later.

  I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn't intend to buy this stuff, but with Asher trying to play it cool, I can't help but poke the beast to get a reaction.

  I slip on champagne silk French-style shorts trimmed with black lace and a matching lace bra that does fantastic things for my chest. Turning, I see the bottom of my cheeks peeking out from under the lace, enticing but not too much, leaving just enough to the imagination.

  I swing the door open and lean against the frame provocatively as I take in Asher, who is now sitting in the chair again, talking quietly on his phone. He jolts when he notices me, his mouth falling open for a second before he mumbles a “gotta go” into the phone and hangs up, stalking toward me.

  “You don't play fucking fair, Skittle,” he groans before snagging my lips with his, pushing me into the changing room until my back collides with the mirror. He pulls away long enough to lock the door, then he's on me again, one hand on my ass and one in my hair, anchoring me to him as his tongue plays with mine.

  Pulling his lips away for a moment, he yanks the front of the bra down, freeing my breasts from their confinement before dipping his head and sucking a nipple into his warm wet mouth.

  “Holy fuck,” I gasp, but he tuts at me, pulling away. Spying the underwear pile on the chair in the corner, he smiles deviously and picks up a pair of panties, ripping the price tag off before moving back to me.

  “You have to be quiet. Open up,” he commands.

  I look at him hesitantly, my arousal soaking through the silk material between my legs. I open my mouth, allowing him to slip the balled-up panties inside.

  “Not a peep, Skittle, okay?”

  I nod my head, earning his approval as he slowly lowers the zipper on his pants and pulls his stiff cock free.

  “Is this what you want?” he murmurs in my ear, making me nod again, only this time more eagerly.

  Lifting my leg up and over his hip, he grabs his cock and slides it over the gusset of my panties, feeling my wetness seeping through, coating his tip with my arousal. Once he’s hooked the crotch with his pinky, he pulls it aside before placing the blunt head of his cock at my entrance.

  “You need this, huh, Skittle? You want me to fuck you hard, don’t you? Are you turned on at the thought of getting caught? After all, anyone could be walking by.”

  I almost whimper, but catch myself just in time, nodding instead once more. I’m so turned on I don’t even know what I’m saying yes to anymore.

  “Your wish is my command,” he growls before surging inside me, stretching me to my limits. My head drops back, banging against the mirror as the wickedness of the situation makes everything so much more illicit.

  He holds still for a moment, giving me time to adjust before slowly pulling almost all the way out, then thrusting back inside again. He picks up his pace, hitting the spot inside me that makes my legs tremble and my eyes cross. Sensing the difficulty I’m having staying on my feet, Asher pulls out, ignoring my whimper of protest.

  “Such a naughty girl,” he tsks, sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting down a little in punishment. “Now be good,” he warns. Asher spins me around and bends me over so my hands can grip the seat of the chair.

  I only have a second to orient myself before he's driving back inside me, over and over, hard and fast, just the way I like it.

  “So fucking good,” he grunts, the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin ringing out around the small room, making me worry we really will get caught, but I can’t deny how hot I am at the prospect of it.

  “Touch yourself, Skittle. Slide your fingers between your legs. I’m close, but I’m not coming without you. I want to feel you squeeze me tight when you come all over my cock,” he grits out as he slams into me again and again.

  I do as he asks, his feverish words not a request but a demand. It doesn't take much, just a couple of swirls of my fingers over my engorged clit before I throw my head back and cry out, the sound only muffled by the panties in my mouth. I clamp my pussy around his cock, just like he wants, milking him as tremors wrack my body. Moments later, I feel him erupt inside me, and he silences his roar by biting my neck in a total alpha move.

  “Holy fuck, it just keeps getting better and better with you,” he whispers reverently, making me smile lazily.

  I blush when he pulls free, feeling his essence run out of me and soak the crotch of the panties that have now slid back into place, capturing his essence with mine. Pulling me up and turning me to face him once more, he taps my cheek with his thumb in a silent command. I open my mouth, and like a magician performing his final act, he slowly pulls the scrap of fabric free. He lowers his hands, and I’m riveted as he uses the panties to clean himself up before tucking his cock back inside his pants and zipping up.

  “What you do to me,” he states quietly, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile as he hooks his fingers in my underwear and slips them down my legs.

  I grip his shoulders as he bends and helps me step out of them. He looks up at me, then before I can protest, he uses the silky material to clean me up before slipping both pairs of soiled panties into his pocket. I flush, wondering what the hell I’m going to tell Mrs. Jones now. He must know what I’m thinking because a wicked smile takes over his face, causing my stomach to cramp with need despite him having just fucked me.

  “I’ll take care of the clothes, just get dressed,” he tells me with a wink, collecting the underwear off the chair, the tags for the set I had on, and then the three dresses from the door. “I’ll meet you by the counter. Don’t be long.” He pulls the door open a little and slides out, careful not to expose my nakedness in case anyone is lurking about.

  Closing the door behind him, I lean my forehead against the wood, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. Did we really just do that? The dampness between my legs is a reminder that yes, we really did. I don’t know what’s going on with me lately, but I seem to be doing a lot of things that are out of character since Asher came into my life.

  “Ah, Mrs. Jones.” I listen to Asher’s voice carry across the store.

  I can hear a soft reply but not her actual words.

  “Everything is perfect. We will take everything. And that champagne lace underwear set? We’ll take a set in every color,” he tells her, making my skin flush with embarrassment when she laughs knowingly in response.

  I’m going to kill him.

  Twenty-Four

  Asher

  “Nice of you to wait for me, dickhead,” I grunt at Graham as I sit in the chair opposite his in the exclusive restaurant, Ella’s. It’s surprisingly quiet considering it’s lunchtime and one of the hottest places to be seen at the moment.

  “It's coffee, not steak. Besides, I ordered you one, so get over yourself. Where's the wife?”

  “She’ll be here in twenty minutes. Davis said they got stuck in traffic, thanks to an accident. Where's Soraya?”

  “She had to clean the closet for the sixtieth time. I've read that baby book. The nesting phase is not supposed to be for another few months, but when I mentioned that to her, she threw the book at me, so I shut up.”

  I snort at that. I can just imagine how that conversation went. “Telling a pregnant woman what she should or shouldn't be feeling? I don't know if you're brave or insane,” I reply, thanking the waitress when my coffee is placed on the table in front of me.

  “Maybe both. Enough about my woman, let's talk about yours,” he counters with a grin.

  “What about her?” I ask him, sipping my drink.

  “Well, I admit, I had my reservations about this, and yes, before you say anything, I know it was my idea to begin with. But since when do you ever listen to me? My point is, you look more relaxed than usual and far less anal. It seems your wife has achieved the impossible and removed the stick from your ass.” He laughs, making m
e scowl.

  “You have zero room to talk, my friend. We both know that Soraya and Chloe were the ones to soften your edges. Your reputation for being an insufferable prick was worse than mine. Just ask one of your ex-secretaries,” I joke, taking another sip of coffee to hide my smirk.

  “Oh, I will when she gets here.” He snorts, making me shake my head in annoyance.

  “Face it, we are both pussy whipped, but what I want to know is how she reacted to all this. From what little you’ve said, she’s adjusted well. I can’t imagine Soraya being as forgiving if I turned up out of the blue a year after I fucked her good then fucked her over, demanding she play my wife for three months. She must really want that new apartment you promised her. Tell me, does she even know how much you're worth? It seems to me she’ll be shooting herself in the foot by not asking for more.” He laughs, but this time I don’t join in.

  “It's not like that, Graham. This isn’t about Peterson's deal. I want this marriage to work out and so does she,” I admit quietly.

  He stops laughing and stares at me, judging my seriousness before nodding. “Then good for you. So, is there anything I should avoid, any pitfalls to watch out for when talking to her? It's not like she and I have a stellar relationship to fall back on, and I don’t want to fuck this up by putting my foot in my mouth,” he points out, making me frown.

  “She's not your secretary anymore, Graham, so you do not need to be a dick to her. Besides, Soraya won't be happy if I knock your teeth out, pretty boy, and I would really hate to upset your fiancée.”

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. I doubt the whole time Linda worked for him that he offered her two words of kindness.

  “Whatever, just tell me if there is anything you don’t want me to mention.”

  I swallow and open my mouth before snapping it shut, feeling uncomfortable

  “Asher,” Graham groans, clearly reading on my face that something isn’t right.

  “What?” I play dumb, scrambling over what to say.

  “Tell me you’ve told her what's going on,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody is within hearing distance.

  “Look, this might have started because of the resort, but it's not like that now. It's so much more. I want what you and Soraya have. Fuck, I'm not getting any younger. I want a kid or two before it's too late. And Linda, well, she's different from any other woman I've met.” I rub a hand over my face.

  “You mean she's not vapid, doesn't suck cock for money, and isn’t looking to trade you in for a ninety-year-old billionaire with a bad cough?” he snarks.

  “Jesus, and you think I'm jaded,” I remark with a shake of my head.

  “I'm not jaded, I’m a realist, but I'm curious about what the hell you think is going to happen when this comes out because it inevitably will. Shit like this always does,” he warns. He's not wrong, but I've never had so much at stake before.

  “I’m going to tell her, but I need our relationship to have a stronger foundation first. I need her to listen to me, not run for the hills when she finds out that I didn’t necessarily start this with the purest of intentions.”

  “Yes, that sounds like a plan. Let's make her trust you so there is something between you to break.” He rolls his eyes at my stupidity. “Honestly, Asher, if you tell her now, there’ll be less to forgive, but if you wait until later? I don't know, man, that would mean you actively lied to her for the duration of your relationship. Tell me, is she likely to forgive you for that?”

  I listen to what he’s saying and know he's right. I have to talk to her sooner rather than later before this whole thing snowballs out of control. I'd rather take her anger than her pain.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I'll talk to her. For lunch, though, just stick to neutral subjects. She doesn’t actually know anything about the Peterson deal or why I sought her out, so until I can talk to her about it, that's how it needs to stay.”

  “Fucking hell, Asher, when you said she didn’t know the details, I didn’t realize she didn’t know anything at all. She's been living with you for six weeks now. What are you doing that stops you from talking about this with her?” he asks incredulously.

  I smile at him wickedly, vividly remembering sliding into my wife this morning before work. “I don't know what you and Soraya get up to, but Linda and I have far more enticing things to do than talk.” I grin smugly.

  “Yeah, let's see if you’re singing the same tune in a few weeks,” he grunts.

  “Look, I—” I stop talking when I see the doors open and Linda appears in the doorway looking gorgeous in a plain white sundress that pulls tight over her chest and then falls loosely to the floor. On her feet are a pair of black flip-flops like you’d likely get at a dollar store, and her hair is down, lying in curls that frame her face and tumbling over her shoulders.

  A dozen silver bangles cover her wrists, but that's the only jewelry she wears, and with all her tattoos on display, it's more than enough. She doesn't need anything else to enhance her beauty.

  “Here she is. Behave, dickhead,” I warn Graham, standing so Linda can see me.

  She smiles, then walks toward me, frowning when she sees the back of Graham’s head. I failed to mention to her that Graham was joining us for lunch, figuring she would come up with an excuse to get out of it.

  “Hey, Skittle. We were just getting ready to order some food. You remember Graham, right?”

  She freezes before turning ever so slowly to face him with a fake brittle smile on her face.

  “How could I possibly forget?” she questions, her tone saccharine sweet.

  Graham stands, all-natural swagger and I don't give a fuck attitude, fixing his glare on Linda before offering her his hand.

  She looks at it like it's covered in flesh-eating maggots.

  “Nice to see you again, Laura,” the dickhead says, making me sigh.

  I really should have known better.

  “I wish I could say the same thing, asshat,” she answers, shaking his hand briefly before letting go.

  I laugh at her words, enjoying the bemused look on Graham's face.

  “That serves you right,” I tell him, but Linda just stares at me.

  “You have no room to talk, Mr. Sloan. If I had known you were meeting with the devil, I would have taken a raincheck and left you two alone to talk business.”

  I smile at her, knowing I’ll likely pay for this later. “It's not a business lunch, Skittle, and despite the fact that Graham is acting like a giant douche, he is my best friend and business partner. I want you guys to get along.”

  She reaches over and cups my jaw, her bangles clinking together loudly.

  “It's sweet that you believe in miracles, Asher. Tell me, do you still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?” she sasses, making Graham snort.

  “Oh, come on, we can be civil to each other for poor old Asher here, right, Laura?” He smirks, offering Linda a fake as fuck olive branch.

  “I suppose this is true. If your girlfriend can fake it, I'm sure I can too.”

  “Hey, now!” he gripes, but I cut him off before he starts ranting.

  “Now, now, children, play nicely. Let's just order some food and try not to kill each other with our silverware, please?” I scold them lightly.

  Linda looks at me, her big blue eyes trying to melt me with imaginary laser beams before she sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “Fine. Feed me, hubby, and I'll be far less hangry than I am now,” she concedes.

  “You missed breakfast again, didn’t you?” I chastise, but she just shrugs and picks up the menu.

  “Skittle, I get that once you start painting, you get sucked in and lose all sense of time. It happens to me all the time at work. But if you ate before you went into your art room, you wouldn't be able to forget, would you?” I rightly point out.

  “Damn men and their logic,” she mutters as a waitress approaches our table.

  All conversation st
ops while we order our food, the waitress scribbling furiously before leaving with a polite smile.

  “So, Laura, how are things in the art world? I have to say, you are certainly more colorful than I remember.” Graham starts the conversation off in that passive-aggressive way of his, making me want to rethink my stance on using the silverware as a weapon.

  “I'm flattered that you remember me at all. I guess that gives you a leg up on my husband at least,” she retorts, causing him throw his head back and laugh.

  “Yes, well, I always was the better man of the two of us,” he adds.

  “And then you had to ruin it by speaking. I see some things never change, huh?”

  “Look, let's just leave the past in the past. I fired you because you were an awful secretary.”

  Linda cuts him off by picking up a bread roll from the center of the table and launching it at his head. “Fire that, asshat. I was an awesome secretary, clue in. The problem wasn't with me or with the billion other secretaries who came through your doors before and after me. The problem is you. Talk about small man syndrome.”

  I muffle her voice by placing a hand over her mouth. “I get it. You guys are like oil and water. You're never going to mix, but for the love of god, can we leave the bloodshed until later. I happen to like this place and would like to come back. And you,” I point at Graham, who tries to look innocent, “stop antagonizing her or I'll buy Chole a drum kit for her birthday and tickets to the next Justin Bieber concert.”

  He glares at me. “Not cool, man, not cool,” he says with a shake of his head but wisely shuts up.

  I slowly move my hand from Linda’s mouth and stare at her in warning, but the little vixen merely rolls her eyes at me.

  “So…Chloe is your daughter, right? I remember reading about it in the newspaper,” Linda asks, making Graham tense.

  All jokes aside, if there is one thing he won't take shit about, it's either of his girls.

  “Yes,” he clips out, reaching for a roll and taking a large bite, effectively attempting to shut down the conversation.