Executive Engagement: A Boardroom to Bedroom Fake Fiancee Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I squeeze it hard, pulling her into me, and that’s enough to turn my cock into a fucking steel rod. I’m so hard right now that I’m actually half-surprised my cock still hasn’t ripped its way out of my pants.

  Before I even know what the fuck I’m doing, I have my hands on her hips, and I’ve pushed her back against the wall. Moving fast, I go down on one knee, my hands sliding down the side of her body.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers, her tone betraying her excitement.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” I ask her, slowly moving my hands from her knees and up her legs.

  As my fingers move underneath the hem of her dress, I notice her trembling slightly, and I swear I can almost feel the electricity running through her body. Before I know it, my fingertips are brushing against the drenched fabric of her thong.

  Sweet fucking mercy, I swear…I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to taste a woman as much as I want to taste her right now. But why settle on the want, when I can actually do it?

  Grabbing her thong, I yank it down her legs and, with a swift movement of my right hand, I lift her dress up. I take a second to enjoy the sigh of her pink pussy lips, and then I just dive into her, parting my lips and pressing them over her wetness.

  Slowly, using my tongue to take her flavor in, I then wrap my lips around her clit and gently suck it in. Circling her clit with my tongue, I take my index finger to her pussy and use it to part her inner lips. Taking my time, I start easing two fingers in, her pussy growing tighter with each inch of her body I conquer.

  “This is just the warm-up—you know that, right?” I tease her, taking a second to pull back from her pussy and look up at her. She throws me a half-baked smile, and then simply goes berserk.

  “Oh, just shut up and keep at it,” she moans, burying her fingers in my hair and forcing me to crush my mouth against her pussy again. Jesus, for a woman as shy as she seemed to be, she sure brings the heat when it comes to sex.

  Sometimes, all a woman needs is someone to tell her that yes, it’s okay to let loose and act crazy. Because, really, who doesn’t love acting crazy when the subject is pleasure?

  Don’t bother answering, it’s a rhetorical question—and I’m too busy right now to hear your answer. Sorry, that’s just the way it goes.

  Still devouring her, I close my eyes and surrender to the moment, her taste acting on my brain faster than any drug would ever do. Yeah, screw drugs—this woman is the only thing I need in my life.

  Oh, man, am I already fucking addicted to her? If I am, it sure is the sweetest addiction anybody could ever have. Sign me up for a daily dosage of this—hell, make it an hourly dosage.

  “So good…so good,” she repeats over and over again, her voice nothing but a purr.

  Swaying her hips, she presses her pussy tight against my mouth, forcing me to go even more viciously. Not one to disappoint a lady, that’s exactly what I do—both my fingers and tongue up the tempo, and next thing I know, her moaning has turned into full blown screaming.

  Just the way I like it.

  “OH MY GOD!” She finally lets it out, the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls and coming back to me in full force.

  I’m not sure how thick the walls of her apartment are, but if I had to bet, I’d say that the neighbors must have a pretty clear image of what’s going on in here. Well, let them be jealous then.

  “That was just the warm-up, remember?” I tell her as I slowly slide my fingers out of her pussy.

  Going back up to my feet, I take my hands to her shoulders and pull the straps of her dress down her arms. I only stop when her dress is bunched up at her feet, and then I remove the last piece of clothing on her body—the bra.

  “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, the words leaving my mouth before I even know what the hell I’ve just said.

  And it’s the truth, you know? I’ve fucked so many women I’ve lost count, but none like Samantha. There’s something about her—it’s like she has this fucking seductive aura.

  “And I want to be the most beautiful woman you’ve ever fucked,” she adds, and there’s so much blood rushing to my cock right now that I’m actually surprised I haven’t fucking passed out.

  Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my entire life.

  “Let’s take care of that then, shall we?” I grin, and then I just pick her up from the floor and into my arms. “Now, where the hell’s the bedroom?”

  Samantha

  This isn’t sex. This is pure magic.

  Sorry if I’m being corny right now, but this...whatever this is, it goes beyond pure sex. The way he works on my body, the way he kisses and holds me…oh my god, I don’t even know how to put it into words.

  As he drops me on top of the bed, I turn into a ferocious animal and simply grab him; with both my hands on his shirt, I yank on it and force all the buttons to pop out, scattering them all around the floor. I push the shirt down his shoulders, and then I take his belt off and push his pants down.

  Wanting the same thing as I do, he kicks off his shoes in a hurry, throwing them to a corner of the room and then steps out of his pants.

  For a second, I almost think my heart has stopped beating. You see, my eyes have found the bulging shape hiding under his boxers, and it’s so damn big that I’m not even sure if my brain can process it.

  Oh, I want him inside of me, and I want it now.

  Clawing at his boxers, I push them down his legs and then don’t waste a single breath; I just lean forward and roll my lips down his length, forcing myself to go all the way down, only stopping when my lips are pressed tight against the skin at the root of his huge member.

  Bobbing my head back and forth, I only stop when I taste his pre-cum. Then, not wanting the party to be over so soon, I take my mouth out of his cock.

  “Fuck, where have you been all of my life?” he asks me, his words so genuine that I don’t even know how to answer his question. So, instead of responding with words, I decide to let my body do the talking. Rolling to the side of the mattress, I go on all fours and wiggle my ass at him, inviting him in.

  “I’m right here,” I purr as he places one hand on my hips, using the other to angle his cock down, its tip now pressed against my pussy.

  Not wanting to waste a single moment, I don’t even wait for him to thrust; I just move my ass back in a hurry, forcing him to slide all of his length inside of me with a single movement.

  “OH, GOD!”

  Honest to God, if you ask me my name right now, I seriously doubt I’d be able to give you a proper answer.

  You think I’m overreacting? Well, in that case, you just never experienced what I’m feeling right now. The way his cock fills me up…oh, it’s more than perfect. A litter of kittens sliding down a rainbow wouldn’t be as perfect as this, let me tell you.

  “You’re so…fucking…tight,” he groans as he starts to thrust, his hips moving at the same rhythm as mine. Our bodies are in complete sync, each of our movements like a well-coordinated dance.

  I know I’ve already told you this, but I’m not the kind of woman that does one-night-stands. The only kind of one-night-standing I do is at work, and that’s because I spend my nights on my feet, working my ass off. But seriously, being with Brad right now makes me think I sure as hell have been missing out!

  Oh, I think I like this new Samantha.

  “Harder!” I beg of him, and he doesn’t hesitate. He rams his whole cock inside of me over and over again, the sound of his hips slapping my ass the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

  It doesn’t take long before I start feeling a maddening pressure inside of me, almost as if my soul was about to explode. Except, when I finally come, it’s not only my soul that explodes…

  It’s my soul, my body, and my mind.

  I let out a vicious scream—one loud enough to shatter glass—and then I just fall face down on the mattress.

  “We’re not done yet,” I hear
him say, and that’s enough to bring me back to life.

  Sitting up, I turn to him and push him down on the mattress. Then I climb on top of him and ease his cock deep inside of me. With my fingernails buried into his naked chest, I start riding him as furiously as I can, beads of sweat pooling on my forehead.

  “I want you…I want you to come,” I tell him, looking straight into his eyes as I feel his cock pulsing hard against my inner walls.

  “If I come…you come,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he just thrusts as hard as is humanly possible.

  “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I shout at the top of my lungs as thunder and lightning explode inside my head. At the same time, I feel his warm seed filling me up, each spasm of his cock feeding the storm that’s raging inside my head.

  “Fuck,” he groans, his fingers buried in my ass cheeks.

  We stay like that for a long time, our bodies lost in an ocean of pleasure, and then I just roll to the side, breathing so hard that I can’t even speak.

  “This was…fucking amazing,” he whispers after a long time, turning to me and laying one hand atop my right breast, his fingers gently caressing my sensitive nipple.

  “It was better than that. So much better.”

  “So, this beats being a workaholic, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does,” I laugh, allowing the hand I have on his chest to go down his body; it only stops when I find his hard twelve-inches, all of his length already waiting for me again. “I guess you’ll turn me into a sex addict instead.”

  “Challenge accepted,” he grins, pulling me into his naked body and kissing me again.

  Challenge accepted, indeed.

  Alexis and WineBar #10

  It was lunch time when WineBar came back into San Francisco and I met him at the Hog Island Oyster Company.

  He ordered me tequila and got himself a Tito’s on the rocks.

  And he handed me a key.

  “It’s to our new house in Miami,” he said. “I rented it and we can move there temporarily while we look for a place.”

  I was stunned.

  “But my parents live here,” I said. “They’re getting older. My family lives here. I have to live here.”

  WineBar and I had talked about this before. I’d told him how I needed to be around my family.

  Family was everything to me.

  My aunts and uncles—many of them worked two jobs just to make ends meet. They couldn’t afford daycare.

  I’d been babysitting my little nieces and nephews for a while.

  I couldn’t just back out of that.

  I had to stay.

  “Don’t you want to be with me?” he asked, getting angry.

  “I do. But can’t you stay here? Is Miami that important?” I asked, tears falling freely.

  “It’s my life that’s over there!”

  “What about it always being me?” I whispered.

  WineBar was silent.

  We stared at each other. Mascara was rolling down my cheeks.

  And he came over and hugged me.

  Kissed the top of my head.

  Then without a word, he turned around and walked away.

  Allana

  I’m so fucking bored. Another day hanging around in my apartment.

  No jobs on the horizon. Not that I need the money, but I need to be fucking stimulated, for fuck’s sake.

  Ten years of modeling, and I’m reduced to this. Keeping my own goddamn company.

  I remember when I moved into this building eight years ago. I was so excited.

  Cash was just falling out of my pockets, and I couldn’t wait to move in with such a hip crowd. Now I find them all mortifyingly annoying.

  Well, most of them.

  My phone does its jingle thing, and I pull myself up from the big white couch. White chairs, white curtains, white everything. Hardwood floors in golden honey and lots of light.

  I love it as much now as I did years ago.

  I’m hoping the phone is a job, but it’s not. It’s Emilia.

  “Hey, babes! How’s it cookin?”

  I’m so happy for any distraction. Fuck, I sound like one of those positive people.

  “Hey,” Emilia says.

  Even through the phone, I can tell she’s upset. Her voice just has that sound to it—like she’s either just finished crying or she’s trying not to start.

  “Wanna go out tonight?” she asks.

  Oh, Jesus, fuck. I’m in over my head now.

  “Evan problems?” I say, picking up one of my magazines for a look-through.

  Excellent black and white shoot. I look incredible. This photographer really knows his shit.

  I thought black and white would wash me out—long, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. He’s a fucking genius of grey tones, though.

  “Not anymore. So are we going out or what?”

  “Nope. Uh-uh. Sorry babe, but you know I can’t support this. You two are being idiots—you know that, right?”

  “He’s being the idiot,” Em argues. “I’m totally justified in every way, not at fault at all—et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh.” I roll my eyes. “Call me when you guys are back together, and we’ll talk.”

  Like, I don’t believe in this soul mate shit, but if there have ever been two people who are meant for each other, it’s those two dummies.

  I pick up the magazine again. I’d like to work with this photographer again. He was awesome, and not just with editing.

  He really knew how to position me so my tits and pussy looked just delicious. I’m getting older now—not that thirty-two is old, no fucking way!—but it certainly helps to have someone that understands angles.

  Three hours of soft touching and instructions, and I couldn’t figure if he was wicked professional or just gay.

  When did I start doing nudes? When all the good face shot jobs got taken.

  When I got told I was ‘too tall’ for a runway. Too tall…ever heard of a model who was too fucking tall? For fuck’s sake.

  It’s not like nudes or porn is difficult. The first one was, for a while.

  It was outside on a cliff near a beach. We went out early to catch the light and because it would be quieter, or so the photographer said.

  Yeah, quieter. Except for the fisherman and the joggers and the drunks waking up.

  None of that mattered, though. Once the cool breeze started stroking me in the dawn light, and I realized I was naked—fucking bare-assed!—out on a cliff getting pictures taken of my gorgeous pussy, I was fucking thrilled.

  Hence the current boredom. Haven’t had a fix in a while.

  I decide to wander down and check my mail. Might be a few magazines or offers.

  I don’t bother changing. Instead, I just throw a cardigan over my grey singlet and slacks. I don’t give a fuck what any of these dicks think of me.

  I’m still on that thought, lingering over the mail, thinking about ignoring the others hard enough. Maybe then they won’t actually say hi to me.

  Who does that anyway? I don’t get people walking around saying hi to people they don’t know.

  From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of dark blue, and my head turns before I can stop it. I get a nice quick look of the tall form, toned butt sliding under the expensive fabric as he goes through the door. He’s on the phone, briefcase in hand, trying to ignore the other occupants as I do.

  Derek. Oh, my fucking god. Derek!

  The only guy I have ever seen tall enough to look me in the eye. Not that we have—I mean, we’ve seen each other, but since we ignore every other creature in the building, it’s not like we say hi.

  He’s got a really hectic schedule. Works for some advertising agency. Hell, he has probably seen my centerfolds.

  I frown, clutching my mail and heading upstairs. Wish I hadn’t thought of that.

  I’m confident as hell, and I love my job. I don’t bow to anybody, and I don’t accept judgments from society about an
ything I do.

  But that Derek. He’s hot. I heard he does four hours a day at the gym, as well as twelve-hour work days.

  He will more than likely marry some picture-perfect princess who wears elegant flowery dresses and big, wide-brimmed hats, someone who smiles sweetly when random people say hi.

  A guy like that doesn’t need a modeling reject. Why would he? He can see it all for free in one of my centerfolds.

  Just thinking about his deep blue eyes roving over the pages of my centerfolds gets me wet.

  Where does he look first? What does he want to touch the most? Even if he wouldn’t marry me, would he still fuck me?

  Derek

  I’m late for fucking work again.

  This shits me seriously. I must have slept through my alarm. I know I’ve been working too hard.

  I’m so fucking pissed off with myself. So much so that I consider not going in.

  I closed a sixty million dollar deal yesterday. Imagine what the commission is on that.

  I made a deal with myself, though. Work like a dog for five years. Then buy that yacht and sail…and sail fucking anywhere.

  No more city, no more stress.

  I have more than enough money now. That’s not what’s pushing me out the door. The drive is the kill, the close.

  Knowing my ideas are better. My mouth is quicker. My instincts are spot on, at all times.

  There’s nothing like utterly slaughtering the competition in the board room.

  So I hurry. I’m on the phone as I hit the bottom of the stairs, but I’m distracted from my conversation for a few seconds when I see Allana at the mail boxes.

  Even though I’m late, I slow down so my eyes can linger over her body as I go through the foyer.

  Fuck me. She looks fucking incredible.

  Soft white slacks that hug her just right. Long dark hair. Most women don’t wear their hair that long anymore—right down to her ass.

  And what an ass she has. Her top half drapes in a soft, wavy way. It hangs off her angles and curves, accenting her instead of hiding her.