Dirty Fake Fiancé

by Sky Corgan

  Xan stands and crosses the space between us. I cower back, waiting for him to kick me out of his office. Instead, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into an unexpected embrace. He holds me tightly, stroking my hair. “Christiana, I had no idea.”

  Of course, he didn't. I never had any intentions of burdening him with my problems. And we never made it far enough into a conversation for me to tell him about this part of my life.

  I him away. “I don't need your sympathy.” For the first time, I see something in his eyes resembling hurt. “You don't care about me. My situation is none of your concern.” I turn to leave, but he grabs me by the hand, pulling me back to him.

  When our eyes lock, he's looking at me with so much emotion. He caresses my cheek, and I have to resist the urge to lean into his touch. I desperately need to be comforted right now, but not by him.

  “But I do care, Christiana. I care so much.” His eyes move over my face tenderly, stopping at my lips. I feel weak. He's giving me that look that I've been longing for ever since the last time we were together. And when he leans in to kiss me, I don't pull away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Can a kiss make everything right again? I'm not so sure. All I do know is that Xan has somehow managed to suck me back in.

  Being with him like this, I feel less alone. Less like he's my boss. More like we're something else.

  He pulls me to his desk and clears it with a swipe of his hand. I can't help but smirk as I break free from the kiss breathlessly, thinking about how everything on his desk takes a beating when he's horny. It must be nice to have so much money that you don't care about breaking things. Or maybe it's not such a good thing. Because the entire time I've been here, I've worried that he hasn't cared that he's broken me. Right now he's showing me that's not the case, but should I actually believe him.

  His mouth is hard against mine. Our lips barely part as he lifts me onto the desk, his hands clawing under my skirt to get to my panties and pull them down. I don't help him. I want him to work for it.

  My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Don't you have a meeting to go to? I saw your driver waiting outside.”

  “This is more important,” he whispers against my cheek before kissing a path to my neck.

  Is it? I wonder. Am I more important to him? Is he just doing this because he knows it will keep me here? When his teeth sink into the flesh at the base of my neck, I stop caring. I wince from the pain, knowing that he's marking me his. There's a strange satisfaction in that.

  By the time I have his shirt unbuttoned, he's already pulled his cock out. It's hard with desire, and my cunt clenches from the sight of it only moments before he lifts my skirt to force his way inside.

  I gasp his name when he enters me. It's been so long that he has to break through a ring of pain before pleasure consumes me. The stretching sensation is phenomenal—the way he fills every part of me. Not just my cunt, but my heart. When we're coupled like this, I feel such affection for him.

  He takes my face in his hands, his lips touching mine tenderly. I don't want tender right now, though. I curl my fingers into his hair, pulling him down to me. I clip his bottom lip between my teeth, feeling carnal need take over, and he groans as he begins to thrust.

  His hands find my ass, drawing me to him. He's so strong that he's practically lifting me onto his dick. I wrap my arms around him, thinking about the neck bite he gave me earlier. For the first time ever, it feels like we're on equal footing, like I have permission to do whatever I want because he's asking me to forgive him with his body. I decide to take advantage of it, sliding my hands beneath his shirt and clawing my nails down his back until I feel skin bunch beneath them.

  Xan tosses his head back and curses. The feeling of his cock slamming into me is absolutely delicious. I work quickly to remove a hand from his shirt and slide it behind his neck, leveraging my grip on him to lick up his Adam's apple. The way I have to angle my body to reach him makes him feel even deeper inside of me. My pussy sucks at him, tightening to no avail.

  “Wicked woman” He looks at me like he could tear me apart, pausing to pull his tie from around his neck.

  He grabs my hands and holds them in front of me while he loops the tie around my wrists until their bound. Then he pushes me down onto my back and takes hold of my thighs to continue pumping into me. I close my eyes, so pleased with myself that I'd be all grins if my mouth weren't busy whimpering and moaning.

  The desk scratches against the wood floor beneath us. I can see his computer monitor shaking lightly with each buck of his hips. His hand reaches between my legs to play with my clit. A few deft flicks across the tiny bundle of nerves makes me see stars. My toes curl inside my shoes, making me wish my feet were bare. None of this was ever part of my plan, though. I had no idea that I was going to come into Xander Sanderlin's office to quit my job and would end up on my back on his desk. I still have no idea what any of this means.

  “Fuck, I've missed this,” Xan breathes, pumping into me a few more times before his breath hitches and I feel his cock pulse and spurt into me. It feels like another punishment. Is he coming inside of me this time because I tried to quit? Alarm fills me, but I don't push him away. The truth is that I like it when he comes inside of me. It makes me think that he might want a family with me, even though that's illogical.

  If I were a smart girl, I'd be in self-preservation mode. But Xan makes me stupid. There's no doubt about that.

  He pulls out of me and turns away, placing his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. When I look up at him, guilt assaults me as I see several light lines of red down the back of his shirt. I made him bleed. I knew I had clawed him, but I hadn't realized how hard at the time. As hard as you could. You did it as hard as you could because you wanted to make sure that any woman he's with after you will know that you were there first.

  I don't feel half as bad about it as I should.

  “Sorry about your shirt,” I mutter as I struggle to sit up and pull down my skirt. Both are difficult with my hands bound.

  “What about my shirt?” He turns back to me to free my wrists.

  “You're...bleeding.” Please don't get pissed.

  “You did claw me pretty hard.” His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, but there's no disapproval in his expression.

  “You're not mad are you?” I cower slightly.

  “No.” He laughs. “I'm not mad.”

  “Good.”

  “I never would have imagined you'd be full of so much passion. To be honest, Christiana, you never cease to amaze me.” He brushes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, his eyes and voice full of affection, making me swoon. I hate how easily he's able to cast his spell on me.

  “This wasn't supposed to happen.” I avert my gaze, suddenly feeling ashamed that I gave into him so easily.

  “I'm glad it did.” He rests his forehead against mine, drawing me back to him.

  “Me, too.” My treacherous mouth betrays me. “So what happens now?”

  “Now I go get changed and head to my meeting. And you take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. Go spend time with your mother. Send her my regards. But promise you'll come back to me.” There's far more desperation in that last sentence than I ever could have imagined. It's like he's afraid that if he lets me go, I'll disappear.

  “Thank you, Xan.” I stroke his hair, just wanting to feel close to him for a while longer because I know this tender moment between us is fleeting.

  As if reading my mind, he pulls away, turning from me to exit the room. I'm left alone and dazed. Nothing that just happened makes any sense. He should have fired me; I haven't been a great assistant to him by any means. Why didn't he? The only thing I can come up with is that maybe he really does care for me. Maybe he's not the monster I've made him out to be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Things take a strange but pleasant turn after that meeting in Xan's office. There's sex. Lots of sex. Sex in the office. Sex in my bedroom. Even
sex in the dining room one night after a meal that Xan particularly liked of boeuf bourguignon. We celebrated it being the first dish I didn't mess up. The fact that he admitted that my cooking sucks was met with much laughter. He's a trooper for having held it in for so long. Even more so for eating my dishes without complaint.

  Over the past few weeks, we've gotten a lot closer. There have been less barking orders and more easy smiles. I'm enjoying the change, but at the same time I'm not...because I'm falling in love with him.

  As time passes, I feel less like his assistant and more like his girlfriend. He still makes me wear swanky outfits around the house. He still sends me out for groceries and condoms—which I definitely don't avoid buying anymore. And when I finish my tasks for the day, he lets me go visit my mother. The only condition is that I have to be back by the time he gets home. He even bought me a cell phone so that he can text me and let me know when that will be. I'm never late. He's been too gracious for me to screw this up. And to be honest, I love being with him. It's like night and day from the first week I was here.

  “I want to show you a special room today,” he tells me, leading me down the hall by the hand.

  When we stop in front of the Renaissance room, I giggle. Looks like it's time for him to deepen our bond by confessing his hobby.

  He takes a deep breath as if he's embarrassed by what's inside. “I don't want this to scare you away. I know I've asked a lot of you these past few weeks.”

  Briefly, I consider telling him that I've been in the room before. Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't figured it out yet. It's obvious he has cameras all over the place.

  “It will be fine.” It's not like collecting period furniture is a big deal anyway.

  He holds the door open for me, allowing me to walk in first. I can see him visibly tense as I step past him and flip the light switch on. Everything is how I remember it.

  He follows me in, closing the door behind us. I'm not sure how he expects me to react, so I turn to him, clasping my hands in front of me.

  “What do you think?” His eyes flit to the various pieces of furniture around the room.

  “It's neat.” I nod.

  “Neat?” A short laugh escapes his lips. “Does anything in here in particular interest you?”

  I know he wants more of a reaction from me, so I stroll around the room, admiring each piece, though my curiosity is only for his sake. “Where did you get all this stuff?”

  “Different places.” He follows me. “Some of it was custom ordered.”

  I stop at a rack on the wall. It's the only thing that seems out of place. Hung on it are a variety of things: riding crops, floggers, paddles, manacles, and rope. Are these costume accessories, maybe? I open the closet, but there are no clothes inside.

  When I finish my tour of the room, I come back to the middle. Xan stands before me at parade rest. He's staring at me expectantly, and I suddenly feel nervous.

  “Do you ever use this stuff or do you just collect it?” I ask because I can't figure out what more he wants from me.

  He smirks, and there's a trace of wolfishness in his expression that makes me quiver on the inside. “I've used all of it before. Does that bother you?”

  “Why would it bother me?” I keep his gaze, trying not to seem too confused.

  “Would it bother you if I used it on you?” His eyes narrow, searching me for something.

  “I've never roleplayed before.” I turn my attention to the throne, wondering if he'd want me to be his queen. That doesn't make sense, though. In reality, I'm his servant. Why would things be any different if we played pretend? I should leave my wife fantasies at the door, but it's hard not to want to picture it. “I mean, I played the Virgin Mary in a Christmas play one year, but that was when I was a child. I don't think I was very good at it.”

  His fingertips caress my cheek, drawing me back to him. The tenderness of his touch makes me swoon, but there's something dark in his eyes that goes beyond affection. “You have no idea what this room is, do you?”

  I chew my bottom lip, wondering if I misread everything. If I get this wrong, I'm going to feel like an idiot. “Storage for Renaissance reenactment.” I cringe even as the words leave my mouth.

  Xan guffaws so loudly that it echoes off the walls. I cower beneath my stupidity. That was kind of cruel.

  He shifts his gaze, thinking for a moment before he looks back at me. “Do you remember the porno we watched when you first started working here?”

  “Yes.” I nod. We haven't watched another one since.

  “I do stuff like that in here,” he gets to the point.

  “Stuff like that,” I parrot.

  “Would you like for me to show you?” His voice is sensual silk once more.

  I think back to the rope bondage in the video. Then I think about things I've heard the women talk about on the production floor of Checkmarks Scholarly. This must be the BDSM stuff they were referring to—the thing they all wanted to try, but their husbands or boyfriends were too lame to get into, as they told it.

  “What would we do?” Being tied up with rope looked uncomfortable, but the wife in the video seemed to enjoy it. Would I enjoy it, too?

  I trust Xan enough to let him do it. It's become obvious these past few weeks that he cares for my safety. And while he can be a bit harsh sometimes, I don't worry that he'd ever really harm me.

  “We'll start slow.” He looks past me to the rack on the wall.

  “But what does that mean?” I wring my hands in front of me.

  “You'll see.” He smirks. “Now take off your clothes.”

  I do as I'm told, removing the black lingerie I'm wearing and neatly folding it before asking Xan where I can place it. Modesty has gone out the window. Xan has me well trained at this point. And just hearing him tell me to take off my clothes turns me on, because I know that sex will almost always follow.

  He takes a collar from the rack on the wall and places it around my neck before going to retrieve a length of rope and setting to work binding my arms behind my back. He's every bit as fast and skillful as the husband in the video was. As he ties me up, I find myself wondering how many women he's done this to. Obviously, he's well practiced. This isn't his first time; it could be the hundredth, for all I know. How many women have had the same treatment in this very room? It hurts my heart to think about it. I don't want to think about it because it ruins the mood. It tarnishes my fantasy that Xan will always be exclusive to me.

  I know he's exclusive to me right now. Our lives are too intertwined for me not to know his business. He comes home to me every night. He never talks about other women. If there is someone else, he's hidden her well. No. I don't think there's anyone else. It's just me—the way it should be. The way it should always be.

  Once I'm bound, he leads me over to the cage and has me crawl on top of it. There's a thick layer of padding covered by black vinyl. It's cool to the touch and just cushy enough not to be uncomfortable.

  “Bend your knees,” he tells me. “And arch your back. I want to see that pretty pink pussy of yours.”

  His dirty words make heat swirl in my depths and spur me to action. I listen to him disrobe behind me, seeing articles of clothing tossed to the side in my peripheral vision. It's the weekend, so he's dressed casually. He always looks best naked, though.

  I enjoy the helplessness of my situation far more than I thought I would. The rope keeping my arms held behind my back is tight, but there's a strange comfort in not having to fight to stay in place. My nipples perk as they rub against the vinyl below me.

  I wait impatiently for Xan to put his hands on me. He teasingly slips a finger between my folds, brushing from my clit to the edge of my entrance, then back up again. I can't help but squirm, my body silently begging for more of his touch.

  “You look so fucking hot like this.” He wets his fingertip before sliding it back between my legs and making torturous light circles around the tiny bundle of nerves there. The pressure is far
too gentle to send me over the edge. Just enough to make me want more.

  “Please, sir,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming as he reduces me to my most basic form.

  “Please what?” He pulls his hand back and probes at my opening with just his fingertip. Then he hisses, “Oh, you're already getting wet. I bet you want something inside of you. Is that what you're about to beg me for?”

  “Yes, sir.” I nod as best I can.

  He kneels beside me, his voice devilish. “What do you want inside of you, Christiana? One finger? Two? My tongue? My cock?”

  I bite my bottom lip, too embarrassed to respond. The fact that he's not touching me anymore is driving me mad. “Anything, sir. Any part of you.”

  He rakes his fingers through my hair, brushing it over my shoulder so that he can see my face better. “Any part of me, huh? That's not very specific.”

  “Please, sir. Just please.”

  “Just please,” he parrots, though there's no mocking in his tone. Then he stands behind me again.

  My breath hitches as he slides two fingers into me all the way to the knuckles and curls them, pumping fiercely. Each inward thrust rolls over my G-spot, and I clench around him. Right before I hit my breaking point, he stops. A cruel trick.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks, moving more slowly, allowing my orgasm to recede but refusing to let it slip too far away.

  “Yes, sir,” I whimper, my hips bucking back toward his hand.

  “Or would you prefer something bigger?” He withdraws from me, not giving me time to answer as he crawls onto the table.

  I groan as I feel his bulbous tip press between my pussy lips. When he fills me with his girth, it's absolute bliss. And at the first thrust, I come all over his dick.