Executive Engagement: A Boardroom to Bedroom Fake Fiancee Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Pure fantasy with no chance of ever becoming a reality.

  After all, it’s not like Felix Fitzgerald is about to show up at my front door.

  Felix

  She leaves her window immediately after I cum all over mine.

  Fuck.

  That’s not what I wanted to happen. That’s not what I wanted her to do at all.

  What I wanted her to do was to give up the fucking charade.

  I want her. She wants me. I came all over my fucking window for her!

  How much clearer of a love letter can I send?

  Other than literally coming into an envelope and mailing it to her with my apartment key enclosed, of course. Which, I’m not even ruling out at this point.

  Fuck!

  This is the opposite of what I wanted. Apparently, coming all over your window for a woman isn’t exactly the way to her heart—and my fucking housekeeper is going to hate me now, too.

  The worst part is, I’m not even spent yet. I left a substantial load smeared across the antique panes of glass for the babe in the Bradford, but it’s nothing compared to the load I’ve got left in my balls for her.

  I’m horny.

  I’m hot.

  And remembering the look on her gorgeous face while she watched me come…

  That just makes me hard all over again.

  I need her. Her, and no one else.

  They say actors are just spoiled assholes who need an audience, and in this case, maybe that’s even true. The babe in the Bradford is my audience. And now, I might’ve lost her for good.

  I need to think fast—so I do.

  Actors aren’t the dumb bastards the media likes to portray us to be.

  We’re smart fuckers when we need to be—maybe not book smart, but people smart.

  We like to be seen, but we’re also keen observers in our own right.

  We’re the mirror that society holds up to itself, reflecting the emotions of the world back at it with a lens flare and a crescendo-ing soundtrack. So when the babe at the Bradford watches me come, I recognize the look on her face.

  Fear.

  I restrain my cock with the fly of my jeans, slip on some shoes, and grab my keys. I already know her apartment number. I’ve counted the floors up and the windows over.

  Now, it’s just a matter of getting there in time.

  But when I come to her door and knock, she doesn’t fucking answer.

  Shit.

  This is on me—I shouldn’t have pushed her. What we had was fucking special, alright? And now I know for a fact that I’ve gone and fucking blown it.

  Literally.

  But then, I hear a tiny, sexy gasp and the jingle of keys falling to the floor.

  “Felix Fitzgerald.”

  The most perfect set of lips I’ve ever seen mouths my name from behind me as I turn to greet her with a smile.

  “Always good to meet a fan,” I say, smooth as can fucking be.

  Then I do the only thing that seems right in the moment.

  I unzip my fly and unleash the fucking beast.

  “No,” she gasps when she sees my cock. Her pretty little hand presses against her left breast, just over her heart, and her mouth falls open in a blowjob-ready little O.

  “Yes,” I tell her. Perfect fucking reaction. “Now, are you gonna get on your knees and suck it already, or am I gonna have to make you?”

  It takes an entire second. The longest second that’s ever existed in the history of time.

  First, my heart sinks. A flash of hesitation crosses her eyes.

  She’s going to say no.

  Then, my heart rises like the sun over the New York skyline.

  And my cock gets even fucking harder.

  She launches herself at me, and my cock is down her tight, hot throat before she can even get out that single, perfect fucking word.

  Yes.

  I toss my head back, letting my shoulders rest against her door.

  This. This is what I’ve fucking wanted. This is what I’ve been posing in front of my window with a stiffy and a disregard for pants all this time for.

  It wasn’t the thrill of being seen, as it turns out. It wasn’t even the joy of brainwashing her pretty little head with my perfect fucking cock. It was knowing that someday, her mouth would me mine.

  Her mouth…and more.

  She sucks me off like she was born for it. Maybe she fucking was. I don’t know what the babe at the Bradford does when she’s not staring at my cock, but I know damn well what her mouth was made for.

  Pleasure. Pure and simple.

  I’m a handsome man, and she’s a fine-ass woman.

  Simplest fucking dynamic in the world.

  “God,” I moan, feeling the warmth of her throat clenching around my twelve-inch dick. “Your name, beautiful. Tell me your fucking name.”

  She squeezes me out of her throat, a glistening rope of saliva and precum connecting my tip to her lips. It’s like now that we’ve finally come together, our bodies can’t bear to be apart for a single fucking moment.

  “Quinn,” she tells me, and my cock fucking throbs in response.

  The babe at the Bradford.

  Quinn.

  “Invite me in,” I command.

  I run my thumb across her lower lip, separating my cock from her lips…for now. She sucks my thumb into her mouth instead, and I nearly cum all over her face then and there.

  “Invite me in,” I say again. “I want to see what else this sexy fucking body of yours can do.”

  Quinn

  “I’ve been watching you,” Felix fucking Fitzgerald snarls against my lips.

  I nearly laugh.

  Felix fucking Fitzgerald has been watching me?

  I’ve been watching him. His dumb action movies. A few of his dramas, even.

  I even have tickets with a few of my girlfriends to see his Broadway play next month.

  And apparently, I haven’t just been watching him professionally, either.

  As he pushes me back onto my couch, that much becomes readily apparent once again.

  The dick at the Birmingham.

  I could recognize that bad boy with my eyes closed.

  But if you would have told me that the dick at the Birmingham belonged to Felix fucking Fitzgerald…

  Yeah, no. I would have laughed in your fucking face.

  He moves over to me, stepping out of his jeans. He lost his shirt at some point in the make-out session that ensued in the time it took us to get to my living room from my front door.

  His cock—his gorgeous, perfect dick—is clenched in his fist. It looks harder than ever, and it’s looking right at me.

  I know what comes next.

  The screaming.

  The thrusting.

  The moaning of each other’s names while he presses his manhood between the dewy, delicate petals of my musky flower.

  All that bullshit.

  Instead, he says it again:

  “I’ve been watching you for way too fucking long, babe.” And then: “Show me that ass.”

  I do it, too. I don’t even think twice. Thinking twice is for people who don’t know what the fuck they want, and I know exactly what’s on my wish list right now: him.

  “God,” Felix purrs as I position myself on the couch, doggy-style. He grabs the meat of my ass and spreads my cheeks, which makes me damn glad that I’ve been hitting the gym lately. “What a perfect fucking ass.”

  I could tell him the same about his frankly, but I don’t. That’s the thing about fucking a movie star, I’m quickly discovering. They always seem to know their next line.

  And me? I’m pretty sure if I talk to him right now, I’d be going off script.

  “I’ve been dreaming about this ass of yours, Quinn.” He smacks it like it’s done him wrong, and while I don’t have anything to say about that revelation either, I do manage to moan for him. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard this ass makes me?”

  I don’t, actually—not until he sh
ows me. Felix positions himself behind me on the couch and presses his cock against my ass.

  He’s so fucking hard.

  A diamond would fucking tremble.

  I hiss as he presses the tip against the tight pucker of my ass.

  I want it. I want it bad. He’s huge and hard and thick and throbbing, and I don’t even care.

  I’m going to let Felix fucking Fitzgerald do whatever he wants with me.

  Anal included.

  Anal with Felix fucking Fitzgerald?

  You bet your ass I will.

  But just before he takes me…he stops, grabs me by the throat from behind and presses a wet kiss against my ear.

  “No,” he growls. “Not here.”

  And that’s how I end up naked against my bedroom window with Felix Fitzgerald’s dick in my ass.

  He gives it to me nice and slow at first, holding my waist with one hand and his cock with the other. He feeds it to me inch by inch while my nipples press against the window pane and my every breath comes more ragged than the last.

  “Goddamn,” he grunts. “So this is what it looks like for you, huh?”

  “Mmmmm,” I say back, because that’s how far I’ve gotten to actually talking to this dude so far.

  “Look at you, you fucking tart. Is this where you’ve been watching me from, Quinn? I know you’ve been looking…Christ, you’ve been staring at my dick for the better part of a year now. Did you think you were going to get all of that for free?”

  He rams into me. We’re not doing the nice and easy thing anymore.

  He’s going mean and hard and—fuck.

  I like that even better.

  “I’ve seen the way you looked at me, Quinn. Like a dirty fucking slut who needs to be taught a lesson. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?”

  I blink twice then gasp as Felix’s palm connects with my ass again. He thrusts his cock a little deeper, and the moment that his slap reverberates against my skin, I clench up and pull him deeper.

  “That’s it. Good slut. Good whore.”

  His hand smooths down my back now, making me shiver. Behind me, his hips are finding a rhythm as he eases the last few inches inside me.

  It feels fucking amazing.

  It feels like flying and falling and orgasming all at once.

  And when he finally gets himself all the way into my ass? Balls fucking deep?

  Then it’s like every moment of the last year crashes together all at once.

  “YES!” I scream. “FUCK MY ASS, FELIX FITZGERALD! FUCK IT LIKE YOU FUCKING MEAN IT! MAKE ME YOUR FUCKING WHORE!”

  I hear him chuckle as I lose it. I’m going crazy against him, bucking my hips to try and force his rhythm faster. Moaning against the windowpane where pretty much anyone across the street at the Birmingham can see.

  Orgasming—oh god, I’m totally fucking orgasming.

  I’ve never felt so happy in my fucking life…and that’s before he reaches around to stroke my clit while he takes my neck in his teeth.

  After—hours and fucking hours after—we’re lying in my bed together, totally spent. I’ve got my cheek against his thigh with his cock right there—up close and personal. Any closer, and he’d be inside me all over again.

  We smell like sex and victory, and I’ve just finished telling him how insane he’s made me. The better part of a year with nothing exciting in my life but spending money and staring at his dick? Any girl would have gone mad in my place.

  “Have you ever thought about getting into film, babe?” he asks, brushing hair away from my face.

  “I can’t act,” I laugh.

  “I don’t believe that. But if you wanted a new business…”

  I smile at his cock. “A film studio? Don’t you get enough work without fucking your producers, babe?”

  “Mmm. I do, in fact. But it’s a different type of film studio that I have in mind. Have you ever heard of…the male gaze?”

  I kiss his thigh as he tells me all about it.

  A female-focused film studio…

  I don’t just love his dick now, I realize.

  He’s got a pretty sexy mind, too.

  It’s exactly the kind of way I’ve always felt that life and art should both play out…

  If you don’t like the story…

  Change it.

  Alexis and WineBar #6

  “What kind of wine would you like to order?” the guy sitting across from me at dinner asked.

  We were sitting at Rue 57 and I was trying my best not to roll my eyes.

  I mean, it had been like six days and I was determined to get out of the funk that I was in.

  I tried to start dating. Black YSL with Louboutins that would make heads turn.

  The Tiffany bracelet with the infinity logo.

  A bagful of all the Sephora I could afford.

  I walked down Fifth Avenue with a sway to my hips and a glint in my eye.

  I was on the prowl.

  But I had already been caught.

  In San Francisco.

  So when the guy I was set up with asked me what kind of wine I’d like, I only thought about how WineBar would order for me. How if he didn’t approve, he’d order something else.

  And where did that leave me?

  Thinking about his cock inside of me.

  I thought about the time he made me crawl on the floor. I crawled over to him and he took his pants off. Then he held me by the hair and fucked my face.

  Afterwards, he tied my wrists to my ankles and made me curl up into a little ball.

  He took off his belt and spanked me with it.

  I came. Over and over.

  And I realized that I could try and fly as far as I wanted, but I’d never run away from WineBar.

  That Tiffany bracelet with the infinity logo? He had bought it for me.

  It was time to go back.

  That night, after dinner, I didn’t go back to the boring dude’s apartment.

  I went to JFK.

  Let whatever fate had stored for us have its way with me.

  Alexander

  “What is this bullshit?”

  “The Bradford.”

  “I know it’s the damn Bradford. But what the hell are we doing here?”

  I glance at the building in front of us again, take another swig of the whisky bottle I’m holding, and wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

  “So?” I ask, not impressed by their choice of venue.

  Sure, The Bradford is nice and all, but this is my fucking birthday. These guys should be dragging my ass to the sleaziest strip club in town, not to some upscale Manhattan building.

  I mean, come the fuck on! We’re three young men making money hand over fist with every concert we do, and there are thousands of willing fans in Manhattan alone. Why am I not making out with the hottest model in a one-hundred mile radius while keeping the groupies at bay with a fucking sword?

  “It’s your birthday, man,” Mike tells me, looking at Chris and grinning suspiciously. They’re both as drunk as a goldfish in a vodka bowl (nothing new there), and there’s something about the way they’re eyeing me that I simply don’t like.

  “I know it’s my birthday. What I don’t know is what the hell we’re doing here,” I repeat, waving my whisky bottle at the Bradford. “I see no girls, and I see no liquor. Your idea of a good time is a fucking twisted one, that much I can tell you.”

  “No faith in us, huh?” Chris asks dramatically.

  “None.”

  Shit, I hope these guys didn’t buy me a fucking apartment. I know I’m turning thirty and shit, but there’s no way they’re gonna kick me out of the tour bus. The damn thing is a pussy-magnet on wheels, complete with a fully stocked bar and a fucking full-time chef.

  Yeah, let’s not even call it a bus—it’s more of a mansion you can drive around the country.

  It’s fine if you feel impressed. I mean, even I’m impressed sometimes. It’s not like I ever expected to be filthy rich while
having thousands upon thousands of adoring fans all over the world.

  You see, I was never voted “most likely to succeed” in high school. I was just your garden variety nerd.

  I know, I know—you’re used to seeing me up on the stage, right?

  Fancy leather jacket, ragged jeans, forearms covered in sick tattoos, and melting everyone’s panties with my guitar. That’s me, alright. But that wasn’t me twelve years ago.

  I had glasses, no tattoos, and I used to play the fucking tuba. How did I go from that to being voted Sexiest Man of the Year? (By three different publications...not that I’m bragging or anything.)

  It’s pretty simple: heartbreak.

  I react poorly when bad stuff happens. So when my eighteen-year old heart was broken, something else inside me broke as well. I smashed the fucking tuba, moved cities, picked up the guitar…and poured my fucking heart into the music.

  My fingers bled for months. Next thing I knew I had Mike and Chris with me, and we were crushing it. Seriously, I don’t know who chased us the most—the fans or the record labels.

  So, yeah, that’s me—Alexander Reeves, asshole galore. Just in case you’ve been living under a rock or something.

  “So, this is what you’re going to do,” Evan starts, reaching for me and taking the whisky bottle out of my hands.

  “You’re gonna get out of the limo,” he continues, straightening my jacket, “you’re gonna walk up to the building, and then you’re gonna ask the doorman for a certain Katherine Collins.”

  No.

  No fucking way.

  “Uh-uh,” I say, shaking my head. Leaning forward, I tap the partition separating us from the driver.

  “Driver, get us out of—” I start, but Chris and Mike just push me back and pin me to the fucking seat.

  “Do I need to repeat myself, man?” Chris asks with a sigh, although I know for a certainty he’s going to repeat himself. “You’re gonna get out of the limo, and you’re gonna get your ass inside the Bradford.”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind? There’s no way I’m going in there and ask for…her.”

  Jesus fuck, I can’t even say her name.

  “Yes, you are,” they both tell me at the same time, and the look on their faces tells me they’ll kick me out of the limo if I refuse to cooperate.