by Tasha Fawkes
The fact is, before that night I slept with Karen, I hadn't been with a woman since my breakup with Helen. I wanted this. Karen was a challenge, but despite the challenges, despite the wall she had built up around herself, I felt incredibly attracted to her. She had spunk. I almost laughed. Anyone who would stand up in the middle of a wedding ceremony, stone cold sober, and protest that wedding, was definitely a person worth getting to know, at least in my book.
"When you've finished dressing, we'll go over our story one more time before we leave."
I nodded and she closed the bedroom door. I quickly changed out of my comfortable clothes and into the clothing that I—we had chosen at the first men's clothing boutique we had gone to last week. At least the pants I wore weren't those God-awful skinny jeans. They were nice clothes, no doubt about it, but jeans were jeans, weren't they? I could've gotten them for fifty bucks at a local department store rather than her paying over three hundred dollars for them at the boutique. Oh well, it was her money to spend, wasn't it?
By the time I returned to the living room, Karen was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the windows. She looked nervous and agitated. "What's wrong?"
She looked at me, her eyes wide, almost scared, until she gained control of her emotions. She waved a hand. "We can't mess this up."
"Nothing is going to get messed up." I assured her. "I've got this. Really."
"Tell me again a bit of your background."
I almost grumbled, but then realized she was truly nervous, probably more nervous than I was. The pressure was on me to make a good impression, to play the part. I did so. After all, I had done most of the research. "I grew up in the Khong Toei district of Bangkok, where my parents owned a modest medical practice. We returned to the United States and made our home in Oklahoma City, where I went to college, majoring in business. For personal reasons, I moved to New York City, where I have been whiling away my time working with a commodities trader."
"So how did you inherit billions of dollars?"
"Old family money. My great-grandfather was a silver baron who made it rich in Denver mining silver in the 1880s."
"But you're a millionaire… no, a billionaire. Why work?"
She had insisted that I come up with an answer to this question, whether her parents asked or not. "Someday, I want to open up my own trading commodities business. I need to know the business inside and out." Although that wasn't quite true, as I wasn't quite sure exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, it suited my purposes for now.
"What if they want to meet your parents?"
I frowned. "Isn't it a little early for that?"
She shrugged. "With my parents, you never know."
This is another point over which we have argued. "I’m not telling them my parents are dead," I mumbled. “They live in New Haven but they’re alive and well and I talk to them at least once a week. That’ll look good, won’t it?” I knew Karen disagreed, but no way in hell was I telling her parents that mine were dead. “The distance will prevent your parents from thinking to dig too deep, and even if they do, it will be truth, at least the geographical part.”
"Okay, what if--"
I interrupted. "Stop stressing." She was hyped up, growing more nervous by the second. "Karen, why are your parents trying so hard to set you up?" She waved a hand, turning away from me, as if the question didn't matter.
"They've always pretty much controlled every aspect of my life," she admitted. She gestured to her apartment. "Where I live, where I went to school—"
"You went to college?"
"Of course I did!"
"What did you major in?" I asked. "And come to think of it, why don't you have a job? What do you plan on doing with the rest of your life?"
The expression on her face told me that perhaps I shouldn't have asked, but I wasn't going to back down. They were logical, rational, and understandable questions. I continued to stare at her, waiting.
"We don't have time for this, Ben. We have to meet my parents in an hour."
I said nothing, but stood with my arms crossed over my chest, waiting.
"Fine," she muttered. "I majored in fine arts, okay? And why am I not working? Because I'd rather shop, go to fashion shows and hang out with my friends at spa treatments. Anything wrong with that?"
"Why fine arts?" She stared at me as if I was nuts. She didn't reply, but shrugged away my questions.
"We need to go."
"Fine," I said. "But don't you think that's part of your history that I should know? What if your parents asked me something along those lines?"
"They won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because they've never asked me themselves. So why should they care?" She stood and stared out the window at the park, early dusk casting the deeper parts of Central Park into shadow. "Growing up, I loved going to the museums. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Natural History Museum… I had aspirations of becoming a curator someday, of fine art, but…"
"But what?"
She frowned and then offered a shrug. A lame shrug. I let it go. No sense in getting her all twitter-pated before dinner with her parents.
Chapter 9
Karen
I couldn't believe it. He pulled it off, and quite spectacularly at that. I had been so nervous, so worried that something would go wrong, that Ben would say the wrong thing at the wrong time, that my mom or dad would ask a question he couldn't answer, but he pulled off a masterful performance. In fact, he was so convincing in his role as a billionaire businessman boyfriend that even I forgot that he was just pretending.
Following the first awkward minutes after I'd made the introductions, things had smoothed out. Ben turned on the charm, but without overdoing it. He was gracious and didn't talk too much at first, like a lot of people did when they were nervous. He exuded self-confidence, gentle humor, and panache, as if he dined with millionaires every day.
Before dinner, Dad asked whether he would like a drink and he had accepted a bourbon. Dad offered an approving smile. A preferred bourbon drinker himself, I thought it was a nice touch. I sipped a Cosmopolitan. As we sat together on the couch prior to dinner being served, Ben reached over and threaded his fingers through mine. Other than that, and an occasional squeeze, he gave the appearance that we were comfortable with one another. I saw my mom glancing at him, then at me several times throughout the evening, as if trying to gauge my seriousness. I gave her my happy look, slightly raised eyebrows and a slight smile, as if I was excited myself to present him to the family.
I didn't want to overdo it, as the fiasco at Daniel's wedding was not that far in the past, in addition to the fact that I had never mentioned Ben to them before. I knew that eventually, my mother would pull me aside and ask those very questions and I was a bit hesitant, trying to remember everything about Ben's background that I had contrived, grateful now that he had encouraged me to keep it as simple and as close to the truth as possible.
My dad had asked the ubiquitous questions that any father would ask a potential suitor, and based on his expression and Ben's answers, seemed accepting, if not pleased. Of course, it would've been gauche for my father to inquire as to Ben's financial status, but my parents knew me well. No way in hell would they have assumed that I would choose a man that didn't have money or status. And of course, our pretend history that Ben had spent most of his life in Thailand, then the Midwest until recently would explain their lack of knowledge of his name floating around through the ranks of the rich and wealthy in New York City.
There was a couple of scary moments when Dad asked a question about Ben's work, not that I gauged as testing, but curious, if not nosy. All in all, Ben comported himself well, better than I expected. In fact, he played his part so well that I found my heart thumping with admiration and desire for him. Every time he glanced down at me, and the one time he winked, I felt as if my insides melted. A little. Sounds corny, but that's the way I felt. I knew that if I wasn't careful, the tables wo
uld turn and I would find myself putty in his hands.
After supper, we left the table, and once again, Ben played his role well, draping an arm casually over my shoulder, his fingers giving my upper arm a squeeze. Again, nothing terribly overt, but enough to show my parents that we were more than comfortable with one another, perhaps even lovers.
As I knew she would, my mother managed an excuse that would draw me away from Ben as she suggested I give her my opinion on the new lamps that she had bought for my father's office. A knowing look passed between my mom and dad as I excused myself, more than a little hesitant to leave Ben with my father alone.
I followed my mother down the hallway, past the dining room, the kitchen, and a small powder room before we turned into the last door on the left. My dad's study. Although I knew that our voices would not carry into the living room, my mother spoke in a low tone.
"Would you care to explain?"
I played dumb. "Explain what?"
"Who is this fellow, how long have you known each other, and why haven't I heard about him before?"
I played my own role well. "I met him a while back, Mom, when I was out with Courtney."
"You met him at a bar?" The tone was laden with disapproval and dismay.
"It was a club, Mom." I shrugged. "And after that… fiasco at the church, I called him up." At least that was the truth, or most of it. I straightened my shoulders. "You know, Mom, I can pick out my own boyfriends. And I like Ben. He's sweet and—"
"I don't know. You know that your father and I are pursuing—"
"Mom, seriously, I'm not interested in another one of your matchmaking schemes." I needed to prove not only to my parents, but to myself, that there was more to me than wealth, that I was a spoiled brat, and that I was so wrapped up in the family name that I would marry just anybody. "When I marry, Mom, I want it to be with someone that I have chosen to be with. Someone that I love. Is that so difficult to understand?"
"And you feel that way about Ben?"
"I don't… I don't know. All I know is that in the short time we've been dating, I've grown fond of him. And he is rich, so that should please you guys, but—"
"Don't use that tone on me, young lady," she said. "You should know by now that marrying for love is not all it's cracked up to be."
That my mother knew. Her marriage to my dad had been arranged as well. A sham. But I needed to buy myself time, to start pulling away from my parent's influence, which is what this farce was all about. I certainly didn't want to be used as nothing more than a tool to restore my family's financial standing before rumors of their finances began to spread.
Without further explanation, I had told my mom that I wanted to get to know Ben a little more. Her disbelieving and disapproving look told me that I hadn't yet convinced her of my sincerity in regard to my feelings for him. Nevertheless, I knew better than to try and convince her in one evening. Not my mom.
After dinner, Ben had made an excuse that we couldn't stay for after-dinner drinks because he had an important business meeting early in the morning. On the way home in a taxi, I sat close to him, so close that our thighs touched. I have to admit, the way he pulled everything off had gotten me hot and bothered, to say the least.
"You did good tonight. Really good." I smiled and shook my head. "My parents were literally eating out of your hands!"
"I wouldn't say that, but it did go off fairly well, didn't it?"
I wasn't quite sure what I was feeling. Yes, I was getting hot for him, and as soon as we got back to my apartment, I would invite him to stay for a while, if not the night. But it was more than just the idea of sex with him. Something that I didn't particularly want to admit to, but I couldn't help feeling. I had finally gotten something over on my parents. For the first time in I don't know how long, I felt as if I was actually controlling the situation rather than the other way around. After tonight, I was just about convinced that this crazy plan of mine just might work. Well, at least enough to give me time to figure out where I wanted to go from here.
Sooner or later, I had no doubt that my parents would start digging into Ben's background. Until then however, I reveled in feeling such liberation, such freedom. I turned to look up at him, admiring his profile as the cab headed for my regal brownstone. The shadows played over the features of his face, his strong jaw, the perfect shape of his nose, the way his lips turned up just slightly at the corners.
Damn, he was hot, so why not take advantage?
In a matter of minutes, we stood in front of my apartment door. I turned to him, leaned into him and then lifted my head to press my lips against his. He gave me what I could only define as a sweet, gentle kiss, no tongue. I kept mine to myself as well. Still, the very instant our lips touched, the spark that had been glowing deep inside me for the past few hours burgeoned, soon to erupt into a flame of desire. That ember burned low in my belly and then spread languorously through my body and up toward my breasts.
The moment my lips touched his, my worries disappeared. I reveled in the sensations that his lips elicited within me. I felt hungry for him, for every part of him, and he responded in kind.
His breath held a hint of the beef bourguignon we'd had for dinner, the Merlot he had drunk with it. I decided to hell with it and took the lead, nudging his lips open. My tongue dove right in. While a soft groan erupted from low in his throat, he wrapped two strong arms around me, tugging me closer. My nipples hardened as they made contact with his warm chest. My blood pounded through my veins. Electrical tingles raced through my body.
Sensations in my groin soon morphed to a dull throbbing while my nipples hardened and tingled, aching for his touch. I barely broke off the kiss long enough to shove my key into my doorknob, turn it, then literally push us both inside. I shut the door with my heel, his arms still wrapped around me. I dropped the keys on the foyer floor and then reached for his crotch. His right hand lifted and cupped my breast, his thumb teasing the nipple. Everywhere he touched my skin felt like it was on fire. In a matter of seconds, his hand had made its way inside my blouse, the heat of his hand prompting an excited gasp. He slowly and gently pushed my bra above my breasts and then cupped one again in his palm, balancing it while his thumb brushed across the tip of my nipple.
I gasped again as heat surged through my body once more. My hand groped at the hardness forming in his groin, and then my fingers daringly reached for his button and then the zipper. He didn't move. I dipped my hand in and found his cock, carefully maneuvering it out of his pants. It felt engorged, thick and velvety as I wrapped my palm around it. We were both hot for one another. I felt a surge of confidence. I knew that I had done that to him, made him hard, and as I stroked his cock, his fingers gently twisted my nipple. It hardened still more, and soon I gasped with impatience.
I gently nudged him in the direction of my couch, too impatient to even make my way to the bedroom. Things were happening fast. He seemed to read my mind. In a matter of moments my knees hit the back of my couch seat and I started to recline. Somehow, my dress came off in the process. My bra had disappeared. All the while my hand barely released contact with that huge and hard cock of his. My fingers stroked its length, the raised veins on its surface, his head soft and slippery.
One of his hands kneaded one breast to the point that the other yearned for the same touch. After another tongue-rolling kiss, he pulled away and then latched those lips of his to my free breast. The moment his warm lips wrapped around my aching nipple I couldn't hold back the groan of desire. His wet tongue nibbled and suckled until I gritted my teeth, pressing my breasts closer, demanding more. My body was on fire, my thong growing damp with desire. Of their own accord my hips thrust upward.
In a tangle of arms and legs, we both finally sprawled naked on the couch, his body hovering over mine. Blood pounded in my veins. My hands stroked the broad muscles of his back while his lips found my neck and then nibbled an earlobe. His fingers performed their own magic on my breasts and then stroked along my waist a
nd down my thigh. My hand clutched his dick as if my very life depended on it.
My breath came in sharp, excited gasps. He lifted his head and gazed down at me in the darkness, the living room only dimly lit by the lights of the city outside.
"Bedroom?"
I could barely nod. He abruptly stood and I missed the weight and heat of his body. He stood before me, buck naked, and in the dim glow I saw his dick hard and angling away from his body. As my eyes traveled over his length, it dipped slightly of its own accord. I tore my gaze from that shaft and allowed myself to take him in. Those finely muscled abs, his broad pecs and shoulders… He stared down at me as well, his gaze sweeping along my form, still sprawled on the couch. Every nerve ending in my body reacted. He gave me his hand and I took it.
I followed him down the hall to my bedroom. He led me toward my bed and sat down. His hands reached around my waist and tucked me between his knees. He stared at my breasts, my nipples hardening still more as he looked his fill. I stepped closer, doing what I'd wanted to do for days – sliding my fingers through that lush hair of his, reveling in the silky smoothness of it. Only then did I allow my hands to wander, down along his neck and then his shoulders, taking in the definition of his deltoids, the ripple of muscles across his upper back, the hardness of his triceps as he pulled me even closer.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me onto the bed. I lay on top of him, my nipples pressed hard against his chest, his cock nestled against my belly. He stroked his hand along my right side, my hip, and then cupped my ass. He gently rolled me over onto my back. I let him.
