Dirty Fake Fiancé

by Sky Corgan

  He doesn't even give pause, pushing deeply into me and fucking me hard. The friction elongates my orgasm, the compressed position of my body making him feel extra large inside of me. I'm so consumed by everything that all I can do is moan and cry out.

  He cups his hand over my mouth, leveraging his grip on me to buck harder. My neck aches from having my head pulled back, but everything else feels so good that I barely notice the pain. I fall into a strange high when we're together like this. It's something I can't explain, but it's almost a religious experience. My body is buzzing with desire. My heart is full of love. I'm surrendering to him completely. It's an absolute powerlessness that I never knew I craved. Being used by him. Fucked by him. His toy. And he's my everything.

  “Oh yeah, your pussy is so fucking tight like this.” He leans over me, jack-hammering into me like he has limitless energy. I'm not sure if I have another orgasm or if the one I had before just doesn't end. All I know is that my body is alight with contractions, and no matter how hard I clamp my pussy around his cock, he keeps fucking me until my muscles give out.

  “Do you want me to come in your pussy?” he asks. “Want me to stretch your pussy nice and wide and fill it with my seed?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say into his palm.

  “Will your little snatch eat it all up? I don't want a drop wasted.” His breathing is ragged from keeping up such a strenuous pace.

  “Yes, sir. Please come in my pussy, sir.”

  “I'm going to come in you bare. I want to fill your womb so full that I'm inside every inch of you.”

  My throat tightens from the thought that he's going to come inside of me unprotected. I didn't get pregnant the first time, but there's always the risk. Does he really understand what he's saying or is he just caught up in the heat of the moment? Either way, I hate to admit to myself that I want it, too. I want to feel his hot seed inside of me. Nothing is better than when he comes. And there's a deeper intimacy knowing the risk—knowing that he's willing to take it with me.

  Xan sits up and holds onto the rope bound around my wrists for the home stretch. I squeeze around him as best as I can, my muscles fighting to milk out his come. I wait for him to nut inside of me, but he abruptly pulls out. There's no warm spray on my back. Instead, I feel firm hands lifting and turning me over. Xan places me on my back, splaying my thighs before entering me again. We have sex a lot, but it's incredibly rare that he lets me see his face. Most of the time, I'm on all fours. It's been an oddity to me, but I just figured he prefers it that way. And to be honest, it makes the experience less personal, which helps to keep that thin border of reality that we're only boss and employee intact.

  This. Seeing him like this. His handsome face. His hooded eyes. His slightly parted lips. The light sheen of sweat on his toned chest and abs. It's too much. I come the second he slides back into me, and within a few short bucks, I feel his cock thicken. A curse passes between his clenched teeth, and then my insides turn warm as he paints them with his seed. There's no protection. It's just part of him filling part of me, offering a deeper relationship than what I think he's prepared to give.

  I bask in the romantic intimacy of the moment until my orgasm subsides, and then the worry sets in. The realization that we did something wrong. That if I become pregnant, there likely won't be a happy ending. There would be no wedding bells. No lying in bed at night with our baby between us. No happy family.

  I would be outcast like my mother.

  I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling lost in though while Xan goes to get a towel to clean us off. I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, but I can't convince myself of that. And again I wonder how many women he's done the exact same thing with.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, perhaps noticing my closed off body language.

  As soon as he unbound my wrists, I sat up and hugged myself. I could just be cold, but that's not it. My expression speaks volumes that I'm not okay.

  “Don't you worry about me getting pregnant?” I can feel his seed seeping from my pussy. It's slick and sticky at the same time. There will definitely be a wet spot when I get up. Hopefully, he doesn't mind me getting it on the furniture, though it would mostly be his own fault for coming inside of me.

  “I try not to think about it.” He hands me the towel before scratching the back of his neck. Awkwardness fills the room like a deadly fog.

  “You try not to think about it.” I look at him incredulously. “Isn't that a bit irresponsible?”

  “You said that I could,” he tells me pointedly, his voice full of warning. “Don't pretend like you didn't want it, too.”

  “That's not the point, Xan.” I wipe the wetness from between my legs. It feels like a never ending trickle is coming out of me. How much can one man come?

  “Don't worry about it.” He brushes the conversation away, walking over to his pile of clothes to get dressed.

  I don't move. I'm too busy internally panicking. Too busy over-analyzing everything.

  Trying to figure him out is exhausting. Loving him, even more so. I want to know if there will ever be an endgame to this, or will I just be his whore until he gets tired of me and moves on to someone else?

  “Take a shower and go to bed,” he tells me as he heads for the door. It's so cold. So nonchalant.

  “Xan,” I say before he has a chance to disappear.

  “Yeah?” He glances at me over his shoulder.

  “What...are we?” I can't stop the words from leaving my mouth, even though I know it's a stupid question to ask. “I mean...to each other. What's this?” I gesture around us, but I specifically mean the sex.

  “You're my employee,” he replies with an iciness that makes my heart stop beating. And as he leaves me in the room alone, it takes everything in me not to shatter.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sleep doesn't come easily. Xan's words echo in my brain on repeat.

  You're my employee. Just his employee. He couldn't have made us sound more disconnected if he tried.

  It shouldn't bother me. I knew coming in that's what we would be. What we would always be. I knew it the first time he did indecent things with me. It's been at the back of my mind all this time. Every time we've coupled, it's been there. But as the weeks have passed, my feelings for him have pushed it further back into my subconscious. I've allowed myself to forget. Allowed myself to pretend.

  I'm a stupid girl.

  Why did I ask that question? Everything would have been okay if I hadn't asked—if I had kept pretending.

  But I did ask, and something inside of me shifted on a seismic level. It's like the blinds have been thrust open on a person who hasn't seen the sun in years. It hurts, but my eyes still fluttered open. And now that I can see...

  This isn't going to work anymore. My heart is too tangled. Too warped.

  No matter how much I try to disregard my feelings for Xan, they'll always be there. And when he eventually replaces me with someone else, it will kill me.

  I can't just wait for that to happen. Now that I know what we aren't, every time he leaves the house I'm going to worry. My paranoia that he'll find someone else will increase tenfold. I'll live a life of misery. And I darn sure can't take the chance of him getting me pregnant. Being disowned by him...it would be too much.

  I have to protect myself. Have to save myself from any of those horrible things happening. And for that reason, I have to leave.

  I learned my lesson the first time. If I walk into Xan's office and tell him I'm quitting, he might turn the tables on me; might seduce me into staying. And for that reason, I wait. I drag my exhausted body out of bed the next morning, make breakfast, and pretend like nothing is wrong. I'm a terrible actress, but he doesn't seem to notice that conversation is sparse; and when it's not, it's forced. He doesn't notice because he doesn't care. Not really.

  When he leaves for his meeting, I draft a resignation letter. It's long and far more personal than it should be, but I need him to know exactly why I can'
t work for him anymore. I include that I've fallen for him. That my feelings present a conflict of interest and will hamper my performance. That I'm not built for the kind of relationship he's asked of me and that someone who can separate their feelings from business would be better suited for the job. I thank him for his hospitality and tell him that being his personal assistant has been a truly enjoyable, albeit strange, experience. I think about being bold and asking if he would be kind enough to give a good recommendation to any future employer that might call him, but without putting in my two weeks notice, that seems a bit too much to ask for. In reality, I know he's not going to be happy. I know he'll likely never speak a kind word about me again. I know I'm done in the professional world.

  Oh well. I've always enjoyed manual labor more anyway. I'll go back to the ranch. And if they don't take me, I'll bake bread and sell it on the streets until something else comes along. God always provides somehow.

  I take off the lingerie I was supposed to be wearing all day today, fold it neatly and place it on Xan's desk next to the letter and the cell phone he bought me. Then I pack what few belongings I brought with me and walk down the street to catch the bus home. A heavy sigh escapes me as I walk through the door to my apartment. It's over.

  Dorothy is away visiting family. Ruby is home watching Mom. Almost as soon as I walk through the door, she leaves to go to her salon. I tend to my mother, trying my best to distract myself by playing games. Despite telling myself that everything is alright, I feel a pit in my stomach, and it deepens with each passing hour. I find myself having a hard time concentrating, my thoughts stuck on how Xan will react when he finds the letter. And when it becomes late, and my mother asks why I haven't returned to work, I decide to tell her everything.

  She doesn't understand half of it, her brain too damaged to comprehend much. Even on the bad parts, she just smiles and tells me that everything will be okay. She tells me that I did what I had to do and that I'm a good girl. That God will forgive me.

  It's more comforting than she'll ever know, and as tears spill down my cheeks and I pull her into an embrace, I know that she's not disappointed in me. She won't cast the same shame on me that the Amish community to did on her. She won't shun me.

  The doorbell rings, and I sigh as I'm forced to pull away from the tender moment. Living in a section 8 complex, we get a lot of solicitors. Ruby or Dorothy would just ignore them, but I understand that they're just doing their job. I take their fliers or listen to their stories with a smile, and then I send them on their way with the hope that they made a difference for their organization or company. We can all do with a little hope.

  I excuse myself, leaving my mother to finish painting something that looks like either a buffalo or a horse, I can't really tell. When I open the door, I clutch at my chest from the shock of who is on the other side. Xan gives me a queer look as I pat over my heart, swallowing the breath I nearly choked on.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  He's still in his business suit from this morning. My letter is clutched in his fist. Dread fills me as my eyes land on it.

  “I'm fine. I just didn't expect to see you is all.” I can't force myself to make eye contact with him. This is the first time I've felt guilt since writing that letter. This was supposed to be easy. I wasn't supposed to have to face him again. Everything in that letter is more of an explanation than anything that could pass my lips. There's nothing left to be said.

  “May I come in?” He gestures into the house.

  Against my better judgment, I meekly nod and step aside. Xan enters our small living room before his gaze sets on my mother at the bar. His lips curl into a smile, and he takes long strides over to her. I barely have time to shut the door before I realize where he's headed, and when I do, I panic. The last thing I need is for my mother to meet the man who broke my heart right after I told her that story about him.

  “Mrs. Miller.” He goes down on one knee in front of her so that they're eye level.

  She looks at him with confusion before her gaze drifts back to me. She points to Xan with a shaky finger. “Christiana, who is this handsome gentleman?”

  Xan takes her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “I wouldn't expect you to remember me. We met a long time ago.”

  I furrow my brow. What is he talking about? He's met my mother before? When?

  “Mom. This is—” I begin, but Xan holds out his hand to stop me.

  He glances back at me before continuing, “I'm going to tell you a story about something that happened to me that completely changed my life.”

  I have no idea where he's going with this, so I hug myself and listen, flanking my mother's side so that we're both facing him.

  “When I was a boy, my father would sometimes take me to this bagel shop on Pearl Boulevard on the days that he'd let me go to work with him. It was always a special treat for me. They had the best nova lox bagels.

  “There was always this woman on the corner of Pearl and Lamb selling loaves of bread. Even though my father told her no every time we passed by, she'd still try to sell us a loaf.

  “Now, to be honest, my father wasn't the nicest guy. Sometimes, he could be an insufferable asshole. Pardon my language." He covers his lips with his fingers in apology. "There were times I even wondered why my mother didn't divorce him. Money was everything to him. He held onto it like it was life. He'd do anything to get it. Nothing else mattered to him. Half of the reason why he even took me to the bagel place was that one of his business associates hung out there and they could talk business while I ate.

  “But anyway, I digress. My father looked down on the woman. He thought her a nuisance. He warned me against people like her. Scavengers, he called them. Of course, I was young and impressionable, so I believed him. Everything my father said was fact back then.

  “The woman had a little girl with her sometimes. The little girl stood by the woman's side like a shadow. The woman did all the peddling.”

  His story is coming together. I know who the two people are that he's speaking of. I'm even beginning to remember him now. A bit older than me. Always in a suit with the cruel man by his side. I can distinctly remember that man looking down his nose at us. I also remember the day he was shot.

  “It was a day like any other. My father and I were walking back from the bagel shop.” Xan's voice deadens slightly. “Some men drove by in a car. Shots were fired. My father was hit square in the chest.

  “I was so young then. I didn't know what to do. The woman selling bread immediately came to my father's aid despite how shitty he had been to her in the past. She tore a piece of her dress off to put pressure on the wound. She tried to save him.

  “He died there on the street. The woman pulled me aside. She held me while I cried and shook. Covered in my father's blood, she held me...not because she had to, but because it was the right thing to do.

  “When the cops came, she had her daughter stay with me while she gave them her statement. The girl was quiet, but she had a lot of her mother in her. She told me that everything would be alright, that my father was with God now, and he was in a happy place.

  “Before the cops took me away, the little girl gave me one of the loaves of bread. I knew they probably barely made enough money to keep clothes on their backs. My father had never bought bread from them a day in his life. It was a waste for them to give any of it away. But still, she gave me a loaf of bread...out of kindness.” He glances up at me with a soft smile. “And it was delicious bread.”

  I don't know what to say—how to react. I'm speechless from the revelation that he was that same boy from so long ago.

  Xan stands, keeping my mother's gaze, her hand still clutched in his. “Several things changed that day. Most obviously, I became fatherless. But I also learned about the kindness of strangers—that some people will help you even if you don't deserve it. And I fell in love.” He looks over at me, and my heart stops beating. Could he seriously mean... “I thought about you every sing
le day. When I was old enough to take over my father's company, I had a private investigator track you both down and keep tabs on you. I watched you over the years. And when you started working for Checkmarks Scholarly, I bought the company just so that I could be closer to you.”

  I clutch onto the back of my mother's chair because I can't believe what I'm hearing.

  “I didn't pass by your desk by chance. Everything was planned. I offered you the personal assistant position because I wanted to see if you were the same person now that you had been back then.” He turns his attention to my mother, and his expression changes, darkens slightly. “Mrs. Miller, I came here today to fire your daughter.”

  My knees start to wobble as I feel the blood drain from me. How can he be so cruel? Did I really disappoint him that much? Does he think I'm some horrible person because I slept with him and gave him everything he asked for?

  “But she quit and saved me the trouble,” he continues.

  My mother's face is set in a scowl. “You're an asshole.”

  It's the first time I've ever heard her curse. My mouth falls agape, and Xan just guffaws as if this is all some big joke to him.

  “I suppose I am.” He nods. “You see, your daughter wrote me this really long resignation letter.” Xan unfolds the letter and glances down at it. My heart cracks at how coolly he regards it. “And it made me realize that we're not a very good match as boss and employee.”

  “Then why are you here, Xan?” I break my silence finally, just wanting him to leave. I don't understand why he came and shared that story with us if he was just going to be spiteful towards me after. Maybe he couldn't stand the slight of me quitting so suddenly, the loss of control.

  “I came to offer you a different position with me.” He folds the letter and slips it into his pocket, unaffected by my defensiveness.

  “Why would I ever want to work for you again?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “You wouldn't, and I know that.” He pulls a box out from the same pocket that he stuck the letter in.