His Virgin Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Kara Hart

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Out,” I say. “I’m meeting Renata at the Biltmore, at noon. Then, who knows? Maybe I’ll go to a movie.”

  “You have work,” he says, dumbfounded. He takes a bite of toast and sets it down, getting crumbs all over his freshly dry-cleaned suit. “Dammit,” he sighs.

  “I’m not feeling well today. I called out,” I lie. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what you think. I’m doing what I feel like. Isn’t that what you did when you stuck your little dick in that woman?”

  He turns red and silent again. There’s no rebuttal, just pure anger. I grab his toast and take a bite. I walk out into the spring air and it feels good. The cold is finally starting to break. It feels like change.

  I glance back before shutting the door. “Have a good day,” I say, meaning it. There might be malice, but at the end of the day, I don’t hate the man. I just want to live a separate life. Thank God, we don’t have any kids…

  A ten minute drive and a few cigarettes at the stop light, I’m blasting the top 40’s and I’m singing loud. I never do this because I can’t sing worth a damn. Today is different. I’ve got an hour and a half to spare and I want to feel something real for once.

  The song’s long crescendo extends out into a synthesizer-fueled pop hit. I know this one. It’s just about to go into a heavy “drop,” straight into the smashing chorus, when… Smack!

  …a fucking car smashes into the back of my bumper. I hear it crunch, like a bag of potato chips. Only, this is metal and this will cost thousands of dollars. I get out of my once-polished Corolla and glance at the damage.

  “Oh, no,” I sigh. “Fuck.” Darrin is going to kill me. Not only that, but this gives him a leg up in the argument right now.

  It doesn’t look good. The whole bumper is just hanging off the back end. When I drive away, it’ll drag across the street. It would be comical if it wasn’t me who’s going through this.

  “Are you alright?” I hear a deep voice ask me. I feel the touch of a heavy hand against my forearm. “Miss?” There’s a slight accent to his voice, but it’s not heavy. British. I look to my left and recoil when I realize this guy just ruined my car and gave my husband a leg up on me.

  “You hit me!” I blurt out the obvious. “I can’t believe you hit my car.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he says. I get a better look at him. He’s hot. No, he’s perfectly chiseled, like an old painting. No, like James Dean. Oh, he’s better than James Dean, dammit. He’s wearing a blue button down and it’s barely even buttoned. His chest and abs peek out from the center and I cannot stop staring. Quickly, I remove my ring and put it in my pocket.

  “I’ll pay, obviously,” he says. “I’m kind of a moron today. I haven’t been thinking straight.”

  “I, uh,” I start stuttering. I can’t form any damn sentences. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s just a man. He’s just a smoking hot, hunk of a man, who’s perfect in every damn way. Okay, I’ve got to get myself together!

  “You’re in shock. I’ve really done myself in this time, haven’t I?” he smiles and I nearly faint. His smile is so cute, yet there’s a dark side to it. He looks like he might turn on you at any second, like he’ll pick you up, throw you around, and fuck the life out of you. It’s exactly what Darrin doesn’t do for me.

  “No, you’re fine.” I smile. I shake myself out of my lustful behavior. “But it’s pretty bad. I’m going to have to replace the whole bumper.”

  “An easy fix, no doubt,” he says. I look at his car. It’s a Bentley, or one of those Rolls Royce. I really don’t know my cars, but it’s obvious he has some extra money. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for everything. Every little scratch. How do you want to do this? I’d rather not call the police.”

  “No, I guess we shouldn’t. My insurance doesn’t need any extra ticks,” I sigh. “I don’t know. How can I get ahold of you?”

  “I have a business card,” he smiles and reaches into his wallet. “It’s my direct number. It has my address on it too, in case you’re worried I’ll skip out on paying you back.”

  He hands me his card. It reads: THE BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE: WALKER HAMBELL. I don’t question him about it, but it seems a bit weird. The boyfriend experience? Is that some sort of music project? “I’ll call you,” I say, staring at the card with a slight curiosity.

  “Please do,” he says. “Call me tomorrow if you’d like. I’m expecting a paycheck and I’m free all day.”

  “Will do,” I smile.

  “Well, goodbye,” he says. We’re standing so close that I can smell his cologne. I can feel the warmth from his body. I gulp down awkwardly and try to breathe without rushing it. There is a split second when I start to wonder if we’re going to start making out passionately in the middle of the intersection.

  “Hey lady! Get out of the fucking road!” someone yells as they angrily speed around us.

  “Oh,” I hesitate and realize this Walker guy is already walking back to his car. I turn around and get in mine, starting my engine. I finish the drive, but I don’t get out of the car just yet. Renata can wait.

  I feel… horny as fuck. It’s crazy to even say that. Me, a married woman. But Darrin treats me like shit and it’s just about to be over. That man. Walker Hambell. I look at his card again and feel my heart start to pound.

  The boyfriend experience? This is something I both want to know about and stay away from. It’s only when I lift up the center of my dress that I realize my panties are soaking wet. Dear lord.

  Walker

  I watch carefully as she gets into her car. The bottom of her dress caresses her wide hips, balancing just right as her ass rocks back and forth. I gulp down hard, feeling the click at the back of my throat. What do I want from her? I want to dive under that dress. I want her to sit on my fucking face. I want to pound that sweet pussy into submission. There are quick images in my mind of my hand around her tits, throat, gripping her ass. God, there’s so much I want to do to that woman.

  Funny enough, none of this was planned. It’s just the way things worked out. I went to change the bloody song on the radio and, boom, her bumper is completely destroyed. It’s rather funny actually. My car has barely a scratch.

  I drive to my next client’s house and park near her driveway. I glance in the mirror to make sure everything looks right. First, the hair. Next, the shirt. Lastly, the teeth.

  Everything has to look perfect for these women. Tonight should be easy, however. I’ve been out with this woman before. No sex demanded. Just some woman who lost her husband the year prior. I never pry too much into their past. I don’t care to, really. For me, it’s just about the money. I don’t need to know or do anything extra.

  I walk up to the door, but I can’t get myself to ring the doorbell. That woman I hit earlier. She’s invading my fucking mind. Now, I can’t get her out of my head. She must’ve been twenty-eight or so. Clearly, she was married. I saw her remove her ring with haste. She wants me. That much is obvious. The question is, will she call? The good ones never do. I’m always stuck with the crazy clientele. God, and I handed her my card. The whole thing is embarrassing.

  “Walker, dear! So glad you could make it.” Loretta Dawkins, my date tonight, smiles. She’s wearing her classic pearl necklace, an obvious sexual innuendo.

  “Darling Dawkins,” I smile. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

  The things I have to say. It’s beginning to gnaw it me. This job can be too much at times. I want to go home. I want to step into the shower. I want stroke my thick cock and think about what that woman would look like with her mouth wide open. I want to see what she’d look like bent down, thighs out to the side, while her ass is square to the ground. I have the perfect fucking image in my head. I feel my cock twitch against the front of my pants.

  “Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” Loretta says. She’s forty-five. Not old, but not young either. In either case, she’s not my type.

  Anyway, the details aren’t imp
ortant with this woman. She invites me in, pours me a few drinks, and asks me if I’m ready to go. I am in fact ready to leave. The party tonight is a friend of a friend of a friend of hers. She claims, “Our husbands were good friends of one another.” But I can already tell she’s nervous by the way she’s drinking.

  In fact, when we finally do leave, she’s shoveled down three vodka tonics and she’s slurring half of her words. Three thousand dollars. That’s how much I’m getting for this. It’s not bad for about eight hours. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for. That, or even less.

  We pull into the Grand Hotel and I give the valet my keys. I hold the door open like a gentleman and reminisce about London with her for a bit. These are the parts of the job I tend to enjoy because it’s fun to make up stories. The truth of my life is that I grew up very poor in London. There were no weekend trips up north to go hunting with the hounds. Nor were there any galas with the Prince.

  No, my life has been rife with twists and turns that would ruin any woman’s night. I grew up hard, as they say in America. I grew up on the fucking streets. My father ran out on my mum almost five months into the pregnancy. I never met the bastard. My mother? Well, she was just scraping by on crumbs. I vowed never to live like either of them. I promised myself I would live a free and carefree life, in America, the land of opportunities.

  The party is fairly big, with over two hundred guests. How a woman has that many friends is beyond me, but I lavish in the free caviar, mussels, and wine. “Open wide!” Loretta exclaims, before stuffing in a square of cheese.

  “You’re spoiling me. Really.” I smile and kiss her cheek.

  “Oh, how I love to spoil you,” she laughs. “Come, I want you to meet some people.”

  She’s much older than most of the guests. I scan the room, hoping to meet some influential people. Someday, I always think, I’ll get out of this business and enter politics. Anyway, it’s the same job when you think about it. Going out with people you don’t really enjoy, laughing at awkward jokes at parties, and falling asleep with the knowledge that you’ll always get what you want.

  I bask in the thought a little. I mean, everyone has to have a dream. Just when I smile, do I see her. It’s that woman from the intersection. The woman of my fucking dreams. She sees me out of the corner of her eyes and quickly avoids eye contact. “What the fuck?” I whisper. Why is she being so cold?

  “What was that?” Loretta asks. We’ve now entered the social center of Loretta’s life. The table is a few older women, sitting around, laughing about their husbands. Oh, how silly their husbands all are. How stupid they all are. I’ve heard it a million times and frankly, I’m tuning the conversation out.

  I can’t stop staring. I don’t give a damn how crazy I look. After a few minutes, her eyes start to dart in my direction. At first, she tries to play it cool. Then, she can’t stop looking over. She blushes, but then her expression turns to annoyance. Honestly, I’m only staring at one thing: that body of hers.

  My cock is already hard. I can’t help it. I keep wondering how her skin would feel against my palm and thighs as I’m pumping her, or how her tits might look. It’s the minor details that make a real difference to me. I look at the curve of her thighs. She’s wearing one of those black dresses that cut alongside the legs. Her bottom half drives me fucking wild. How can I man look away from something that sexy?

  The woman finally gets fed up. Or, at least I think she does. She grabs her purse and walks into the women’s restroom. “I have to use the men’s room,” I announce all of a sudden, darting from my seat.

  “Well, hurry. I want another drink,” Loretta says. “And we all want to hear about your hunting trips growing up.”

  “Of course,” I smile. The hunting stories. Always a good one. I walk fast toward the restrooms. I shouldn’t act so crazy, but I’m not worried tonight. Tonight, I have my eyes on this woman and I am not taking no for an answer.

  I walk right in, following her. Lucky for me, no one is inside, spare for her, analyzing her makeup in the mirror. I quickly lock the door and she jumps. “What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaims. “Unlock that door, now!”

  “Hear me out,” I smile.

  “Unlock the door!” she hisses, but reveals a hidden smile. She’s not angry with me. She wants me to be in here with her. I walk toward her. Two steps forward. She takes one step back. It goes on like this for another few seconds, until she stops and we’re left, closer than we were in that intersection.

  “What do you want?” she whispers, voice shaky and cute.

  “You,” I say. I’m blunt and quick to the point. There’s no time to beat around the bush. I want her. Now. In this bathroom.

  “Well, I don’t want anything to do with you,” she says.

  She’s lying, I think. I touch the back of her arm. She pulls away, turning red. I put my hand around her waist and she’s looking at me as if I’m out of my fucking mind.

  “Stop,” she barely whispers. She smells like chocolate and red wine has stained her lips and tongue.

  “You going to call me?” I ask her.

  “Maybe,” she says. “I’m married, you know.”

  “I know,” I smile. “You think I give a damn?”

  “Well, you should. Adultery is a sin,” she says. I have to laugh at that one.

  “You’re religious all of a sudden?” I ask.

  “No,” she admits. “I just think it’s wrong.”

  “Sometimes being wrong is the right choice,” I say. “You don’t like feeling naughty?”

  She gulps down and bats her eyes quickly. “I,” she stutters. “Um. I—”

  “Shh.” I put my index finger against her lips. I don’t remove it. I kiss her, crushing my lips against my finger, the one barrier keeping our tongues from intertwining. She breathes in hard and deep. I want to feel her cunt. I want to reach out and touch that sweet pussy of hers. I want to see how wet I get her.

  She steps back, eyes wide. “I,” she stutters again. I smile and lean against the counter of the bathroom. “I need to go.”

  “I’d love it if you call me,” I say.

  She ducks her head forward and unlocks the bathroom door. She darts out as a few confused women step in, to find me.

  “Sorry, ladies. Stumbled into the wrong bathroom,” I chuckle. Yep. It’s just another day on the job.

  Erica

  I’m soaking wet. Like, drenched. I feel underneath my dress as I sit back down at the table with Renata. My fingers come back dripping, warm. Fuck me. Why did I run away? Why on earth did I tell him I was married? I’m not ready for anything else. I don’t want to be with Darrin, but I definitely don’t want to start sleeping around just yet. I haven’t even packed my things.

  This is so wrong. You don’t like feeling naughty? His words echo in my ears. What if he was to reach out and touch me? How would I react? Would I like it? Of course I would. I’d want him to go further. I’d want him to pick me up and set me on that bathroom counter. I’d want him to fall to his knees and eat my pussy. And then, after he’s pleased me, I’d want him to stuff his cock down my throat. Okay, maybe I’m going too far with this. I need to chill, seriously.

  “Where have you been?” Renata whispers at me. “You’ve been gone for almost fifteen minutes.”

  “I didn’t know I had to check in with you every time I went to the bathroom,” I laugh.

  “Sorry. You don’t. It’s just that I’ve been stuck with these women for the past twenty minutes and then you left me, and it’s been truly awful,” she says. “We need to plan our escape. Are you ready to leave?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, looking over at Walker. He glances over at me too, over and over again. His smile gives me shivers. And when I look at his body, I can’t help but imagine all the things he could do to me with his strength. “Why the hell is he with that woman?” I ask aloud.

  “Excuse me?” Renata asks. “Who are you talking about? Who is he?”

  I awkwardly p
oint with my eyes. “That guy,” I say. “He broke my fender today. Crashed into me.”

  “That guy crashed into you?” she asks. “My God, he’s—”

  “Perfect,” I whisper.

  “He’s hot as hell,” she smiles. “You have to introduce me.”

  “Um, no,” I laugh. “He’s a prick. You don’t want to meet him.”

  “Erica, please. I need this. I haven’t been on a date in, well, six months,” she says, practically begging. “Just put in a good word?”

  How do I tell her that it’s me he wants? “Maybe,” I say. “I really don’t want to have to speak with him again.”

  She ponders this over, clearly hurt I won’t help her. After a few seconds she nods to herself and laughs. “Wow, Erica. You like this guy, don’t you?”

  “Trust me.” I give a hearty laugh. “I do not like that guy.”

  “Bullshit! You like him. You want to fuck him. You want him to pound your tight little pussy,” she taunts me.

  I roll my eyes. “Gross. Real ladylike, Ren.”

  “I’m just messing with you,” she says. “Anyway, it’s not like you can do anything. You’re a married woman.”

  I sigh. I groan. I rub my temples with my fingers. “Not for long,” I admit.

  She frowns. “Oh, you’re just going through a slight hiccup. Every woman goes through this. It’s part of marriage,” she says.

  “Three different women in five years? That’s part of being married?” I groan even louder and the other women at the table look at me as if I should leave.

  Renata just shrugs. “You’re really willing to go through all the court drama just to have this one guy bang you? Darrin cheated on you. Cheat on him. It’s only fair.”

  “I don’t think you get it,” I say. “I don’t want to cheat on him. I don’t even want to see him again. Honestly, I’m done. I’ve totally checked out. I’m getting out while I’m still young enough and kid-free.”