His Virgin Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Kara Hart

  “I feel like a million bucks,” I laugh. “No, I’m actually really sick. Lucky for you, you don’t have to worry about me coming over late at night right now.”

  “Are you watching Sports Network? Did you see the piece?” she asks me.

  “Yeah, I saw it,” I tell her. “They don’t have any proof. Everything is fine. Again, you’re worrying too much.”

  “We’ll have to give a statement,” she says. “And you don’t know if anyone saw you or not. You better be praying that no one got any video of your bullshit.”

  “I’m telling you, no one got a video. No one saw anything. It was just us in that bar,” I say, shutting my eyes. All I want is to just go to bed.

  “I can’t ever trust you. Can I?” she asks. Oh, boy. Here we go, I think to myself. First she tells me she has to break it off. Then, the shit with Landon goes down. Then, I get sick before some big fucking games. Now, she hits me with the hard questions? When can I just resume my life?

  “You can trust me. I promise. I’ve really chilled out,” I say, but the silence on her end tells me she doesn’t really believe me. “Come on. Have some faith in me, why don’t you? No one else does right now.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks me, voice slightly hushed.

  “My whole team hates me now. Landon’s got them all turned against me,” I say. “The only person who has my back is Loke, and I’m guessing his trust is hanging by a thread too.”

  “Landon? What the hell does he have against you?” she asks.

  “You.” I laugh, but instantly regret saying it. She doesn’t need to know the situation. She doesn’t need to know just how much I’ve given myself up for her. It’ll only make things more complicated if she does.

  “Me? What the hell are you talking about?” she asks me.

  “Never mind,” I whisper.

  I bottle up my emotions. It’s what I’ve always done. When my dad beat the ever-living crap out of me, I learned to hold back my tears. When I fuck up a play, I simply look the other way and go onto the next play. When I was 18 and left Fiona for the sport I love, I just kept moving. There was no time to think, and I knew that deep down everything would fall into place.

  Maybe that perfect place is now. Maybe I just need to keep moving forward, until things are perfectly aligned. Never mind, I whispered to her, grip firm around the phone. Only, I wanted to say “I think I’m falling for you.” How would that look? I’d look pretty stupid if she said “no thank you” to me.

  So, I wait for her response. I wait for her to say “Just keep trying. Stay out of trouble and drink a million grams of Vitamin C. I need you to keep running things smoothly. Okay, Jackson?”

  “Okay,” I mutter. “I’m drinking orange juice as we speak.”

  “Good,” she says, smacking her lips against the receiver. It makes me go crazy, hearing them. I immediately think about her on her knees. Her ass, pressed against me as I kiss the back of her neck…

  “I gotta run,” I tell her, hanging up the phone. I can hear her say my name one last time before I press the red button.

  I walk outside my house with a bottle of bourbon. It’s not the best plan, but it’s something to help me cope. I walk and I walk, downing the bottle’s contents. This part of the city is dead at night, but I weigh my options. I can walk into the forest and drink until I pass out in the leaves. That’s one horrible option that I actually consider.

  In the end, I just keep walking. I make my way to the bridge and finish off most of the bottle. I give what’s left to a homeless beggar who looks at me like I just gave him gold. “Have at it, hoss,” I tell him, smiling.

  His eyes crease and his mouth moves into a round shape. “Say, aren’t you that ball player from around here?” he asks me.

  “You got the wrong guy,” I tell him. “Have a good night.” I throw him a 20-dollar bill and keep walking. My footsteps soon turn into drunken stumbles, but I make it to a bar, down past the bridge’s exit.

  Quickly, I’m surrounded by college kids looking for something exciting to do. I don’t tell them there’s nothing to do except waste the days away. You can sleep, get fucked up, or eat some food. That’s about all there is. I was told you can find love if you want it enough, but that’s starting to sound like a pipe dream.

  I glance at one of the girls with some guy near the entrance. They’re bickering about something stupid. He wanted to go to a different bar, but her friends are here. Now, they’re saying they don’t want to be with each other.

  “Here’s a solution.” I smile. The smell of bourbon emanates from me. “Why don’t you have a few drinks here? Then, you can make a pit stop at the other bar you wanted to go to earlier.”

  “Piss off,” the guy says to me with an awkward British accent, like he’s been practicing it for a long while or something.

  “Yeah.” The girl turns to me. “No one fucking asked you for your opinion.”

  “Fine.” I shake my head and walk through the bar.

  Inside, I ask for a shot of whisky. “Make it a double,” I say, smile disappearing.

  Fuck the world. No, seriously. Fuck it all. You can’t win when you’re Jackson Leeman, the most famous sports player to ever walk these streets.

  “It’s on the house,” the bartender, a beautiful woman of about 35 says to me. She even gives me a wink. “Nice game in Arizona last week, Jackson.”

  “Thanks,” I say, kicking back the double shot of whisky. When it goes down, it stings as good as I wanted it to.

  A few minutes later and I’m drunk. The bartender, of course, knows it. She’s leaning over the bar, tits pressed against the wood, and something in me is different now. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  Her shirt is half open. It’s white and it’s a button up. I watched her unbutton two of the buttons before she grabbed the bottle of whisky. The funny thing is, if this were a year ago, I’d have her in my hot tub by 11 o’clock. But it’s not a year ago. Something has changed inside of me. Do I not give a shit about fucking anymore?

  Hell no. That’s something that’ll never change. It’s not that. Fiona. I look at the bartender and she smiles, clicking her tongue against her teeth. Her face changes into Fiona’s and suddenly I’m staring at that successful, gorgeous, and surprising PR agent. Fiona Breckinridge, the only woman in the world that does something for me now.

  She hands me another shot and I smile, raising the glass. “To success,” I say. She cocks her head to the side and repeats my words. “No, dammit. To love,” I correct myself.

  “To love,” she says, biting her lip. We both down a shot quickly and she bursts out laughing. I can already tell this is not where I should be.

  “My shift ends in 30 minutes. What do you say we get out of here?” she asks. I sigh and she keeps talking. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I live alone.”

  I drop my face to my hands and groan even louder. When I look up at this woman in front of me, she smiles, but I can tell she thinks I’m crazy. It’s either that, or she knows how much of a loose cannon I really am.

  Fuck it.

  I push the barstool back, nearly knocking it over. I’m pretty damn drunk and I know people can tell. I have to get out of here before I do something stupid.

  “No thanks,” I tell her. She makes a pouty face that’s supposed to be seductive or something, only it doesn’t do anything for me. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a girl back home, waiting for me.” Correction: I wish I had Fiona Breckinridge, waiting for me, naked on my couch. I wish I had Fiona Breckinridge’s legs wrapped around my face. I wish I had her straddled over me, so I could eat her for hours. I wish I could give her my hard cock. I wish I could have her for seconds. Fuck, I wish she was mine.

  “Wait, here’s my number,” she calls out to me. “Just in case.” I turn and she’s holding out her card, but I can’t even consider it. There’s just something in me that wants to change, and this time it’s for good. Is that what love is? Doubtful. But every time I think about doing something “bad,
” my stomach turns and I feel weirder than I’ve ever felt before. My heart actually aches too. What the hell is the deal with that?

  Fiona

  What the heck am I doing? I’ll tell you. I’m standing in front of Jackson’s door with a bag of Mexican food I picked up from a few blocks away. Don’t ask me why I’m doing this. I just felt the urge. After all, Jackson and I are very good friends, and close business partners. We need to look out for each other.

  I ring the doorbell twice and wait, feeling antsy. I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet and breathe quickly. There’s no answer at the door, so I knock three times and wait. Still, there’s no answer. I ring the doorbell again, but it’s not looking like he’s home. I begin to walk away, when I notice his garage door is open, and the door inside too.

  I walk inside and knock against the wall. “Jackson?” I call out. “You home?”

  His home is big and very empty. It’s extremely quiet, except for my shoes clicking against the marble floors. “Jackson?” I call out, once again. His house is a total wreck. There are bottles of booze, littered all around the kitchen. One bottle has spilled out onto a rug near the fridge. I pick it up and sigh with disgust. “Come on, man. Get it together,” I whisper.

  “I was going to get my maid to clean that up,” a voice behind me says. I nearly jump, but I instantly recognize Jackson’s rumbling voice. I turn around and then I actually jump when I see him. He’s completely naked and very hard.

  “Oh, my,” I say, throwing my hand up to my mouth. “I was not expecting you like this.”

  “How were you expecting me?” he asks, pushing past me. He opens his fridge and grabs a bottle of orange juice. He downs a gulp of it, spilling some across his perfect abs. Yeah. I’m dying a little. We’re just friends—I have to keep telling myself this, over and over again. It’s my new mantra and I kind of hate it.

  “I don’t know. I thought you’d be outside lifting weights or whatever it is that you do to train for the big games.” I laugh, avoiding eye contact with his huge cock. “Wait, aren’t you sick?”

  “I guess the Gods are on my side today. I’m not sick anymore,” he says. “Also, this is what I do to train,” he says, grabbing my hand. He places my finger against his abs and slides it across the spilt orange juice before bringing it up to his mouth, sucking on it. “Mm…” he smiles and gives me a wink. I gulp loudly.

  “Well, I brought you Mexican food,” I tell him. “You hungry?” My eyes fall toward his cock. I can’t help it. I have to get another look without him noticing me. My eyes fall toward his thick shaft and when I glance at it, I quickly look away.

  “I saw that,” he laughs. “Mexican food, huh? Well, I am hungry. Just not for that. The real question is, are you hungry?”

  “Am I hungry? Quit joking around, Jackson. I’m trying to be a friend here,” I say, moving away from him. I sit at the bar in his kitchen and lean back against my chair.

  “I’m not joking. In fact, I never joke around. I’m a very serious guy,” he says. He’s still naked and I can’t stress enough just how much my eyes keep darting around his body. It happens so much that I start to get fed up.

  I walk up to him and stare into his eyes. “Yes,” I tell him.

  “Yes what?” he says, still smiling at me, the arrogant prick that he is. He reaches out and runs his fingers against my wrist. His hands are rugged and wild. His stare is deep and longing, and surprisingly serious. He’s brooding, yet cocky.

  I swallow hard and say the words I didn’t want to say to him. “Fuck you, Jackson.” This time, I’m smiling.

  With one short grab, he reaches out under me, and grabs my ass through my jeans. He pulls me toward him and I fall against his lap, hard. “What’re you doing?” I nearly yell and he pulls me even closer to him, so that my lips are inches from his.

  “What?” he asks. “You want me to stop? Honestly, tell me if you do.”

  I gulp down, once again, and struggle to keep my eyes fixed on his. “I…” I stutter, unable to get the right words out. “I don’t know,” I say to him. This is the honest truth. I don’t know what the right choice is anymore. Is my job really that important, that I’m willing to sacrifice my happiness for it?

  “I think you know,” he says. There’s no smiling anymore. There is just the sound of our breathing. Our eyes begin to close and I already know what’s about to happen. I reach down and place my palm over his cock. It’s warm, extremely hard, and I need it inside me. Now.

  “That’s right,” he moans. “You know exactly what you want. Let yourself have it.”

  He doesn’t mess with the buckle of my jeans, or the zipper. He grabs the back of the denim and pulls down hard, until it slides over my ass, down to my ankles.

  “You’re not wearing any panties,” he groans, smacking my flesh, his eyes locked on mine. Our lips finally meet and they meet with an unexpected force. His tongue soon follows, wrapping around mine and sliding away.

  We create a rhythmic motion with every one of our muscles, until I’m straddling his lap. He rips off my heather grey shirt and he places his mouth around my tits, pressing them together. “No woman can compare,” he moans. “I keep dreaming about these. Why do you have such a hold over me?”

  “I can’t stop it either.” I moan, loudly. His hand curls around my pussy and he spreads my wetness over my lips. Some of it even falls against my thighs and it’s not long before he’s sliding his shaft against my clit.

  I grab his thickness, that incredible girth, and I glide it into me. He thrusts, until his cock is deep inside me, and then we both moan together. He holds onto my waist, fingers dropping to my hips. I grind against him, feeling the tip of his wonderful cock press against my g-spot.

  “I keep thinking about your cock. When I’m outside, when I’m dreaming, when I’m talking to friends… I can’t help it,” I admit in between breaths. “I don’t want to have to need you.”

  “Need me,” he moans. “I want you to. I need you to need me.” He thrusts into me with more force than ever before. He holds my shoulders down until he bottoms out inside of me. I push off of him and walk up to his glass door to the backyard. I place my hands, tits, and face against the glass and he walks up behind me, as if he is examining my ass.

  “Perfect,” he whispers to himself.

  He places his cock against my ass and slaps my tender flesh, making me wait for him to fill me again. “Stop teasing me,” I beg him, wiggling my ass. “And fuck me, already.”

  He grabs my hair and pulls back, forcing himself inside of me. I feel my skin prickle and grow warm. The hairs on my neck begin to rise and my legs feel shaky and weak. I push back against him and suddenly feel every bit of his strength. Normally, I would just feel desire pulsing through my body. Instead, there’s something more. It’s something I can’t quite figure out. It’s a feeling…

  My whole body falls hard against the glass as he pulls my hair back. I fall limp and I begin shaking harder than I anticipated. Soon, my eyes close shut and I’m skyrocketing out of my body. All my nerves are shot. My pulse quickens and my mouth falls open wide. I can feel the wetness dripping down both of our bodies.

  He pulls away from me, only to pick me up in his arms. He places my legs around his waist and stares into my eyes. “Hey, beautiful,” he says.

  I’m too shaky to even reply. I simply smile, feeling happily exhausted. The way he fucks me, no other guy could ever compare to him. All doubt I had about being with him goes right out the window now. He kisses me and pushes my frizzy hair out of my eyes with one finger. He smiles and kisses me again, licking his lips. “I can’t get your taste out of my head,” he says. “Come on. Take a chance. Be with me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I could lose my job,” I whisper, feeling his hands wrapped firmly around my ass and thighs.

  “Fuck your job. You don’t need it when you’re with me,” he says. This is exactly what Jennifer said to me and, though it didn’t sound so hot when she said i
t, it kind of sounds okay now.

  “We’d have to be secretive,” I tell him. He smiles and I can tell he’s thinking up some devious shit. “No, I mean it. We have to be really secretive. Okay?”

  “I promise. Look, pinky swear,” he says. He puts his pinky finger out and I put mine against his, kissing it. “I won’t leave you. I didn’t think this would happen, but it’s happening. And now I need you, dammit. I’m not going to mess this up. I promise.”

  “No more fighting?” I ask him, still straddling him awkwardly.

  “The only fighting I want to do is with you,” he laughs.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let’s do it. Let’s be together.” I can’t believe the words are spilling from my mouth. Will I regret them in the morning? Will I want this years down the line? Better yet, will I lose my job over some jock ex-boyfriend of mine?

  Before I have time to think, he’s got me pinned against the bed and he’s thrusting like a wild animal. “I’m so fucking happy,” he says.

  “Me too,” I say. The emotions I have right now are too complex to understand. Butterflies are flapping inside my stomach. My throat tightens, but it actually feels good. A permanent smile is plastered on my face and when I open my eyes, I can see he’s smiling too. “I just can’t believe any of this,” I whisper.

  His hands slide down to my breasts and he cups them softly. “I’m going to cum,” he says, staring into my eyes. His pupils seem to grow bigger and darker, and his body grows more tense. His breathing becomes rapid and strong and his cock doubles in size before he explodes. One more thrust, and he’s done for.

  “Fuck!” he screams, sliding his rigid flesh deep inside of me. He cums inside of me and pushes his cock even deeper. He opens his eyes again, regaining consciousness, and he’s fully aware of what our new dynamic is now. We’re, uh, dating. I expect it to be awkward. Instead, it’s everything a girl could ever ask for.

  He rolls over and kisses me some more, hand sliding across every curve of my body. I feel his hand smack my ass one more time. “I could really get used to this,” he says.