The Pretend Boyfriend 4 (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance)
Page 2
There’s a pain in her chest so deep that she thinks her ribs will cave in with the sheer weight and crush of it. He’s just the type who would sacrifice himself if he thinks it would do someone else a favor. He’s loyal that way.
It hurts her so badly to know what he is. And there’s nothing she can do about it.
Or is there?
Sam drives out of the car park blindly.
*
She trawls the streets, wandering aimlessly. Her mind is a restless churn of images, sounds, thoughts and jumbled streams. Brian, Brian, Brian. He’s everywhere in her mind.
She sees their bodies entwined around each other’s. His glorious green eyes, gazing down at her lovingly as his cock moves within her snug passageway. His lips slightly parted and his pupils dilated with desire.
She parks, and sits in her car for a long, long time. A gaudy LED sign spills scattered reflections on her windscreen, and she looks up. It says: WHISKERS. The outline of a red neon cat winks at her. A bar.
Just what she needs to get sloshed.
She debates whether to call Cassie, but looks at the time. Eleven p.m. Cassie would be in bed with Caleb. Two lovebirds having the perfect, slightly dysfunctional relationship. Not like hers and Brian’s. Theirs is majorly dysfunctional.
Besides, she doesn’t want Cassie to think that she’s calling her only when she needs a friend.
Footsteps alert her. A man is coming out of ‘Whiskers’. Alone. He seems vaguely familiar. Then she recognizes him. Blond hair bleached pale in the moonlight and streetlamps. Firm, muscular body with bulging arm definition.
Thor from the gym.
Her breath catches, and she involuntarily shrinks into her driver’s seat. He pauses, sees her car – which he clearly recognizes – and stops walking.
“Samantha?”
Sam freezes. OK, she’s caught out.
She makes herself smile.
“Thor? Hi.”
He comes to her window, and she reluctantly depresses the wind down button. His features are structured and chiseled in the wan light, and he seems very much an ethereal creature with his long, blond hair. Very Fabio-like. She thinks of his gym poster – the one where he dresses up as Thor, the Norse god of thunder – and has to suppress a laugh. Brian again with his own peculiar brand of advertising aesthetics.
“What are you doing all by yourself out here?” he asks. She can smell his cologne. “This is not exactly a safe neighborhood for a pretty young woman like you to be prowling alone.”
She debates whether or not to tell him that she’s waiting for someone. But since that isn’t true, her tongue dries up. She has always been lousy at telling untruths.
She replies, “I-I was out . . . thinking.”
Hey, she tells herself, I’m his boss here. I’m supposed to be in charge. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing. Then why do I feel like a tongue-tied schoolgirl?
His expression turns knowing. “Boyfriend trouble?”
She doesn’t say anything. Everyone at the gym knows that Brian and she are together. Well, as ‘together’ as they can get. Everyone knows that half the female employees have been trying to get into Brian’s pants as well, without success.
Thor’s lips spread, showing his teeth.
“Wanna go for a drink?” he says.
She wants to say ‘no’. She has a load on her mind. But then she thinks of Brian and Adie together. In bed. Fucking for the last two days – for better or for worse.
She straightens her mouth and says, “Why not?”
3
Delilah Faulkner gazes at the sleeping Brian. There is a slow churn of emotions in her head every time she thinks of him, which is extremely often in the last few years.
She has run the gamut from blinding rage – rage so potent that it has eaten her from inside out, so much so that she had to seek therapy for it – to curious bliss. Like right now. So much of what she has become is the direct result of what this man did to her. Until she doesn’t even remember the way she used to be anymore.
This man.
And what a man he is. A pang of envy stabs her heart when she thinks of Samantha Fox. What does he see in that woman? She will never know. And here he is, ‘sacrificing’ himself for that perky brunette’s sake. There’s that, and also the pervading guilt that he ‘owes’ her, Adele Jankovic, something major. Which of course he does.
The fact that Brian is here is a new development. She has never thought it would come to this. But it is a very welcome development.
She studies his immobile form.
God, but he’s so beautiful. Too bad his eyes are shut now because they are his most beautiful feature. But when they are open, she doesn’t like the look in them when he gazes upon her. More often than not, they have been filled with reproach and regret. She even catches him glancing sidelong at her with a funny look on his face. But when she faces him head on, he turns away quickly.
He hasn’t changed all that much from college. Not really. But then, it hasn’t been that long. His face is still unlined and smooth. His lips curved and sensuous. His jaw strong and firm. She can trace the outlines of that face and the graceful curvature of his neck forever.
She leans closer and breathes in the scent of him. He smells of sweat and soap and water. She takes in his slowly moving chest. If she lays her ear upon his heart, she knows she will hear its steady, insistent beat. But she doesn’t want to wake him up. He looks too peaceful this way.
Of course, a lot of his turmoil when he is awake has to do with her. She allows herself a small smile of satisfaction. Then the corners of her mouth droop. There was a time she would have done anything for him. But now, she is on the precipice of either wanting to destroy him or preserve him forever – like a butterfly pinned in her private collection.
Like one of his surreptitious photos, tacked up on her corkboard in her room of secrets.
She watches him for a long, long while. Then she moves away from the bed. Quietly, very quietly, so as not to disturb him. She takes out a camera from her chest of drawers – all done with the minimum of noise.
She returns to the bed and slowly takes the covers away from his nude body, revealing the silky planes of his abs and musculature. She observes the tiny trail of hair that leads from his navel to his pubic bush, which sprouts like a tangle of fertile grass above his wonderful, thick cock – which is now dormant. Unfortunately.
She aims the digital camera at his lush form and clicks. And clicks some more.
He still doesn’t stir.
When she is satisfied that she has enough for her collection, she puts the camera away. She will scan those photos in later. And stare at them for a long time. She doesn’t know which version she prefers – the actual man himself, beautiful and alluring; or the image she has so perfectly crafted of him in her bountiful private collection.
Still, he was a positive influence in her life. He made her understand, all those years ago, that she could be beautiful. She could be loved. Even if the whole thing was a shameful joke at her expense. He had unlocked a hidden portion of her that she didn’t know existed.
Yes, the fallout was grim, but it wasn’t completely because of what he did. She did try to kill herself, but that was because all the things in her life were going terribly wrong. By that time, she had been on drugs. Booze. Whatever she could get her hands on.
But everything did have a silver lining. Because something snapped in her somewhere along the line. Something that reinforced in her the will to survive – the iron will to make something of herself so that she would show him. So she worked hard and studied and graduated . . . finally. Got herself a good job and fucking excelled in it. Then saved up enough to reinvent herself literally from head to toe.
That way, she was casting aside that old mold of herself. Embracing a shiny, new version. A stronger, more robotic model without the old insecurities and frailties that almost led her to end her life.
It worked.
So far.
He will not be hers for much longer.
Unless she wills it.
It’s a heady feeling. This sudden power that she holds over this man and everything in his life.
Is she sorry for she did what she did to him? No. At least, that is what she tells herself. She hated him and loved him at the same time. There isn’t a day that passes by that he hasn’t occupied her thoughts and invaded her dreams. It’s as if he made her – fleshed her out as surely as if he were her Maker.
And now he is her puppet. Meek and submissive. Not quite, but she would like to tell herself that. Brian would never be meek and submissive. He does everything she tells him to with a hidden resentment, a slow boil that would come to the surface sooner or later. And knowing he is bending to her will – letting her dominate him – because of this perky copper-haired woman, her rival, is beyond maddening.
She runs a lacquer-tipped finger down the curl of his cock. He has a gorgeous, gorgeous cock. So thick and firm and smooth. She loves the satiny feel of its head – the dome-shaped curvature of it. The little aperture at its tip that she can sink the tip of her tongue into. The long, juicy shaft of it with the plump vein running on top. She can just look at it forever.
She takes it in her hand and squeezes the head. The delicious piece of flesh immediately fills with warm blood. Brian stirs, sighing in his sleep. He’s a creature of tactile sensation, she knows, by the way his cock is rapidly lengthening and broadening. His cock has a mind of its own, and if it decides to wake up, it has nothing to do with who she is and everything to do with the fact that a hand – any hand – is handling it.
She tries to imagine what it is like to have this man as a boyfriend. The way that inconspicuous Samantha Fox seems to have. To have him on your arm in the open, to flaunt him in front of all the gawkers and people you don’t know on the street. Brian is very handsome, of course, but he possesses that extra charismatic quality that makes him stand out in a crowd. That quality which makes you swivel your head to look twice.
If only . . .
She narrows her eyes.
His cock is now turgid and standing up like a flagpole. He shifts his body slightly and murmurs something in his semi-sleep. He’s not fully awake. Not yet. And no wonder. Two days have passed, and they have been scant out of bed. It’s as though she’s making up for years and years of lost time.
She keeps on massaging his cock. She curls her fingers around the bulb. She ensnares his shaft and rubs it back and forth. With her other hand, she cups his balls and tweaks them gently.
He opens his eyes drowsily.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
“Time for more sex.” She tightens her grip on his cock and balls. “I want more sex.”
He groans. “I’ve got to be getting back to Sam. Please, Delilah. She’ll call the cops if I don’t turn up sometime.”
“After we have sex. Then you can go. But I want you back tomorrow night.”
He lies very still for a moment. Her flashing eyes meet his crystalline green ones. Then his eyes slide away.
“All right,” he says. His tone is listless, even though his cock is anything but.
He stays very still as she lowers her pussy down on his upright pointing head. She feels the familiar pushing back of her tunnel walls as his considerable girth spreads her. She mounts him all the way to his hilt, and then she begins to move on top of him. She never takes her eyes off his face for a second.
Neither does he from her.
They fuck without speaking. There are no words to say.
4
Thor is handsome, but a bit of a lunk head, Sam decides. He goes on and on about his workout. Of course, she’s interested in all the different gym equipment routines, and how much creatine he takes and how much muscle mass he’s building. But she wishes he would talk something else besides shop.
They are in a bar. Not the one she had been parked out at. That one looks a little rough. This is a nicer bar with nicer clientele. They are all dancing to something by Usher, and her feet begin to tap despite her moroseness.
She’s not completely morose, of course. The vodka and lime helped to clear her head, dull her senses, and tease her into a false sense of euphoria. Thor’s earnest face swims in her line of vision and she shakes herself mentally.
Time to go home.
“I think I’d better go home, Thor.” Her speech is slightly slurred. She hasn’t had so much to drink in a very long time.
“What’s the rush?” he says. “It’s only midnight.”
“We both have to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but you’re the boss. You can come in anytime. And my shift doesn’t begin until two.” He pushes her half-empty glass to her. “Have some more.”
Sam groans. “No. No more. I have a headache, and I’m sure as hell gonna have a monster of a hangover tomorrow.”
“Going home to lover boy?” Thor’s tone is nonchalant, but she catches the slight edge in it.
“I’m going home, period,” she says firmly. Her relationship with Brian Morton is none of the staff’s business, though they are curious enough to gossip daily about it.
“You’re not in the position to drive.”
“You’re not either.”
He grins. “Better than you. What do you say I drive you home and you can pick your car up later tomorrow?”
She glances at her wristwatch. “Tomorrow officially begins now.”
“OK, later today.”
He’s still oozing charm. Smiling that slow smile that has several women at the tables around them tossing their heads to glance at him and her enviously. Sam wonders what it is about her lately that she seems to attract gorgeous men. Where were these men when she was twenty-five and lonesome?
“I don’t know,” she says. On one hand, she doesn’t want to blow Thor off. He is her employee, for one, and it wouldn’t do to sour employee relations. On the other hand, she has this prickly feeling that he’s going to hit on her.
Well, if he does, she thinks soberly, I’m going to turn him down nice and easy.
But does she really want to? Especially when Brian is having a gay old time getting reacquainted with his old college flame, whatever the reasons. With Brian, she can never be one hundred percent sure why he does the things he does. Every time she thinks they are on to something major – like a new level in their relationship – he does something to make her doubt him completely.
He has been through a lot lately, and she knows she should cut him some slack. A lot of slack. But the terrible, choking feeling that he is with Adele Jankovic – fucking, no less – continues to invade her consciousness.
Another thought suddenly strikes her. Maybe she is barking up the wrong line of conviction. Adele Jankovic is unstable. Obsessed. Dangerous. Perhaps she has Brian in her clutches, and she has drugged him. Imprisoned him. Hurt him!
Is it even possible?
Sam sits up suddenly. She should be calling the police.
“What’s the matter?” Thor says.
But why should Delilah do that to Brian, right? She already has Brian in her clutches – where she wants him. In actual prison. All she has to do is wait for two weeks. So what is Brian doing in her place? What, what, what?
Sam’s head is spinning. She buries her face in her hands and groans. Thor is right. She is in no position to make monumental decisions, let alone drive home.
Thor gets up and firmly takes her arm.
“Let’s get you home,” he says.
She realizes that she’s in no shape to argue.
*
By the time they get to her apartment, Sam’s blood alcohol has hit a limit that has her tripping over her own feet. Thor practically has to carry her into the elevator.
Sam laughs gaily. The world seems preternaturally bright. All
those wonderful colors. And the slats of light with their haloes.
Thor smiles at her.
“Let’s get you into bed, shall we?”
Tipsy as she is, Sam is well aware of the pass he is making at her. A large part of her is screaming ‘No! Don’t make a mistake!’ But when she thinks of Brian in the arms of that redheaded vixen, her blood runs cold again. And hot. And cold.
Oh, she’s an incredible mess!
When the elevator doors slide open, Thor supports her arms and shoulders as she stumbles out.
Brian stares at both of them. He’s waiting outside her door, casual in his leather jacket. He looks pale and his hair is mussed up, but otherwise, he seems no worse for the wear. Her heart immediately leaps to her throat.
“Brian!” she cries. The fog in her brain is still fuzzy, but she forces it away. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for two days!”
“I lost my phone.” He is still staring at Thor, who is still clasping her in a possessive way.
Sam tries to straighten herself. But what the heck? she thinks. Why am I feeling guilty? It’s not as if we have a commitment. Besides, he’s the one who has been missing for two fucking days!
Thor is seemingly ill at ease. But he doesn’t take his hands off her. Good thing too, because she would have fallen on her face.
Brian says shortly, “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” she demands.
But she knows the answer anyway. Because we don’t have a commitment to each other and we don’t have to clock in.
“I’ve been busy too.”
“Uh,” Thor says, “perhaps I’d better go.”
“No, it’s all right. I’m going,” Brian says, straightening his back to his full height. “I won’t be in your way. Just make sure you have yourselves a good time.”
“No, Brian, it’s not like that!”
Sam makes to push Thor off her, and then the unbidden thought stops her again. Why should she? Then she thinks of the gym and earrings and everything Brian has done for her – selling his car to fund their advertising campaign. Hell, everything. And the guilt comes back in waves. Guilt . . . and a sense of commitment.