Faking It For Mr. Right

by Penny Wylder

  Her arms snake around my shoulders, and her hands knead along my spine as she tugs at my shirt, pulling it up and over my head, before she deposits it on the ground beside hers. “I love you,” she whispers again, the first time she’s said it in private, and it makes my whole body electrify. My cock, which already felt hard enough to cut steel even before she said that, throbs at the sound of the words on her lips.

  I lean up to kiss her, hard and full on the mouth, claiming that sexy little mouth of hers for my own. “You’re going to have our baby,” I whisper against her lips, testing the words.

  She stirs beneath me, her hips arching up into mine. “I am.”

  I slide my hand down over her breasts, making her gasp and arch her back against me along the way. But my hand keeps moving, keeps traveling down until I cup her bare belly, my fingers hot against her skin. “I put a baby in you,” I murmur, grinning.

  Her breath hitches, her eyes alight with the fire I always find in them, the same lust mirrored in my own. God, she is so fucking sexy when she’s turned on like this. “You put a baby in my belly,” she agrees. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the sight is enough to drive me wild. To make my cock so hard it actually strains at my fly.

  She knows what she’s doing. Her eyes light with amusement as her hands slide down, over my abs, her fingertips tracing the cut of each muscle before they reach the waistline of my jeans. She undoes the clasp slowly, pushes the jeans down over my hips. My cock stands at full attention beneath my boxers, yet she takes her time removing those next, her fingertips tracing the hem of my boxers, teasing me.

  “Tell me what you want to do to your wife now?” She smiles, a seductive grin she knows I won’t be able to resist.

  I grin right back, and lean down to kiss down her collarbone, along the slope of her chest. One hand slides around to unclasp her bra, and as I speak, I draw it aside, then let my thumbs circle her breasts, pressing ever so lightly along the edges of her nipples, just enough to make them start to harden. “I want to kiss every. Inch. Of. Her. Body.” With each word, I lean down to flick my tongue along her skin, until I suck one of her nipples into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it, making her gasp and arch her back toward me.

  I shift away, kissing my way to her other breast. “Then… I want to make her come, again and again… until she’s screaming my name.” I suck her other nipple into my mouth, my thumb toying with her first, until both are hard as rocks beneath my touch. Only then do I let myself move lower. I kiss my way along the smooth, flat plane of her belly. A belly that won’t be flat for much longer.

  There’s something electrifying about the idea of watching her swell with my child. Of knowing that I planted this seed in her. That together, we’re going to make a family.

  I flick my tongue into her navel, and I’m rewarded with a little gasp of pleasure. I glance up at her, smiling. “Then, when she’s wet and hungry for me…” I trail a fingertip up, up the inner soft smooth skin of her thigh, until it reaches the crease of her hip. I trace along that crease, teasing. Then shift across her mound to the other side, slow and taunting. Not quite touching her clit or the soft folds of her sweet pussy. Not yet.

  “Then I plan to put my thick, hard cock inside her,” I whisper against her navel, before I shift a little lower, kissing down, down, until my lips are pressed against her mound.

  She shivers underneath me, and I can feel every breath she takes, the way her belly sucks in and out. I reach down to trail my fingertip along her slit, and I grin to find her already soaking wet, her pussy wet with desire.

  “I plan to fuck my wife,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her clit as I speak, which only earns me another faint gasp from her parted lips. I lock eyes with her. “I want to fuck her so hard she’ll find walking tomorrow hard…”

  Her hips arch up against me, and she reaches down to bury her hands in my hair, pulling my face toward her pussy. “Fuck yes. Fuck me, Xander.”

  But I duck from her grasp and keep moving, kissing my way down one of her soft, smooth thighs, toward her knees. “Ah, ah… not yet.” I wink, and I’m rewarded by the little moue of frustration her lips make. God, I could watch that woman pout all damn day. Or smile. Or laugh. Or do just about anything.

  I never really understood why my family was so obsessed with the idea of me settling down, finding a woman I wanted to be with. Not until now. But being with Melanie makes me understand why my family, and my father especially, pushed me. I remember how happy my father was being with my mom, even on hard days, even when she was upset or angry, or later on, toward the end, when she was at her sickest. He lit up every time she was in the room anyway, no matter what else was going on in their lives.

  That’s how I feel, being with Melanie. She makes the whole world open up for me and lightens even the darkest of days. And I don’t plan on ever letting go of that, or of her.

  I take my time with this. I kiss all the way down to her toes, and suck them into my mouth one by one, until they curl involuntarily, her hands digging into the edges of the leather cushions. Then I swirl my tongue back up over her ankles, along the opposite leg now. I kiss and lick and suck and nibble my way up her leg, trailing my tongue along the back of her knee, up her inner thigh.

  I savor every inch of her, the taste of her, the scent, the feel of her body beneath mine. I’ll never drink my fill of this woman, but I’ll be damned if I won’t try to anyway.

  Finally, when I draw back close to her pussy again, I can’t resist the sweet scent of her, wet as she is, hungry with want for me.

  “Be a good wife and come for your husband,” I whisper against her pussy lips, before I start to lick her, hard and fast, my tongue stroking along her length.

  It doesn’t take her long. All the buildup has left her body poised on the edge, live as a wire. When she comes, she raises her thighs to either side of me, pinning my face between them, so my rough stubble scratches at her inner thighs. Her whole body arches up off the couch, and I grasp her hips, pull her pussy against my face and eat her out until she screams my name.

  By the second orgasm, I can’t contain my own desire anymore. I pull her hips toward me, grab her ankles and pull them up and over my shoulders so she’s pinned beneath me. Her hands grasp my shoulders, and her hips arch up against me as I guide the tip of my cock to her wet entrance.

  “Fuck me,” she begs, and god I love that filthy mouth of hers. “Fuck me, fill me up with your cum.”

  I press into her in a single smooth, hard motion, and it earns me a long, low, delicious moan. “You like that, wife?” I whisper, my own voice throaty and tight with want. “You like how my cock feels inside your tight pussy?”

  She moans in agreement, unable to form words. I know the feeling. I pull back, just a few inches, and thrust back into her, faster this time, the tip of my cock plunging just a little deeper.

  Her hips buck against me, and I grab her ass with both hands, tightly, hard enough that it will leave marks in the morning, but neither of us cares. She loves it as rough as I do, and I love that about her. “Fuck yes,” she moans, as I start to thrust into her harder, faster.

  I find a rhythm, pick up speed. Her hips bounce up off the couch as my cock spears deep into her tight pussy, her walls clenched as hard as a fist around me. “Come for me, wife. Come on my cock,” I say, my voice low and hard with the command.

  She doesn’t need long to get there. Her orgasms from earlier have left her clit already swollen and sensitive, and at this angle, with my cock driving down into her, she reaches the peak quickly all over again. “Fuck, I’m almost there, I’m going to come…” Her voice fades, grows less coherent as she nears her peak.

  “Come,” I order her. “Now.”

  She obeys with a loud cry, not even screaming my name this time, because she’s beyond being able to form words. Her voice echoes throughout the penthouse, loud enough to make me glad I installed the soundproof windows back when I was renovating the place.

  Th
e sight of her twisting beneath me, her whole body flushed with pleasure and her eyes half-shut from the force of her orgasm, is nearly enough to send me over the edge myself. I grip her hips harder, drive into her again and again, until I can’t resist any longer.

  When I come, it’s with a guttural growl. My cum shoots deep inside her, coating her inner walls, and she groans from the hot wet rush of it. I shift her legs from over my shoulders back to lie along the couch, and then I lie along her length, my cock still buried inside her as it starts to soften a little.

  I scoop her into my arms and hold her beneath me, our bodies slick with sweat as I kiss her neck, her jawline, the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” I whisper against her hair, and she smiles, turning toward me, her lips finding mine.

  Then she laughs softly, our lips still pressed together. I draw back just far enough to peer down at her, to watch her eyes dance with amusement.

  “What is it?” I ask, arching an eyebrow, unable to keep a small smile from touching my lips.

  “I’m just remembering our first night together. From a cornfield all the way to here.” She gestures past me at the apartment, at the stunning view out over Central Park through the floor to ceiling windows. I can’t help it. I start to grin, too.

  “Both locations have excellent views,” I point out.

  She snorts. “One of these things is not like the other.”

  “Maybe not.” I catch her hands and hold them tightly between us, pressed where I can feel her heartbeat through her chest, and she can feel my own. “But they balance one another perfectly,” I respond in a whisper, and I know she can tell that I’m not talking about the countryside or the city anymore.

  She smiles softly. “You think so?”

  “Of course.” I arch an eyebrow. “One reminds the other of reality, and to be thankful for all the finer things in life.” I look to her pointedly. “And the other is responsible for spoiling the first rotten with every luxury imaginable.”

  She laughs. “Hmm. Sounds like the city boy is trying to corrupt the country girl.”

  My eyes spark with mischief. “Is being corrupted really so bad?” I slide a hand down over her curves, tracing her sides, her hips. All the way to the core of her, where my fingertip plays with her clit. She’s still swollen, aching from our sex, and I’m rewarded with a faint gasp the moment my fingertips graze the edge.

  “Maybe not,” she admits slowly, a purr in her voice that makes my cock jump to attention, the blood starting to flow south once more.

  Around her, it’s hard for me to stay disinterested long. I could go all night if she keeps looking at me the way she is now. I plan to, in fact.

  But first… I stand up and offer a hand. She takes it and lets me pull her up off the couch beside me. My eyes sparkle with mischief. “Come on, dirty country girl,” I tell her, right before I scoop her into my arms. She lets out a shriek, before she catches me around the neck to brace herself, as I start to carry her, both of us still completely naked, across the apartment, toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Or at the very least, get us both all wet again,” I add, and she snickers when she realizes what I’m thinking.

  After all, we haven’t enjoyed the enormous jacuzzi style tub we have together yet…

  I lose track of how many times I make her come that night. At least a dozen by the time the sun rises over the apartment, and the mess we’ve left behind. But god, it’s worth all the sleeplessness, and all the sore muscles we’ll both have tomorrow.

  I want to spend every night for the rest of my life like this. Pleasuring her and enjoying her pleasure. Soaping her up in the heated bathtub and then slowly washing her down, teasing her the whole time, toying with her body, while her hands wander over mine, and she does the same, stroking me underneath the warm water, her hands tight around my thick cock—thick enough that she needs both hands to wrap fully around me.

  After a long, hot bath, she knelt in front of me in the drained tub and wrapped her lips around my cock. Let me fuck that pretty, pert, dirty mouth of hers until I came in her throat, and she swallowed every last drop of me, licking and sucking my cock clean, not stopping until she’d found every final drop.

  From the bath, we moved on to the bedroom, then back to the shower, until we finally collapsed in bed somewhere near dawn. But I woke again only an hour later, from the early morning light painting the curtains. This time, I didn’t awaken her. I simply lay quiet, watching her sleep beside me, studying the way the light played across her features.

  The ring on her finger threw an extra added illumination, bright and rainbow colored, across her cheekbones. It lit up her eyelids, the soft place where they lay along her cheekbones. She looked like a renaissance painting, the image of some beautiful girl who inspired poets and painters alike back in her day.

  It makes me want to wake up early every morning. To see her in the dawn light every day for the rest of my life. A weight lifts off of my chest as I realize that… I can. I’ll be able to do that now.

  All this time, when I thought I was looking for a fake wife, here I was actually wanting a real one. A family, a life of my own. Kids like the ones who have made my siblings so happy in their own lives. A partner like the one my father had all his life, who will be there with me through thick and thin, and improve every day we have together.

  Melanie is going to be my wife. Once and for all. And in agreeing to that, she’s made me the happiest man in the whole damn city. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives together to start.

  Her eyelids flutter once, twice. Then her eyes flicker open, and she catches me staring. A sleepy, perfect little grin appears on her mouth. “What are you looking at?” she murmurs, her voice deliciously thick and soft from sleep.

  I stretch out beside her and pull her close, until our foreheads are touching and my arms twine around her sides, my hands flat against her back. “My future wife,” I whisper in response, which only makes her sleepy smile widen.

  Even at this hour, even waking up fresh out of sleep, she’s glorious. She’s more than I ever could have hoped or dreamed of in a wife. She makes me want to be a better, stronger person. To build a life for her, for both of us. To create a family.

  “You aren’t regretting this?” she asks, half joking, though I can hear a real note of worry under her tone. “I mean, you went into this thinking the whole thing would be fake. That we’d be splitting up soon.”

  “True.” I pick up a stray strand of her hair and coil it around my finger, watching it spring back when I release it. “But that was before I spent more time with you.” I grin. “Before I realized how damn addicting you would be.” I slide my hand down to cup her cheek, my thumb tracing the arch of her cheekbone. “Before I thought about how terrible letting you go would feel.” My forehead scrunches with worry. “When I came home, and I found the penthouse empty… when Andrew told me you’d gone to the airport to fly home, I….” I shake my head slowly. “It all hit me. I realized what it would feel like to lose you, and it was like ripping my own heart out. Because for the past few weeks, having you here with me, I’ve finally understood what having a home means.

  “The penthouse was empty until you came and filled it up. My life was empty, filled with meaningless work and money problems, until you came and showed me what’s really important. You complete me, Melanie. And I don’t ever want to go back to the way life was before. I don’t want to live without you.”

  Tears shine along the corners of her eyes. She can’t suppress her smile, and she doesn’t try to. She lets it bloom across her face, huge and happy and filled with wonder. It’s the same kind of half-awed, half-appreciative smile she wore when she first stepped off that elevator into this penthouse weeks ago. Her “I can’t quite believe this is real” smile. I love it. It’s the time that she looks the most like herself.

  “I didn’t want to leave either,” she breathes. “When I went to the airport, it felt like my heart was going to shatter on that plane ride home. Bu
t… I was scared.” Her breath hitches. “I thought you didn’t want me, not for real. And I didn’t know what would happen with our baby; I didn’t know if I could handle all of it on my own, and—”

  “You don’t have to,” I interrupt her. I lean in to kiss her, soft and slow. “You’ll never have to do anything on your own again, Melanie.” I tighten my grip on her hands, my fingers twined through hers. “We’re a family now. We’ll face whatever happens together.”

  The smile on her face now is more beautiful, more rewarding, than any sunrise. It’s not just the start of a new day. It’s the start of our new lives.

  15

  Melanie

  “Stop it, you’re going to mess up your hair.” Devan tugs my hands away from my face, where I have yet again reached up nervously, about to pull on a stray curl. “We just spent how long at the salon on this?”

  “Sorry. I’m just nervous,” I protest.

  “I know.” My best friend shoots me a reassuring smile. “But don’t be, okay? You look gorgeous. I mean, just look at that.” She grasps my shoulders and spins me toward a mirror.

  Sure enough, I do look better than I can ever remember looking before. I’ve never had my hair done professionally before, and I was nervous about getting some ridiculous hairdo that wouldn’t look like me. But the stylist Xander’s sister Patricia recommended is great. She didn’t do anything strange or different—as she put it, she just wants me to look like myself, the perfect version. Not like someone else.

  My hair is in a tight updo with stray curls framing my face. My makeup, too, is natural, just a touch of eyeshadow and liner, mascara enough to make my lashes stand out in photos, and a smooth foundation over my face, a hint of blush at my cheeks. My lips are a warm pink that goes perfectly with the gown we picked out—one that Xander insisted on paying for, even though, of course, I refused to let him see the final product.