His Virgin Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Kara Hart

  I kiss her passionately and hold my hand against her cheek. Her skin is so soft and her hair smells so damn good. I breathe in and thrust once more, holding myself deep inside her. When I release, we both gasp for air.

  She spins her body around and pushes her ass against my cock, sandwiching it against my abs. “It’s yours, baby,” I moan. “Take it.”

  She reaches around behind her and grabs my thick, pulsating member. She squeezes it in her palm, placing it at her lips. They fold away, closing in on my head, down to my shaft. Her butt jutts back at me and I instinctually squeeze her flesh as I move my hips forward.

  I run my other hand across the lines of her back, reaching her neck as I push upward to her hair. I pull back and she moans louder. I push in deeper, harder, even faster. The room is filled with our sex. The air is hot and steamy, as we push forward with our passions.

  I grab her plump breasts and cup them, feeling her nipples grow hard inside of my palm. Her skin tightens and her moaning grows deeper, even darker than before. She places her forehead against the mattress and she cums louder than she ever has before. Her pussy tightens around my cock and she pushes back against me, like she’s being fucked at the edge of a cliff.

  I lose it almost instantly. My cock throbs and quivers, until finally I feel it come from within. It’s out of my control. I’m fully hers. Forever. And when I cum, I feel the weight of all time grab me. And I feel freer than I ever have.

  I lose myself to her that night, over and over, and over and over. We get lost in ourselves, in our kisses, in our touching and heavy petting. Our talks in between grow deeper. We talk about our hopes and dreams.

  “I just want a simple life,” she tells me. “This whole PR game… it’s tough.”

  “Which is why you’re quitting that company and working for me. My right hand woman,” I say.

  “God, I’d love that,” she admits. “No more Joseph. Just promise me one thing.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “No more fighting. No more close calls between games. I can’t deal with that either,” she says, hands curled around my cheek. She rubs her thumb across my stubble and I kiss her again, tongue wrapping around hers.

  “I promise,” I say. “I’m done with that. Any aggression I feel can be solved in the bedroom, with you.”

  “Damn straight,” she smiles.

  Fiona

  The next day, we wake up early. When I say early, I mean early. He wakes up before the damn sun even gets up and rolls over to kiss me. He kisses the back of my neck and I groan, attempting to stay in the dream I’m having about our beautiful future. He kisses me again and I’m up.

  “Okay, okay,” I grunt. “I’m getting up.”

  He places his body over mine and kisses my cheek this time. I can feel his hard cock against my navel, and I glance down at the massive beast. “Jackson…” I moan. “Not now.”

  “Now.” He smiles. “You want me to play well out there today, don’t you?”

  I can’t fake a protest. I want him too bad. He enters me, fucks my brains out, makes me cum, and then cums himself. At this point, I’m ready to spread my legs every morning for him if it means having his mouth work its magic. I’ve never met a man who was so… hungry for me.

  We take a shower and hop into a private van that takes us both to the game. Inside the car, everything is quiet. The driver asks if we want any music, anything to put Jackson in the right headspace. But he doesn’t need that. He tells me, “All I need is this woman next to me. Thanks.”

  I look at him now, calm and poised. He’s sitting up straight, breathing steady, and the look in his eyes tells me he’s ready to win this. Today is the Super Bowl, one of the biggest, most-watched games in the world. Crazy enough, all eyes will be glued to Jackson. He’s the most talked about player right now. There are still doubts from the media as to whether or not he’ll even play.

  The van slows down and the automatic doors slide open. Before he can go into the locker room, he grabs me and throws me into his arms. His lips press against mine and I close my eyes. My whole world has changed in a matter of days. This is the start of my new life.

  “Kill it out there,” I tell him.

  “What if I don’t win?” he asks me.

  “If you don’t win this game, the wedding is off for good.” I smile, joking with him.

  “Wow, such pressure.” He kisses me one last time, until Landon pulls up.

  “Hey brother,” he says, jumping out of his car.

  “The two all-star players.” I smile.

  He laughs. “Ready to take on New England?”

  Jackson slams his palm against his back and they hug it out. “I’m ready, man. We’re going to destroy them.”

  New England has won the last three Super Bowls. Even with Jackson’s stats, they’re poised to take the trophy. Like I said, all eyes are on Jackson. Can he win it for the Black Wings? Will Portland finally win a championship game? I have all the faith in the world.

  As I watch them enter the locker room, I feel my heart swell. I look down at my ring, shining against the sunlight, and everything just makes sense. The stress I normally carry has completely disappeared. All I have within me now is sense of hope.

  Hopeful. That’s a new word for my vocabulary. I never really felt that way before. Before I gave Jackson that second chance, I really just wanted to make it through the day. My life was just filled with work, work, and more work.

  As I walk through the front of the stadium, I show my media pass and get let in. I hear the roaring scream of thousands of people who have come to watch the biggest football game in history. I have to imagine that most have come because of the prestige of the Super Bowl, but I know the pressure that Jackson is under.

  I hear their heels stomping on the bleachers and I feel so excited for Jackson. I’m also scared as all hell. It’s not that I don’t believe in him. I just want him to win so bad that it’s starting to freak me out a little.

  I make my way onto the field, to the press side. Jennifer is standing there, holding the press badge I got her. She nearly jumps up and down when she sees me. “I can’t believe you got me this thing!” she exclaims.

  “It was easy,” I laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “So, what’s up with Jackson?” she asks. “Still heartbroken or what?”

  “You didn’t watch the Sports Network yesterday?” I ask her, biting my tongue. “Did you see what he called in?”

  “No,” she says blankly. “What happened? Oh my God, did he flip out on the host or something? He’s so much trouble sometimes.”

  All I have to do is hold up my left hand and she stops dead in her tracks. “No,” she says. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. ‘Cause it’s real.” I smile.

  “No!” she shouts. Some of the press turns to look at us. “I just can’t.” She starts to bawl, tears flowing down her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I laugh. “I didn’t think you’d cry!”

  “I’m not sad,” she says, blowing her nose. “I’m just so happy.”

  “Oh, girl.” I grab her and give her the biggest hug of my life. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  “Uh huh.” She nods and blows her nose once more. “How did you find a man before me? How’d you do it?”

  I shrug. “Beats me.”

  “Ugh, I told you to fuck his brains out. I didn’t say you should marry the guy,” she laughs. “Tell me, is the sex really that good?”

  “You’d die if you knew. It’s like having sex with The Rock,” I say.

  “You bitch! You know how much I love The Rock,” she laughs.

  The whistle blows and music starts rattling the bleachers. Fireworks blast off into the sky as both teams come shooting onto the field like human bullets. This is the biggest day in their lives, and it all comes down to this moment. I can only imagine what Jackson is feeling right now.

  He comes out last, running at a slow pace. He throws off his helmet a
nd pumps a fist at the crowd. The reaction is stupendous and unreal. Fans from both sides go wild. Everyone is cheering. It seems as if people from all walks of life have been following the story of Jackson Leeman this season. That’s my man.

  New England kicks off to Portland, and the ball falls straight into Jackson’s hand. He goes running, making it halfway across the field. A defensive player comes in and tackles his legs. He falls stretching his arms out in front of him. They bring it in to discuss the next play.

  The rest of the game goes according to plan. A play later Jackson’s running his way into the end zone, scoring the first points of the game. New England, however, doesn’t back down. They play their hardest and it’s neck and neck.

  By halftime, it’s anybody’s game. Before he enters that locker room, he meets me on the side of the field. He kisses me deeply and I grab him and hold him close. “You’re going to get my sweat all over you,” he laughs.

  “It’s not like it’s the first time,” I joke back.

  “How am I doing out there?” he asks, knowing full well what I’ll say.

  “You’re killing them. Just keep at it. Your defense needs to go harder though.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll do it,” he says. “They’re just as good as us.”

  “They’re not as good as you, though. No one on that team is a match against you. I think everyone in the crowd knows it too. It’s like they’re here for you only,” I say.

  “They probably hate me,” he sighs.

  “They love you,” I repeat. “Just keep playing hardball and you’ll win this.”

  He kisses me and makes his way to that locker room. All I can do is hope for the best. It’s all come down to this day.

  The halftime show is complete madness. Huge bands play with two known female pop stars, women I’ve never seen in my life before, but the crowd is completely familiar with them and riled up.

  The players make their way back onto the field and Jackson’s side is up first. They go back into it, harder than ever. Jackson is playing as if his life depends on it. Every play he makes, he looks over at me as if I’m the one issuing the points.

  On their third down, he looks serious. He’s only ten yards from the end zone and it’s pretty obvious they’ll make it. They always do. Still, the opposing defense is going strong. They’re determined to block him the whole damn way if they have to.

  “Hike!” Loke screams and drops back, examining the field. Jackson pushes past the line and is wide open. Loke throws the pigskin to him and he catches it near the end zone. He dives and he’s in! They score and the crowd goes nuts. Only, a linebacker comes barreling in. He connects against Jackson and slams him into the grass. When the guy gets up, Jackson doesn’t move.

  “Get up,” I whisper. But he still doesn’t move. He’s out cold. “Get up!” I scream.

  “It’ll be okay, baby girl,” Jennifer whispers. “He’s fine. He just got hit a little hard.”

  “Come on, Jackson!” I scream. The whole crowd is doing the same.

  The medic rushes onto the field and looks into his eyes. It doesn’t look good. It doesn’t look like he’s even moving.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Jennifer says again, almost out of habit. But I’m not so sure. What if he’s injured forever? What if they take him out of the game? There are just too many questions to ask. I find myself having to sit back against a sidewall. This is not what I imagined would happen. Jackson never gets hurt.

  The medic shakes his head and I feel my heart collapse. Is it over for Jackson Leeman? Does he have to throw in the towel? I look at my ring. “Come on Jackson. Get up. You can do this,” I whisper, practically praying. “Do it for me.”

  Jackson

  Everything turns black. I turned to look at him and almost immediately I’m thrown into oblivion. My mind goes blank and I lose consciousness. When I wake up, there’s a light in my eyes and I’m still on the field. Thank God, they didn’t pull me from the game yet.

  “Can you hear me?” the medic is saying. The coach runs over to us and talks to the medic in hushed tones. He shakes his head and yells something at him. I can’t make out the words.

  “Come on Jackson,” he says to me. “Are you good or do you need medical attention?”

  “He may have a concussion and it could be bad. We need to examine him,” the medic says with fire in his eyes.

  “Let him decide what he needs, dammit!” the coach yells.

  I have the worst headache of my life and it’s not going away anytime soon. “Give me five advil and I’ll be fine,” I manage to whisper, mouth feeling dry. “And some fucking water. I’m dying of thirst.”

  “He needs testing and to sit this one out,” the medic repeats. “That’s what I’m calling.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I tell him.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks me.

  I look at his hand and see two fingers duplicated over and over again. I blink again and they connect, only to duplicate again. “Two,” I tell him. “I see two fingers and I feel fine. Just got a little roughed up is all.”

  “I could lose my job if I fuck up this call,” he whispers to me. “If I send you on the field, do you promise me you’re okay?”

  “I’ll sign a fucking waiver if I have to,” I tell him, picking myself up from the grass. The crowd goes utterly berserk. I wave at the crowd, feeling incredibly dizzy and sick to my stomach. I look over at Fiona and she looks so damn worried. She’d kill me if she knew I was feeling this way and still staying in the game.

  I walk to the side of the field and rest my body. When I sit down on the bench, I sigh loudly and rest my head in my hands. The world is spinning around me and I shouldn’t be staying in the game, but I have to finish this one out. I’m not about to be taken away on a stretcher during the Super Bowl. That’s not my legacy, dammit.

  I look over at my beautiful fiancé standing over in the press area. She’s shivering against the foggy-cold air, looking at me with worried eyes. I give her the thumbs up. Whatever happens, I have to finish this game out.

  Landon leans over. “Got the spins?”

  “A little bit,” I smile. “It’ll go away, right?”

  “Shit, man. Don’t ask me,” he laughs. “I’d probably finish the game out, only to find out I fucked up my body forever.”

  The game chugs along and it’s neck and neck, through and through. By the end of the fourth quarter, it’s anyone’s game. I honestly don’t know how we’re going to win this. I’m injured, but still playing decent. There are only a few plays left. Lucky for us, we’ve got our offense.

  We run a normal play, but their defense is strong. Loke can’t get around a few of their lineman that break through. When we huddle back up, the world feels intense and hurried. There’s not much time left. All eyes are on us.

  “What do we do?” Landon asks Loke. “They’re killing us out there.”

  “We gotta bring out the big guns,” he says, turning very serious. “You know what I’m talking about Jackson?”

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about.” I smile.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Landon asks.

  Loke tells him what the deal is. We go for a field goal. They receive the ball with 5 minutes to go. We plan for an interception and run it in. It’s about the only chance we have.

  Landon, however, is not too thrilled. We call a timeout and discuss the whole thing together, as a team. The coach nods his head as he listens to Loke’s plan. “I’m just not sure. What if they score on us after the field goal?”

  “It’s a risk,” I tell him. “But if we can hold it down, we’ll come out champions.”

  “Fuck,” he sighs. “This isn’t the decision I thought I would have to make during the 4th quarter. You feeling okay, Jackson? Your head up to date?”

  “I’m good. Put me out there on defense, coach. I’ll intercept the damn thing. I’ll make sure we go home with that trophy,” I say. I look to the
side of the field, at Fiona and feel my heart wrench. Winning this game is for her.

  So, we go for it. “Break!” we scream, putting our hands in. We line up and the kicker kicks the field goal. We get the few points we need and then, it’s time for defense. Quickly, they try to score on us. We hold it down, but they’re only doing running plays. They know they need to be extra careful today.

  “Come on,” I whisper. “Just throw the damn ball.”

  It doesn’t happen. By third down, I’m convinced they’re just going to keep pushing on through. Another run play and I start to get real worried. However, the next play, I see their formation. “What a minute,” I whisper. “I know this formation.”

  It’s a play I did in college, during the Rose Bowl. It was my winning play, and now they’re trying to use it on me! I run across the field, whispering to my players what they’re plan is, and quickly get back into formation. They’re going to pass the ball to number 37. And they’re going to try and do it triumphantly.

  “Hike!” the quarterback screams and everything suddenly seems to slow down. Our cleats smash down on the grass as bits and pieces fly up around our legs. The linemen’s helmets smash together like a bunch of rams on the side of an eastern slope. The crowd cheers, boos, and spins their noisemakers.

  I glance over at 37 and he makes eye contact with me, as well. He knows I know about his plan. There’s a look of fear in his eyes, for a split second, that tells me I can beat him. I run over to his side of the field, glancing at their quarterback.

  Their quarterback drops behind everyone, winding his arm back. He launches that football into the end zone and I see it perfectly. This is it. It all comes down to this one second.

  The ball comes closer and closer. I can’t even blink. My nerves are fucking shot. And then I think of her. Fiona. And my heart is set on fire. I jump in front of the wide receiver, number 37, and the tip of the pigskin touches my fingers. It knocks a little, bouncing off my palm, and for a second there I think I’m doomed. Somehow though, it falls into my arms. I catch the ball. Only problem is, now I’ve got a full defense facing me and I’m on the wrong end of the field.