Bad Boy's Fake Wedding

by Lexi Whitlow

  “Whoa wait. Did he say any of that to your face?” she asks. “Because that’s not cool—” I can tell she’s about to go off on one of her rants.

  “No, no he didn’t. He told me it was a temporary arrangement. That it would all get sorted out in the next month. After we’re—”

  Married. Say ‘married.’

  “So he told you you’re living together for a month? At least a month? Is he going to be sleeping with other people during that time?” Rhiannon throws a couple of plain white bras in my direction.

  “No.” I look down. “I don’t think so. He’ll get bored of me—or custody of his daughter. It’s a short-lived thing.” I pick up the bras, exasperated. The bras seem boring and old-fashioned, even though I thought they were cute when I bought them. I shove them in my bag. They’re embarrassing. They’re not the bras of a sexually active twenty-three year old woman. They look more like something you’d find in my seventy-year old aunt’s closet. The one who grew old with only cats and cat figurines to keep her company.

  It’s disconcerting to feel yourself changing and then find evidence of it right in your hands.

  Rhiannon keeps watching me, like she’s observing a species of a strange and rare bird.

  “I hate to say it, but he’s playing you.” Rhiannon sits down in the overstuffed chair by my bedroom door, clicking her nails together as if in thought. “But you know that, right? You’re still my smart, witty best friend. The one who talks me out of bad decisions. She’s still in there, right? She hasn’t been replaced with a sex-crazed maniac.”

  I shrug and bite my lip. I am a little bit sex-crazed, if I had to put a word on it. Maybe I won’t be after he actually fucks me. It could all fade away, just as quickly as it came. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  She puts her hands to her hips. “You paused.” Rhiannon sighs. “How do you know he won’t leave you with a mountain of debt with that apartment in Queens?”

  “Because—he won’t. I’m going out on a limb for him, and he says he’s got me covered. We’re having his lawyer draw up an agreement when we—”

  “When ‘we’ what?” Rhiannon looks at me, her eyes searching for a clue about what I’m saying. My stomach churns.

  “Well, there are some complications to the hearing, and we need to make a kind of… commitment. Just for a little while.”

  Rhiannon frowns and holds up her hand. “All right. I’m going to stop you right there. I don’t like where this is going—”

  “Do you have like, a navy blue dress?” I purse my lips and look away from Rhiannon, shoving the rest of my clothes into the suitcase, willy-nilly. I didn’t even tell her about the renter we found for this place. It’s brash. It’s stupid. This whole relationship might leave me in a terribly, awfully, shitty situation. It’s not who I am. But I think of Liam, carrying me over the threshold of that apartment, spreading my legs, fucking me against the wall. Finally filling me up, after teasing me, making me wait. Like a game. A game with a very good ending.

  Maybe I don’t need to be who I am. Not for right now, anyway.

  And he needs his kid. That sweet girl. Something tugs deep at my heartstrings when I think of her.

  “Why?” Rhiannon asks, standing up. “Why exactly do I need a dress?”

  “A navy blue dress. I think navy blue looks really good on you. And I like the color. It goes well with purple. Don’t you think?” I won’t meet her eyes.

  “Purple what? What are we talking about that’s purple?”

  “Flowers?” It comes out as a question, and I cringe when I say it.

  Rhiannon’s face goes pale. Her freckles even turn a shade lighter. But at the same instant, there are footsteps on the stairs outside my apartment.

  Good. It’s supposed to be the younger brother. What’s his name—Damian. I think. Helping me move out.

  I walk briskly out of the bedroom and to the door, Rhiannon following close behind.

  Tell Rhiannon. Their mother is getting the church booked this afternoon. It’ll all be fine, and then it’ll all be over quick. The contract with the lawyer takes care of it.

  “I think that’s someone coming to help me move my—”

  The doorknob jiggles, and I hear a familiar voice. “Damian couldn’t make it. But I got your back,” it says. When the door swings open, Liam is on the other side, wearing a grin a mile wide.

  “I got a ring,” he says. “It’s not much of anything, but it’s nice, you know.” Liam barges in and whips a gold ring with a tiny diamond on it out of his pocket. “Going to look good for the next time Marta comes by. Gotta keep up appearances.”

  With Rhiannon watching, mouth agape, Liam pulls me into his arms and deftly slips the ring onto my left hand. And then, he kisses me, draping me over his strong arm. Not a chaste kiss. But a kiss like he means it, like we’re actually doing this. It occurs to me, while his lips melt into mine and his hands work their way down to my ass, that we are actually doing this. In a few days.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Rhiannon looks between the two of us, and we both pull away, like we’re snapping back to reality.

  “You’re Rhiannon,” Liam says, extending his hand to shake hers.

  She shakes his hand warily, like she’s holding a snake that might bite. “I am.” She raises an eyebrow and glances over at me again. I hide my left hand behind my back. Like that’s going to help anything.

  “You’re the maid of honor, right?” Liam asks. “You’ve got a dress, right? Blue or—” Liam looks over at me and snaps his fingers. “Navy blue.”

  I groan, and put one hand to my face. Maybe if I stand here like this and don’t move, I’ll melt into the floor, and this will all go away.

  “Wait a fucking minute, here, Skye.” Rhiannon steps over to me and pulls my hand away from my face. “You’re getting married? What the fuck? Have you even considered what this is going to do to your parents? To your fucking… life? I’ll say it again. He’s playing you. Using you.”

  “She’s helping me out,” Liam says, trying to butt between the two of us. “We’ve got a solid plan.” I hold onto his arm and try to push him away from Rhiannon. I have the terrifying idea of her clawing Liam’s eyes out. Looking over at my friend, I realize it’s a definite possibility. She launches towards Liam, protective and fierce.

  “Rhiannon, stop!” I shout at her.

  She looks at me with a shocked expression, but she lets her hands drop to her sides. “If I’d thought it would come to this, I wouldn’t have taken you to the bar. Or yelled at you to come meet this girl here.” She says the last word with acid in her voice, looking directly at Liam. “Because she’s my best friend. She’s stood by me through all of my own bullshit, and here she is, making the biggest mistake of her life.”

  Liam puts his hands up, as if he’s trying to soothe her. “But it’s temporary. It’s not a permanent decision.”

  “That doesn’t change anything.” She looks between us. “It only makes it worse. You realize what you’ve got here, Liam? She’s the absolute best person I know. That’s why she’s doing this. And if I had to guess, she really, really likes you, too. Get what I’m saying?”

  We’re all quiet, awkward tension in the air between the three of us.

  “You’re coming to the wedding though, right?” Liam asks, breaking the silence. He grins, like none of this has had any affect on him.

  Shame and anger burn together in the pit of my stomach. I put my hand over my face and slump back into the old recliner that sits in front of the TV. “I understand if you don’t want to. I get it. I do,” I say. I look up at Rhiannon. Liam has made himself scarce, looking through a shoebox full of spices that are all probably three years past their expiration date.

  Rhiannon sighs heavily. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be there. Of course I will be. And I do have a dress. It’s like, royal blue. Is that okay?”

  I look up at her and nod, smiling. It feels like an accomplishment—telling her, confessing to her. Maybe it’ll help m
e make sense of it all. “Yeah, that’ll be great.”

  She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I hope so too,” I say. She walks out the door, and I can’t help thinking that she’s the one who should be having the adventure—redheaded, feisty, incredibly passionate. Not me, the little librarian, as Liam says.

  When Liam walks back in the room, and I look into his eyes, those feelings fall away like petals.

  He’s all mine, even if it’s only for right now.

  Even if it doesn’t last.

  Tonight, we’ll be alone in our own apartment, and I can keep playing pretend.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When my brothers come and load up the U-Haul truck, I watch as Skye’s life is moved. It’s all being combined with mine.

  The goal is good. It’s for my girl. My baby.

  But that girl Rhiannon’s words stick with me. She’s right—Skye is a pawn in a complicated game. I’m the one who put her there, and I didn’t ask her. Didn’t stop to make sure it was all okay with her.

  I watch her. Her eyes are tired from packing all day. But when she stands there on the sidewalk, the sun frames her body. Her curves are illuminated by the late afternoon light. There’s a faint sheen on her breasts. The top she’s wearing is v-necked and low-cut. Her cut off jean shorts are just a bit too short, and I can see the tops of her thighs. It makes me think of her sweet pussy, the dark, metallic taste of her. Like pennies, sharp and forbidden. My cock swells.

  That’s the thing. Looking at her makes me forget that this is all a favor. That it’ll be over soon, and I’ll be in my own apartment in Queens. Skye’s name will be off the lease, the divorce will be rushed through, and we’ll make sure Marta is never getting shit for custody.

  For a second, though, I almost forgot all of that. Instead, my mind is rushing ahead to the pleasure of getting her alone inside our own place. Spreading her legs, making her scream. Fucking her for the first time, and on all the nights after that.

  That stupid fucking guy who got rid of her. Didn’t show her what her body was for. Didn’t he see what he had? If she were mine, really mine, for years to come—I’d fuck her every day. I’d make sure she was always begging for it. Always wanting it. Tell her not to wear her panties to work. Or—have her go without a bra to the market. Make sure she was feeling it, wanting it, always thinking of me. And only me.

  I focus on that thought as I watch the guys load up the truck. And by the time we get back to the apartment in Queens, I’m thinking of only that—not Rhiannon’s reaction to me or all the other bad shit about this being temporary.

  The guys are staying around far too long, moving furniture, loading up cabinets.

  When they finally leave, Skye is asleep.

  I’m roaming the apartment, still thinking of her. The things I could do to her, every day.

  I like it here, this place. I won’t admit it, but I do. I think it’s because Skye is in it.

  The air in the apartment is crisp. We’ve got the windows open. It’s one of those nights in early Spring that’s just warm enough to do that, after a long, desolate winter. The bed is just a mattress on the floor. Skye has been sleeping on and off, after our marathon move-in day, but she wakes when I walk in the room.

  She yawns and rolls over, her breasts exposed as the sheet slips down to her waist. “I thought you were setting up the TV.”

  “Done,” I say. “An hour ago.” I walk over to her, and I feel myself growing hard already. That’s a theme with this woman. I never thought I’d be able to focus on just one girl, but this one makes me want her, bad. And pretty much all the fucking time.

  It might be that I haven’t fucked her yet. In fact, it could be just that. It could be that I’ve been thinking about her for the entire day.

  “I’m ready,” she says, her voice still sleepy. “I want it to be tonight.”

  I smile and sit down on the bed next to her, pulling off my shirt. Her hands immediately find my hand, and she pulls my fingers to her sex.

  “Slow down,” I groan. But she’s already put my fingers against her wetness, her pussy slick and hot. I think of that vice-like grip around my cock, the feeling of her clenching against me as she comes, shaking like she does.

  “Please,” she says.

  I slip a finger inside of her, and I press my thumb to her clit, but only lightly. “Please what? What do you want me to do?”

  I withdraw my finger, pulling the slickness down to the tight entrance to her ass, resting my finger there. She shudders. “What—what are you doing?”

  My thumb goes back to her clit, trailing over it. My fingertips feel every shiver of her body. “Whatever I want. When you’re mine, you’re mine to do with as I please. For the rest of our time together.”

  “I don’t think I—” I slip two fingers inside of her again. I bring her own wetness up around her clit and back down to her ass. I think of taking that, too. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass. All mine.

  “So, little librarian. What do you want?” I keep my fingers moving in deft circles. Her legs spread open wider, and she arches her back as I bring her closer to the edge.

  “I want you to fuck me—I’m ready. Please.” Her breath hitches in her throat. “Oh God, please. Please, tonight.”

  “We get married tomorrow,” I say, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling my waistband down. My cock springs free, and I groan. “I think we should wait until then. Make it more traditional.”

  “No—please. Please, tonight.” She closes her eyes, bringing her hips upward to meet my hand, covering me with her wetness. She’s close. So close that I can feel her body start to tighten, begging for release.

  I pull my hand away and bring it to my aching cock, kicking my jeans away from my body. I stroke myself with the slickness from Skye’s pussy. “You want to come on my cock,” I say.

  I keep stroking myself. Skye pulls herself up on one elbow and hits my arm. “Come on,” she moans. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

  “What do you think?” I’m so hard now that there’s precum at the tip of my cock, a pearlescent bead. I think of how it would feel to release inside of Skye’s sweet, virgin pussy. Tight, fucking hot. God. I stop when I feel the shiver at the base of my spine, the tightening in my balls.

  She’s looking at me with hunger in her eyes. Her hair falls over one eye, and she brushes it away. “I don’t know. You say you do—but we haven’t—we haven’t slept together yet.” Her cheeks color pink, and a flush creeps over her breasts. Gooseflesh rises on her skin. When she blinks, I think I might see tears. But it could be my mind playing tricks on me.

  “I do. I want you,” I say.

  I look at Skye. Her body is pale and luminescent in the moonlight that filters in through the window. Her breasts are round and heavy, nipples pink and stiff. She’s no longer shy about her body since I’ve taught her the things it can do. And fuck, I’m not even done showing her yet. I haven’t wanted a drink since I met her, and I haven’t even looked in the direction of another woman.

  I move to Skye and push her down on the bed. She draws her breath in sharply and lets out a little moan. Her eyes widen, and I lower myself down on one elbow, kissing her hard and putting my hand to her sweet, delicate neck. When my fingers press down ever so slightly, she sighs, and she brings her legs around my waist, trying to pull me into her.

  “Not yet,” I say. I keep my body position above hers, letting my hand wander over her breasts, cupping them, rolling the nipples until she groans in frustration. “But soon. Very soon.”

  “When?” The word comes out as a whimper.

  I slide my body down on top of hers and place my cock at her entrance. Instead of slipping it inside, I rest it against her folds, covering it in slickness, stroking myself as she moans and pushes her body up to meet mine. I bring myself to the edge again and stop, moving my fingers instead to Skye’s pussy, this time slipping three inside. She cries out, but I stop again before she comes.
>
  Bringing my lips to her collarbone, I kiss her there. My tongue finds one nipple and circles it. I bite down gently, and I listen to that wanting sound that Skye makes, the sound that makes me know I can do whatever I want to her. Any time I want to.

  “Tomorrow. After we’re married,” I say. I pull away from her body and stroke my cock, watching her, thinking of her coming for me. All the times she has, all the times we still have together—before she leaves for good. “I want you to walk around in that white dress, knowing that it’s your last day as a virgin. That after you say, ‘I do,’ I’m going to take you wherever I can get you alone, lift up your dress, and fuck you until your legs are shaking.” I take her hand in mine and kiss it, and I place it against her slippery sex.

  “Oh God,” she whispers, hips lifting in pleasure.

  “After you come tonight, you’re going to shave your pussy for me. I want you completely bare, nothing underneath that dress. I want you to feel every step you take tomorrow. You’ll be so wet when I fuck you.”

  “I can’t,” she whispers. “I’ve never shaved before.”

  “You will tonight.”

  “Tonight, I want to watch you make yourself come, thinking about how I’m going to take your virginity. How it’s going to hurt to take my cock—” I start stroking myself again, closing my eyes for a split second to imagine it. “And then it’s going to feel so fucking good that you’ll be begging for it. Begging me to come inside of you.”

  Skye’s breath catches in her chest again, and she slides her fingers inside of her pussy, fucking herself, her ass lifting in the air.

  “You want me to come inside of you, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” she says, looking at me with those deep, dark eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her eyelids flickering up and down. “I want to feel you come—” She closes her eyes, and she lifts her fingers to her clit, bringing herself higher, closer.

  “In your mouth. Your pussy.” I pause, stroking myself until I feel like I’m going to burst. I pull her into me and bite down gently on her ear lobe. “Your ass. All of it’s mine.”