One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  I want to feel every inch of him, and I reach for the hem of his T-shirt. I tug at it. Declan comes to my aid. He pulls it over his head, breaking away for less than a second. He captures my mouth again, and then with a groan, he pulls away.

  I palm his chiseled chest and run my hands over his rippled stomach. My nipples are now aching peaks on my chest, and I long to have Declan’s hands on them. As if he can read my mind, he gently turns me around and unzips my dress. It falls to a heap on the floor, leaving me in panties and a bra. Declan unclasps my bra and pulls the straps away from my shoulders.

  He lets out a ragged breath before gently turning me to face him. His hungry gaze drops to my breasts and then back at me again. His look is a question, and I nod in response. If there was any resistance left in me, it flies out the window.

  I’ve never known a man who would pause to ensure that the half-naked woman in front of him is sure that she wants to have sex. Desire rages through my body at the raw need on Declan’s face as his gaze ripples over my chest.

  He pulls me back in his arms, crushing my breasts against his bare chest. He traces the outline of my mouth with his tongue in unhurried movements. After teasing me with his tongue for what feels like hours, Declan lowers me to the bed.

  He stands over me, unbuckles his belt, and unzips his trousers. His dark, intense gaze holds mine until I break the stare when he drops his boxer briefs. My gaze is drawn to his thick, hard cock jutting out from his body, and I inhale sharply. He’s huge.

  As I take in the sheer masculinity in front of me, Declan gets onto the bed and drapes his body over mine. A moan leaves my throat as his skin comes into contact with mine. I wrap my hands around his neck and bring his head down.

  A voice in my head whispers that this was not the plan, but it’s too late. My body is engulfed by a fire that only Declan can put out. Fireworks erupt in my pussy when Declan hungrily kisses me, obliterating all rational thoughts from my mind. He trails kisses along my jawline and then lifts my hair to kiss my neck. Everywhere he touches leaves a trail of heat. He moves lower until his face is directly above my breasts.

  “Perfect,” he says, staring down at my chest. He lowers his head and takes a nipple into his mouth while palming the other one.

  “Oh God,” I cry out, sweet sensations darting from my nipples to my pussy.

  His name falls from my mouth as easily as if we’ve had sex countless times before. He sucks my nipples and flicks his tongue over them as small growls come from his throat.

  I’ve never had sex with a man who groaned and growled when he was sucking my nipples. It does something to my brain to know that he’s loving what he’s doing just as much as I’m loving receiving it.

  I whimper as desire overwhelms me. My fingernails scrape his back, and my legs thrash about.

  “You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen,” Declan says. “Round. Perfect size. But now I need to taste your pussy. Lap at your juices.”

  My legs turn to jelly at the words coming from his mouth. That’s another first. I’ve never been with a man who had a foul mouth. I love it.

  He peppers kisses on my belly as he lowers himself until he’s lying between my legs.

  “Fuck, Marian. Your panties are soaked right through,” Declan says, his voice filled with raw wonder. He trails kisses along the hem of my panties until I’m squirming, desperate to feel his mouth on my skin.

  “Please, Declan,” I say without a trace of embarrassment.

  He hooks a finger on the edge and lifts my panties. His warm breath fans my folds, and I shiver as a fresh wave of arousal hits me. I thread my fingers through his hair.

  “Mmm gorgeous and so ready,” Declan murmurs as though speaking to himself. He pushes my panties to one side completely and buries his face in my pussy.

  I scream. He eats my pussy. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head as he teases me with his tongue. He does things to me that no man has ever done.

  “I need these off,” he growls and grips the hem of my panties.

  I wriggle out of them and kick them off, desperate to have his tongue back in my pussy. He splays his massive hands on my inner thighs, nudging them further apart.

  “You taste so sweet,” Declan says before flicking my clit with his tongue. “Like ice cream on a hot summer day.”

  The pleasure is almost unbearable. He does a thing with his mouth. He wraps it around my clit and sucks. My body explodes, and for a few seconds, my vision goes blurry as a violent orgasm rocks me. Every inch of me trembles, but instead of feeling satiated from the orgasm, my body screams for more. I raise my hands to my breasts and palm my nipples as Declan’s gaze meets mine.

  He drops his gaze to my chest. “Fuck, Marian. That’s so hot.”

  “I want you,” I tell him.

  He crawls up my body and then takes my legs and wraps them around his waist. I experience a moment of panic when I look down at his cock. I want it so badly, but I’m afraid I might not take it.

  Declan wraps his hand around the base of his cock and rubs it along my entrance.

  Chapter 8

  Declan

  “Should we use a —” I start to tell her when she places a finger on my lips.

  She looks like a goddess lying on the bed looking up at me, with her perfect round breasts doing a little dance of their own. If I thought that Marian was hot with clothes, she’s pure perfection when she’s naked.

  Her scents of arousal pervade the room.

  I drag my cock up and down her slit until she’s moaning and raising her hips in an effort to pull my cock in. I have no intentions of rushing this unexpected gift. Her pussy gushes out liquids, coating my cock with them like a second layer of skin.

  “Now, Declan,” she says and sways her hips in an enticing way that breaks down all my control.

  “You asked for it,” I tell her. Despite the temptation to plunge into her, I don’t. I’m bigger than most men, and I could easily hurt Marian. So, I take it easy and inch my cock in slowly.

  “You’re so big,” she says.

  “Can you take me?” I ask her, desperately worried that she will say no.

  “Oh yes,” Marian says, her voice a caress.

  “So fucking tight,” I say. Her pussy walls clamp around my cock like a vice. I stay still for a few seconds to give her pussy time to adjust to my size.

  I slide my cock out and back halfway in, and when she rocks her hips, I know she’s ready to take all of me. I rock my hips going deeper until I’m buried to the hilt. I lean down to kiss her and completely lose myself in Marian’s body.

  She tightens her legs around me, urging me to pump faster. I break the kiss and brace myself by rooting my hands on either side of her. I drive my cock in and out of her pussy, increasing my pace until she’s screaming as an orgasm rocks her.

  I like that Marian is a screamer. Her sharp cries die down to whimpers just as I roar out my release. I pump my release into her and momentarily wonder if this is the moment when we’ll make that baby she wants so badly.

  I kiss her and roll onto the side, taking her with me. Our breaths come in gasps as we lie there in wonder at the magic we’ve just created.

  ***

  I wake up the following morning and grope around the bed for Marian. I love morning sex, and I’m eager to recreate some of that magic from last night. I come up empty and open my eyes. The morning sunlight streams through the curtainless window, burning my eyes.

  I sit up, and the first thing that hits me is the sound of silence. Her peppermint scent lingers in the bed. I lie back in bed, assuming that Marian is in the bathroom. Five minutes later, and I know for sure that she’s not. I grab my phone and glance at the time. Half-past eight.

  I sit up with a start as it hits me that it’s a Monday, and I do need to go to work. But first, I need to find Marian. I get up and pad to the bathroom to refresh myself. Clad only in boxer briefs, I leave the guest room and pop into the next room.

  As soon as I e
nter, I know that’s it’s the master bedroom and Marian’s room. Her scent is everywhere. The sprawling queen size bed is made, and not a thing is out of place.

  “Marian?” I call. Silence answers. I cross the room to a door I assume is the bathroom. I push the door open and peer in. She’s not there. The house is huge, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she was in the kitchen and no sounds can be heard from the second story.

  I make my way downstairs and through to the living room and then the dining room. By the time I get to the kitchen, my anger is beginning to rise. I’m not surprised to find no one in the pristine kitchen. There are no signs that she was even there.

  My eye is drawn to a note flapping on the steel fridge door. I cross the room and rip it off.

  Morning. Had to rush off to work, but I’m sure you’ll be okay. Make yourself at home. I’ll see you later.

  I reread the note in mounting disbelief. Marian has left a fucking note for me as if I’m an escort she took home with her last night. Anger courses through my veins. I crumple the note and toss it into the bin. Boiling with fury, I ground my teeth and clench my jaw so tight, it hurts. I feel like a fool standing in a stranger’s kitchen clad only in boxer briefs. Because that’s what she is, a stranger.

  I march out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the guest room. I grab my phone intending to call her, and then I realize that I don’t have her cell phone number. Which is just as well, I realize. The piece of mind I intend to give to her is better off given in person.

  I’ll drive to her place of work and confront her there. Where does she work? a voice in my head says.

  Fuck, fuck, and fuck. I pace the room and try to remember. I know that she’s a wedding planner, but I draw a blank after that. I can’t believe that I never bothered to ask her where she worked. But then again, I never expected to wake up to an empty house.

  I sit down on the bed and weigh my options. I could just forget how angry I am and call an Uber to take me home to Santa Monica. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from LA. But the thought of letting Marian get away with such behavior makes everything in me a rebel.

  I contemplate searching her house. I’m sure I’m bound to find a clue somewhere, but that seems such an invasion of privacy. No, I’ll have to think of another way to find her.

  Ace. He must know where she works, and if he doesn’t, he’ll know where to get that information. I hate this.

  Ace is the only person in my contacts who is on speed dial. The phone goes unanswered, to my mounting panic. What if Ace doesn’t pick up his phone?

  To my relief, he answers on the fourth ring, just when I’m about to give up.

  “I’m surprised to hear from you so early,” Ace says. “I’d think that for a man on his honeymoon, you’d be unavailable for a week at least.”

  I don’t have time for bullshit. “Do you know where Marian’s offices are?”

  “What?” Ace says.

  “You heard me,” I shoot back.

  “You’re asking me if I know where your wife works? Am I correct?”

  I sigh deeply and decide to let Ace have his fun. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Where are you?” Ace says.

  “Her house in Pine Place,” I say tersely.

  Ace chuckles. “She left you alone in her house?”

  My patience runs out. “Look, I called for help, and if you won’t give it to me, just say so.”

  “I’ll do one better; I’ll come and pick you up. Ping me the location,” he says and disconnects the call.

  I do as he says and estimate it’ll take him fifteen minutes to get me. Might as well take a shower. The water is refreshing, and I feel marginally better when I’m done. I dress, take my suitcase, and leave the house to wait for Ace outside.

  My timing is perfect. His truck comes cruising down the street soon after. He brings it to a stop, and I throw my small suitcase in the back and then hop in.

  Ace bursts into laughter when he sees me. “I guess you know what women feel when they call it the walk of shame, huh?”

  I glare at him.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Ace says.

  “Take me to her office. Marian has to know that you can’t treat people like this.”

  Ace turns to me. “I’ve filled all the gaps, except one. What’s in it for her? Why is she going ahead with this charade?”

  I don’t respond.

  “Ah, another fifth amendment answer,” Ace says. He looks out the window and then back at me again. “Do you want some advice?”

  I’m swimming in foreign waters here and fumbling about. I need all the help I can get. “Go on.”

  “Let her stew,” Ace says.

  I frown. “Meaning?”

  “You and Marian are in the early stages of a relationship. This stage can make or break you. Feelings get wounded more easily. You might go to her office and say something in anger that you’ll regret. Don’t show her how angry you are.”

  “But I am angry,” I say. This is why I don’t do relationships. I hate the cat and mouse games involved.

  “But she doesn’t need to know. You’re doing exactly what she’s expecting you to do. I bet right now she’s glancing at the door every few minutes expecting you to burst in.”

  His words slowly sink in. What will I accomplish by going to unleash my anger on her? “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Nothing. Let her look for you. Go to Santa Monica, take the certificate to the attorneys. Go to work. In other words, get on with your life.”

  A grin pulls at my lips. I like Ace’s plan. I clap him on the shoulders. “How did you become so wise in the ways of women?”

  He chuckles. “You’re welcome. I’ll drive you to Santa Monica; maybe I’ll even drop in at Park and Rachael’s office,” Ace says.

  The marriage certificate is safely in my suitcase. I’d always had it as Marian had been too drunk to keep it on the night we got married. I should be pleased that now I can go to the family attorneys, and within days, I should have access to my money.

  Instead, a heaviness comes over me. We had planned to go to Santa Monica together, and even though ours is a marriage of convenience, I don’t want things to be like this between Marian and me.

  “Have you told the folks?” Ace says.

  “No, and I don’t plan to until I have to,” I tell him.

  Ace nods tersely. We both know our parents, especially our mother. Their specialty is mind games. When Ace and I were growing up, they dangled affection in front of us like a carrot to a rabbit.

  If you behaved well, you received affection. If you messed up, as kids are bound to do, the affection was withdrawn. It was a fucked-up way to grow up, and I am happy for Ace that he’s been able to put it behind him.

  Ace is smart enough to keep Lexi and Luna away from Mom. They visit every so often, enough for Luna to know her grandparents but not enough to enable them to influence her life.

  “What are your plans for Did you say Pizza?” Ace asks.

  I’m relieved by the change of topic. “I’m thinking of LA as the location for the second outlet,” I tell him. “I’ve put the word out to a few agents, but I know retail space in LA is very competitive.”

  Ace and I were once in the real estate industry, flipping houses for a living until he went to Afghanistan.

  “Oh,” he says. “You might just be in luck. You know Golden Crust Bakery, right?”

  “Yes,” I say with mounting excitement. Golden Crust Bakery is down the street from Ace’s workplace and next to First Bar, a joint popular with firefighters.

  “They’re shutting down. I’ll get more info for you,” Ace says.

  This day, which began so badly, is doing a quick about-turn.

  Chapter 9

  Marian

  It’s four in the afternoon, and I’ve given up hope that Declan will come by. I’m itching to go home and see whether he’s still there, but something tells me he’s not. Declan is not the type to be held ransom by anyone
. I’m well aware of the position I left him in, but I needed to make a point.

  He probably thought that our deal had changed because we had sex. No chance. Leaving him as I did in the morning would put that thought back where it had come from.

  A part of me feels bad at treating him that way when he didn’t deserve it, but the survivor part of me is cheering me on. A knock comes on the door, and my heart skips a beat. Declan.

  “Come in,” I call out cheerfully.

  Kimberly peers in and disappointment floods me. I muster a smile. “Your four-thirty appointment is here to see you.”

  I smile. “Thanks, show them in.”

  I stand up as Phil and Erika walk in. They are a couple in their early twenties, and this is our first meeting together. I usually like to hold first meetings in my office to give my clients confidence that ours is a serious enterprise.

  “Hi, I’m Marian Stevens, and you must be Phil and Erika,” I say.

  They introduce themselves, and I invite them to sit down on the spare chairs. Erika is easygoing with a great smile. Her fiancé is a bit on the serious side, but in our world, that doesn’t say much. The partner who looks easygoing may very well turn out to be the most difficult.

  I’ve learned to reserve my judgment.

  “What can I do for you?” I say, my tone was friendly to put them at ease. First meetings are nerve-wracking for most couples.

  Phil dives right in. “This is Erika’s idea.” A feeling of dread comes over me. Any hopes that I may have had that the meeting would be smooth fly out the window.

  “Okay,” I say calmly.

  “My first question is this: Why do people hire a wedding planner?” he says.

  Erika sits up. “Why are you doing this, Phil? I already told you. We can’t cope with all the arrangements and our busy schedules.”

  He sits back in his chair and adopts a sulky look. Definitely a bad start.

  “It’s a good question that Phil asked,” I say, and he perks up a bit.

  The meeting is long and tedious, with Phil being argumentative all the way. I could dump them on Kimberly or Eric, but I like to be the one dealing with difficult clients. By the time I manage to leave the office, it’s five-thirty, and I hurry out like a madwoman.