Single Dad's Hostage: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  Jen clears her throat, surprising us both and breaking the spell. I look around, almost confused to see everyone standing there, watching us practically maul each other.

  “Daddy, I’m going to have to politely ask you to never do that in front of me again. They don’t make bleach for the eyes, you know.”

  Murph gives her an approving look. “Nice one, Jen.”

  She gives him a quick fist bump.

  “Why doesn’t everyone just get some sleep?” I ask a little breathlessly. “It’s late.”

  “It’s 9 P.M., grandma,” says Murph.

  “Get some rest,” I repeat more firmly. “You can pick a room, Selene.There are dozens of guest bedrooms.” I pause for a second, catching the look that passes between her and Tanner. “Actually, take the room on the West wing. The last room before the hallway ends.”

  Tanner narrows his eyes. “The one on the opposite end of the house from mine, you mean?”

  “Does it matter where her room is compared to yours, Tanner?” I ask.

  “I guess not,” he says. “I’ve got legs.”

  Selene’s cheeks redden, but the way she bites her lip shows no sign of embarrassment--or reserve, for that matter.

  I watch everyone file out and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Just yesterday morning, Jen and I were living a relatively isolated life, and now my home is practically bursting with activity. My deadbeat brothers have a habit of staying for weeks or months without notice if I give them even the slightest excuse, and apparently asking them to watch Jen last night meant they could stay as long as they want. I could almost enjoy this, except I know it can’t last. Whether I want to think about it or not, I ripped this woman away from her boyfriend--her abusive, probably batshit crazy boyfriend.

  It’s only a matter of time before he comes knocking, and there’s no telling what will come next.

  “I really am sorry about her,” says Camille once everyone has headed to their rooms.

  “You probably should be sorry,” I say. “You’re supposed to be my fucking hostage, but you called in backup.”

  “I know. I know,” she says. “Selene is all I have, and I didn’t want her to think I was dead or something.”

  “She hasn’t really killed anyone before, right?” I ask, only half joking.

  Camille gives me a smile that’s not entirely reassuring. “No. I mean, probably not, at least. You’re not afraid of her, are you?” she asks, clearly trying not to smile.

  “Only if she’s really planning to murder me in my sleep.”

  “Just lock your door,” says Camille. “You saw how effective locks are against her just a few minutes ago.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah. She’s going to have bruises after that.”

  “So,” says Camille, cheeks flashing bright red. “That kiss was just for show, you know. I was thinking we probably need to make it look like we are into each other if anyone is going to believe us.”

  Her meaning takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, my heartbeat quickens. “So you want to do that more often?”

  “I don’t want to,” she says quickly. “I just think if you want your brothers and Jen to keep believing we’re engaged, it might be smart.”

  “Yeah,” I say, holding back the pleased smile that threatens to split my face. “ I agree, that would be smart.”

  Whether I like it or not, I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep Camille at arm’s length. There has never been a fucking challenge in my life I couldn’t overcome--just ask anyone who has tried to test me in the business world--but every man has his limit, and resisting Camille might just be mine.

  6

  Camille

  I’m standing in the bathroom, trying to decide what I should wear to bed tonight. I could just wear one of Dean’s t-shirts and another pair of his shorts, but another part of me--the horny part of me--thinks how uncomfortable those baggy shorts were last night and that my usual of just panties would be so much better. I really should ignore that part of me, but Dean makes it really hard to be sensible.

  It feels a little embarrassing to admit, even to myself, but I’ve barely been holding on to my dignity around him, barely managing to avoid drooling all over him and making a complete and total fool of myself. He’s the whole package. Good looks, charm--when he wants to show it--he’s a good father and has a sense of humor, what more could I hope for in a guy? Yes, I still remember he kidnapped me, and technically I’m still a hostage, but every passing hour makes that little fact seem like more of a technicality than a reality.

  The only reservation I still have is Sean, but seeing a full day pass without him showing up has already chipped away at the unstoppable mental image I had of him. It makes the almost supernatural certainty that he would find me no matter how impossible the odds, and that he would punish me seem almost ridiculous.

  Maybe it’s to spite him, or maybe it’s for some other reason, but I let the horny in me do the talking I take off my bra and pants before raiding Dean’s closet for a t-shirt.

  “Camille, you’re being such a slut,” I murmur to myself as I take a guilty sniff of the white t-shirt I find. It smells like him. Even the scent of him makes my stomach flip over and glow with heat. “Takes one to know one,” I say back to myself.

  I’m losing it. It’s official now. Not only am I talking to myself. I’m talking back to myself. I sigh, taking a quick look in the mirror and noticing that my nipples are pressing through the thin fabric of the shirt. I have a moment of doubt. This isn’t me. I’m not this bold, not in a million years. Then again, what do I have to lose?

  Without giving myself time to second-guess, I push open the door and stride into Dean’s bedroom with as much confidence as I can muster. He’s already lying in bed under the sheets and I can see his bare chest and shoulders. The sight gives me a quick flash of doubt.

  This is too dirty. I can’t get into bed with him like this when he’s not even wearing a shirt. We’d basically be halfway to sex.

  But he looks up at me and the smirk he wears gives me all the confidence I need. “Is that my shirt?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, trying to sound confident. I walk to the bed more quickly than I should, but fear my legs will give out on me if I wait too long.

  He raises his eyebrows as I slide under the blankets and steal a glance at him.

  “Didn’t think you’d want to share a bed,” he says.

  “And I thought you were going to sleep on the couch again,” I say.

  He shrugs. “It wasn’t very comfortable. Besides, I figured once I told you I slept in the nude, you’d keep your distance no matter where I slept.”

  My blood runs cold. “I don’t remember you saying that. And you wore your clothes last night.”

  “That was just a courtesy since we had just met. I can’t sleep with clothes on, though.”

  He wouldn’t, would he?

  I swallow deliberately, easing myself under the sheets more out of a sudden self-consciousness than anything else. Standing in front of his scrutiny when I know my hardened nipples are pressing through the thin t-shirt is too much. He wouldn’t really sleep naked with me in the room, would he?

  I move my hand tentatively beneath the sheets, inching toward him until I feel his bare leg. His skin is warm and I can feel the hard muscle coiled beneath.

  I snap my hand back like I was just bitten and stare at the ceiling, realizing I’m in over my head. Dean Sharp is naked. Right next to me. His… yeah. It’s right there. I could reach out and touch it and for all I know, it could even be hard right now.

  “Just warning you, I’m a snuggler,” he says. “I can’t be held accountable for what I do once I fall asleep, so don’t be shocked if I end up on top of you.”

  I don’t even blink, I just nod my head quickly, mouth too dry to swallow. “Well,” I say, “At least if someone walked in and saw you on top of me and naked, there’d be no doubt you are my fiancée.”

  “Camille, I don’t want to pret
end anymore.” He rolls on his side to face me, resting a hand on my arm. “I didn’t just kidnap you to protect you from Sean. I took you because I want you for myself, too. I don’t think I knew it at the time, but I know it now.”

  I swallow hard, not knowing which question to ask first or where to start. “You don’t want to pretend we’re engaged anymore, or you don’t want to pretend you’re going to let me go?”

  “Both,” he says.

  I wait, almost expecting him to laugh or tell me he’s joking, but that gorgeous face of his doesn’t show any sign of humor.”

  “You’re serious?” I ask. “We’ve barely known each other twenty-four hours.” I say it like he must be crazy for even considering what he’s talking about, but the truth is I feel something strange too. A magnetism that draws me toward him like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and though I’m not brave enough to say it out loud, I think I could be happy in a relationship with a man like him. I know that can never happen so long as Sean has his icy grip on me.

  “If you want me to prove how serious I am, I’ll be happy to.” There’s something in his voice that makes my core grow hot, something in the purpose behind those smoldering eyes of his.

  “I don’t think you’re serious,” I say, biting my lip and meeting his eye, knowing exactly what message I’m sending him, knowing I’m being terrible for encouraging him when I still haven’t broken free of Sean’s hold. Every time I think of touching Dean, I see Sean’s eyes glinting with rage. I see him working his belt free of its loops and I feel the phantom lashes of pain across my arms, back, and ass. Even with the shadow of fear hanging over me, I don’t know if I can stop myself now, not with the way he’s looking at me.

  Dean Sharp doesn’t strike me as a man who hesitates, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t hesitate now. His mouth presses against mine and the warmth of his body surrounds me.

  What am I doing?

  The little, persistent voice practically screeches in my mind. It’s full of ‘can’ts’, ‘shouldn’ts’ and ‘nevers’, but for once, I want to do something for me. I don’t want to try to be the woman Sean wants me to be. I experience a rare moment of clarity between kisses while my hands roam Dean’s bare skin: I’m tired of being Sean’s doormat. It’s like a vast storehouse of pent up anger and emotion is waiting and if I wanted, I could reach it all. I could unpack the twisted tangle that is my dependence on a scumbag like Sean and move on.

  But then Dean’s strong hands are tugging my oversized t-shirt off, and I don’t want to think about Sean right now. He can wait.

  Dean doesn’t stop kissing me as he works at my clothes, as if he needs the taste of me so badly he can’t even stop for a second to get my clothes off faster. I’m feeding on his frenzied energy, fingernails digging into his broad, muscular back, hips gyrating slightly upwards as I lay on my back, seeking the friction of his body.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says, only breaking the kiss long enough to breathe the words in my ear.

  Each syllable slides over me in a warm bliss, as if each word has fingers that go to work caressing me. Gorgeous. With the simple sentence my reservations fade, and I start to forget the things Sean has said in the past. Your legs are getting fat. Those big tits are going to get saggy some day. That brownie is going straight to your ass.

  I clutch Dean’s body harder as my anger and hatred of Sean swirls together with the lust. Instead of calming my need for Dean, it’s only intensified. The difference between the two men couldn’t be more clear. Where Sean is like a poison to me, Dean is the cure. The sexy, muscular, drop-dead-gorgeous cure.

  His kisses travel from my lips to my jaw, where he makes a path toward my ear, then nibbles on my earlobe, drawing a surprised gasp from me. My body squirms beneath him. My eyes keep closing against the pleasure, but I don’t want to miss a thing, so I force them open again, propping my head up with the pillows so I can watch his mouth moving across my body, kissing a wet path toward my erect nipples.

  He takes his time, holding himself up so the only point of contact between us is where his lips find me, down the soft slope of my ribs toward my navel, to the crease between my thighs and hips.

  I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. The bliss is too much. All I can do is throw my head back, losing myself in the moment and the experience. The nagging voice of doubt is so quiet now I can barely hear it.

  I’m naked except for the pair of lacy panties I wear, and I can already feel myself soaking them. I spare a moment of embarrassment because I know I get wetter than most women, and I worry he’ll be put off when he sees just how wet I get.

  But there’s little time for self-consciousness when he’s focused on me. His touch keeps yanking me back out of my head, forcing me to stay in the moment, blind to the past and future. This is nothing like the sex I’ve had in the past, where I might idly sort through my to-do list for the following day while the guy makes a mechanical effort to get off, ignoring my needs.

  He kisses the insides of my thighs, taking one of his hands from the bed and gripping my breast so hard it almost hurts. The quick shock of pain has me biting my lip and marveling at how the mild pain and intense pleasure blend together into something transcendent, something more explosive than I ever knew my body could experience.

  “I can’t wait to taste you, kitten.”

  I grin, eyes still shut. Kitten. Men have given me pet names before, but they’ve always felt creepy or forced. The way it rolls off Dean’s tongue so affectionately and without hesitation makes me feel sexy. It makes me feel owned or possessed, and the idea of a man like Dean taking ownership of me has me getting even wetter than I already am. Does that make me crazy?

  I don’t have time to decide if it does because he’s gripping the elastic of my panties. With a single, powerful pull, he rips them off me.

  My body quivers from the intensity of it. God. This man…

  I brace myself when I feel the heat of his breath on my mound. With my eyes closed tight, I have no idea if he’s waiting for something, but I already feel on the edge of exploding in a climax that would shatter concrete. I know one look into his gorgeous face would push me over the brink. I’m not about to embarrass myself by cumming like a lunatic before he has even touched me between my legs.

  “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls.

  His breath is hot against me, sending a shiver of anticipation through me.

  He urges my legs open, and tugs on my hips, bringing me closer to his mouth before he ignites my entire body with a single touch. He drags the flat of his tongue across my clit, taking his time, bringing his hand down to stroke the lips of my pussy and plunge inside me as his tongue does things I didn’t know were possible.

  I lose track of what he’s doing, feeling only the blur of absolute and total bliss. It’s pure ecstasy like I’ve never felt. There’s no trace of poison running through it, no nagging feelings of doubt or shame. There’s not even a distant threat of fear.

  I dive into the moment, mentally and physically, throwing away any inhibitions. My thighs scissor around his head and I dig my heels into the back of his powerful shoulders, pushing myself into him. I shove the corner of a pillow into my mouth to stifle the moans spilling from my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut and riding the torrent of pleasure that threatens to carry me away from every problem I’ve ever had.

  “I’m going to cum. God,” I gasp. “I’m going--” my words fade into a breathless sigh, hands clenching so hard around the sheets it hurts.

  “Not yet,” he says, smirking.

  He pulls back, picking me up like I weigh nothing, he turns me so I’m facing the foot of the bed on my knees. He eases himself back down, resting his head on the pillows, and then pulls me over his body so that I’m straddling his face.

  My complete lack of self-consciousness falters as I realize my ass is right in front of his face, but the aftershocks of his touch running through me make it easy to ignore. That, and the fact that I’m staring a
t what has to be a ten inch cock. My eyes bulge. It’s not just long either, it’s wide.

  “That’s the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen.”

  He chuckles. “Good. Then you won’t mind sucking it.”

  Without warning, he pushes my ass down so I’m sitting on his face and his mouth is back on my pussy, tongue thrusting and swirling inside me and along my folds. I grip his cock by the base and bite my lip. Blowjobs have always been slightly off-putting to me and degrading, and I’ve never been turned on by the idea of one.

  Like everything else with Dean, he appears to be an exception. I don’t just put my mouth around it and mindlessly stroke him. I run my tongue from base to tip as seductively as I can, savoring the taste of him and loving the idea of pleasing him.

  7

  Dean

  I drive my tongue inside her, loving how sweet she tastes and the way she shamelessly grinds herself down on my face, hungry for more.

  My horny little kitten.

  She took to the idea of sucking my cock with enthusiasm, and her head bobs up and down with gusto. Her sweet little mouth feels so good on my cock. I can tell she’s never experienced a cock my size, because she’s barely able to get the first two inches in her mouth, but she makes up for it with her hands, pumping both fists along my length.

  When I can tell she’s about to cum again, I know it’s time. I move her leg, sliding out from under her and then I half-toss her to her back, right where I want her. She looks up at me, lips parted and eyes sultry. I can barely contain myself. My cock pulses almost painfully, poised to enter her.

  I briefly consider stopping to go grab a condom from the bathroom, but fuck it. I’m not spoiling this with a rubber. She doesn’t seem to be complaining, either, so I lean over her, bending to steal a few kisses as I guide my cock to her entrance.