Single Dad’s Fake Fiancée: A Cowboy Romance

by King, Imani

  He nods. “I’m the only one living in the building at the moment. It hasn’t opened to tenants yet.”

  Oh.

  “Very.” His eyes follow the strap of my dress as it plunges into my chest. I can read his thoughts in his eyes. He wants to touch, lick, caress, take.

  Damn! When is this freaking elevator going to get here???

  The doors slide open.

  I step inside and he’s directly behind me. He puts his hands on my hips and pulls my dress forward. There’s an appreciative groan as he notices the other part of the outfit. The part Kate thought was most important. The matching pink thong.

  He bends over, kissing the back of my neck as he takes hold of my ass. “Oh God,” I whimper as I feel his hard length caressing me through his pants.

  “I’ve been dreaming of this since the last item,” he whispers at the nape of my neck. My bare back shivers as his buttons push into my skin, my spine, fresh cotton soft over my skin.

  I grab the brass bar at the back of the elevator. The four back walls are covered in mirrors so I can see every angle of his face and every facet of his intensity as he studies me. It also means that every inch of me is on display for him. His fingers splay over my hips.

  He whispers something before reaching around to stroke my clit.

  I cry out as a jolt of incandescent ecstasy shoots through me. I don’t know what he’s saying, but I can see his unrepentant lust and uncontrollable desire clearly on his face in the mirrors. He’s drinking me in like he will never be able to quench his thirst.

  My shoes slip on the floor as I spread my legs a little further. I arch my back, pushing my ass into him. He groans, and I feel the tip of him twitching. Just barely, I can see his length in the mirrors. Thick, long and glorious, it’s even more imposing coupled with him looking down at me like that. He runs his hand up my bare back, up each vertebrae, bringing his hand to the back of my neck. He twists his hands around my weave, pulling me back so his lips can touch the side of my jaw.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers.

  And then, I realize he’s unzipped his pants.

  Oh God, is he going to fuck me in this ritzy elevator?

  His hand moves under my dress so he can caress my breasts. I squeeze my legs together as he gently pinches my nipples. “I’ve been fuckin’ dreaming of getting my mouth on these again,” he whispers again, this time close enough so I can feel his teeth on my shoulder.

  “Oh God.”

  The doors open with a ding.

  I’m breathless and we haven’t even started. I thought he’d take me in the elevator, but he seems to have other plans. He lets go of me and it takes everything I have not to cry out. The asshole knows it, too. He glances over his shoulder, flashing me a cocky grin.

  My heart beats faster as I follow him into his penthouse. It isn’t the first time I’ve been in here. It isn’t even the first time I’ve fucked him here. But I don’t remember what happened before and I have a feeling that even if I did, it wouldn’t prepare me for tonight.

  His tasteful, ornate rooms bleed into one another. All I can focus are his powerful shoulders, his confident stride, as he leads me further into his domain. Finally, he opens a black door at the end of a hallway.

  We enter together. “I should have danced with you,” he whispers, brushing the hair from my face.

  “It’s alright. You didn’t have dancing on your mind. I don’t, either.”

  “You deserve to be courted.”

  “I deserve to be pleasured.”

  He smiles sinfully. “Ah, yes. That too. I guess making sure you’re pleasured is more important.”

  “You guess?”

  “You’re an insatiable lover.” His eyes darken. “I like that.”

  “You better.” I run my hand up his chest. His heart is beating just as furiously as mine.

  I push him back down the hall. I know he’s worth a billion dollars, but Jesus Christ, one night in the sack with him is probably worth one billion dollars, too. I can’t believe I have that body all to myself. There has to be a catch. I can find it later, after tonight.

  When we reach the bedroom, he takes control, picking me up and throwing me onto the bed. I’m a big woman, but he moves like I weigh nothing.

  He grins, taking my kissing my ankle.

  “I like these shoes,” he tells me. “Who got them for you?”

  They match my dress. The one he ripped in the hallway. “I picked them out.”

  “You have good taste,” he whispers, dropping the heel.

  I don’t know if I’d describe my taste as “good.” The heels are ridiculously long and the most impracticable shoes I’d ever seen in my life. Kate had encouraged me to buy them even though I said there’s no way I could dance in them. She didn’t seem to think that would be a problem.

  “They’re hell to walk in. Probably good we didn’t dance,” I tell him.

  “Oh, sweetheart, these aren’t shoes to walk in. These are shoes to get fucked in. You in nothing but these shoes…I think I could get hard forever on just that thought.”

  With that, he rips down the front of my dress.

  “Hey!” I yell. “this was expensive!”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “You can’t. It was one of a kind, made for some runway show. There are no other ones.”

  “Then I’ll find the designer and pay her to make another one for you.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t do that either. She’s an artist.”

  “And you are a work of art.”

  With that he hooks his thumb beneath my knees, pushing me further apart. Every part of me is hot and I’m so wet and ready down there that it’s amazing I haven’t cum already. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so much before. I mean, if I did, I’m pretty sure I would have died.

  I look down.

  Oh God.

  Oh my fucking God.

  I knew he was big. But there’s big, and then there’s…that.

  My entire body trembles as I glance down at his monster cock. I had that inside me? No wonder I got pregnant! I mean, I know that a man’s size has nothing to do with his...ahem...potency, but...Jesus Christ!

  “You still with me, Tachell?” he asks, breathless.

  Am I? “I don’t know.”

  “You want to wait, just say the word.”

  He’s ready. He’s more than ready. The head is even a bit more swollen than the base, which only happens when a guy is really turned on. No wonder I felt that under his pants! I’m surprised I didn’t feel it when I entered the room!

  “Seriously? You’d just pack up and leave?” I ask.

  He winces. “It wouldn’t be...ideal.”

  “Ideal? Hell, I’m worried about the logistics of it. Seriously, how do you keep that in your pants?”

  The massive cock twitches, as if answering for itself. Yes, his cock is so freaking huge it can answer things for itself! I’m suddenly wondering if that possessive growl I heard earlier when I asked Preston if his dick could speak was actually from his cock.

  “It only gets this hard when it thinks of you,” Preston says.

  I’m pretty sure that’s a line. And in the world of pick-up-lines, it’s kind of the best one ever and the worst one ever at the same time. I mean, it is a huge ego boost to think that I can illicit that kind of...gigantic response...in someone. On the other time, it’s scary. I mean, did I mention I’m a little afraid?

  “You can take it,” he whispers. “You’re a big girl, and you’re strong.”

  “I can? I am?”

  “Yeah. You ride this thing like it’s what you were born to do.”

  I swat his chest. “I think I was born to do more than please your dick.”

  “Oh, you most certainly were. But luckily, you’re a woman of many talents.”

  “I’m gonna get you ready first,” he whispers, pushing me down. His hand moves over my stomach, in between my breasts, pushing me onto my back. He picks me up and star
ts moving further up the gigantic bed. I wrap my legs around him, his cock literally hard and long enough that it’s above to hold up my ass. It’s like a freakin’ shelf!

  Oh my god. I’m about to fuck a shelf.

  I shouldn’t be this turned on, like every cell in my body has been shocked into life. I can feel my fingertips buzzing. My goes tingling.

  Suddenly, he places me down at the top of the bed amongst the softest pillows that have ever touched my skin. He looks down at me, eyes deep and blue and dark, like that part of the horizon just above the ocean that is untouched by stars.

  His hands move up my thighs, gathering me, pushing my legs back. It’s my turn to rip off his shirt, buttons spilling around us. His muscles angle into a perfect V on his hips. God, I know he said I was a work of art, but he’s fashioned by the gods. I’ve never seen anything so perfect in my life. I bring my hands up his chest, and his muscles tense beneath my touch.

  His hands twist in my hair. For a second my heart aches for all the time I spent in the salon getting ready, but then again, this was the result I wanted.

  “Tachell?” he asks.

  Even now, when I’m literally aching and wiggling and moaning beneath him, he’s waiting for my permission.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Now.”

  He takes hold of my hips and pushes into me, slowly. I’m ready and wet, but he’s so big and I’m not used to it. I don’t think I’ll ever be fully used to his length. It’s big enough to always keep me on edge—to always bring back those butterflies from the first time. He moves forward, his face pensive, full of lust and something softer, something that makes my stomach tighten and my heartbeat flutter.

  This is beyond desire. It’s something else. But I don’t yet know what it means. And then, I start feeling so much that I can’t even worry about it any longer. You can’t fake it. You can’t tame it. You can’t find it anywhere but in his arms and he can’t find it anywhere but in mine.

  His cock hits me in all the right places. I loop my ankles around his back and he holds me close as he pushes deeper into me.

  “Yes,” I cry out.

  Encouraged, he thrusts harder. Deeper. I’m amazed I can take this—amazed it feels so good. I look up at the ceiling. Mirrors above showcase his glorious backside. His tight ass pistoning as he thrusts powerfully into me. I dig my fingernails into his back, admiring the contrast of his white skin beneath my own. I pull my legs back together and he moves, harder, faster, his grip on me tightening, his neck straining.

  His thumb pushes into my parted lips and I suck on it, bite it softly, as he pushes me to the edge of pleasure. “Cum for me, Tachell,” he whispers.

  And I do.

  I can’t deny this man anything.

  He cums, too. His cock hitting the back of me, shooting his seed into me with such might that it prolongs my orgasm. deep inside me. His seed spilling into me. His hard, long cock touching the back of me.

  Slowly, he slides off of me, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he brings me to his chest. I rest the side of my cheek on his pounding heart as we both catch our breath.

  I pull back so I can look at him once again. He brings his hand to my poor, destroyed hair, gently cradling my head.

  I can’t speak. What I see in his eyes reflects the new, inexplicable feelings growing in my heart. We’re both falling deeper and deeper, and there is no turning back. I don’t think we’d turn back even if we wanted to, even if it meant our destruction. Because once you’ve found something like this you don’t let go to of it.

  No matter what.

  Chapter 43

  I wake up in that huge bed to the smell of breakfast pancakes. I groan softly, wiping my eyes as I slide out of the impossibly soft white sheets.

  Did last night really happen?

  I moan a bit as I stand, delightfully sore in all the right places.

  I think it did.

  My heart skips a beat. So it wasn’t just a perfect dream.

  I open my eyes.

  Oh my God.

  I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings last night. I’d been too horny, and then I’d been too…I don’t even know. Preston and I had silently cherished each other with more kisses and deep, dark looks before he’d gotten hard again and coaxed me into another round.

  That might have happened more than once.

  In fact, it might have happened more than a few times.

  I don’t know how to feel about this. There was nothing as good as great sex. There was nothing better than great sex all night long. But, if we got married, could I survive a life together with him if it meant hot marathon sex every night? Hell, could I even survive the engagement? And just how many children were we gonna have!?!?

  I bite my lower lip. I’m getting ahead of myself again. Preston hasn’t said anything about marriage in a while. Maybe he just wants to screw.

  But then, I remember the way he held me in between each “session.” And I remember him kissing my forehead as I fell asleep. And I think, just before I drifted into sweet, sweet dreams, he whispered I love you.

  He might have just been talking about the sex. He dated a lot of models, right? I’m pretty sure they didn’t have the energy or strength to go at it like we did.

  Or maybe I’d just imagined it. I might have already been sleeping. I was going to have to watch myself, because I was starting to fall for this guy.

  Starting? My subconscious mocks me. You were ready to let him take you to heaven the second you saw him after waking up!

  I glance around for my clothes. It looks like my dress had been mauled by a bear. Yeah, not wearing that again. I go to Preston’s ornate wardrobe and pick out one of his cotton undershirts. Is it a little presumptuous to take a shirt of his? Maybe, but he owes me!

  As I’m over there, I notice a large painting on the wall. It’s of a little girl on a swing, surrounded by lavender. The swing is old and attached to a knotted, aged tree. The rope looks hard, and the seat of the is a slab of weathered. Her hair is going every which way all crazy, but the little girl is too happy to notice. She looks over her shoulder, smiling, beckoning the viewer to push her…or to join her.

  I remember something Preston told me the other day while we were out to lunch. I’d been so worried about being a mother, and he’d noticed.

  I can’t imagine a more perfect mother, Tachell.

  What the hell? How do you know?

  Because you’re strong, and you are fiercely protective of those you love.

  I don’t know why I’m remembering this now while looking at the painting. Preston had mentioned that he had one of my paintings in his bedroom. Was this the painting he was talking about? Was that smiling little girl me?

  “Tachell?” I hear. “Are you up yet?”

  “Yeah,” I yell, yanking his shirt over my head and head down the hallway. The plush red carpet feels wonderful beneath my bare feet, like I’m literally walking on cloud 9. When I reach the kitchen—which is as big as the apartment I’m currently sharing with my mother and Sondra, by the way—he looks up with a smile.

  I sit down at the marble counter. “Damn that smells good.”

  “I hope you’re hungry. After last night, I sure am.”

  I feel my cheeks grow hot as a delightfully sweet sensation as sugary as maple syrup grows in my stomach. “Stop teasing.”

  “I’m not teasing. If I start teasing you, I’m going to be late for work.”

  A wildfire spreads across my cheeks and rages down my neck. Those little things he says to me mean so much more know what I know. With a tight laugh, I accept a plate of pancakes.

  It’s cute he cooked for me. I decide I will eat them all, no matter how bad they are. I steel my reserve as I pick up a fork.

  “You’re gonna like these,” he tells me.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. In fact, after one bite, you’re going to beg me to marry you.”

  I set down my fork. “That’s a pretty big claim.”

  He
nods at the plate in front of me. “Those are pretty damn good pancakes. One taste, and you’re gonna want them every morning for the rest of your life.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.” He looks down. “So if you don’t think that sounds like a good deal, maybe you shouldn’t eat them.”

  My heart starts pounding so hard my entire body shakes. “Preston, are you proposing to me?”

  He glances up at me, a wicked light in his eyes. “Maybe. Take a bite and see.”

  I gulp. “You know, if these pancakes are really bad, you’re going to put me in an awkward position because I’m totally not going to want to eat them every morning, but in order to accept your proposal—if, in fact, this is one—I’ll have to tell you straight up.”

  Preston gives me an arrogant smile. “These will be the most amazing pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

  I raise my brow. He’s a billionaire. I’m pretty sure billionaires aren’t known for their fine cuisine—they’re known for hiring other people to make fine cuisine for them.

  The perfect muscles in his arms flex as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Have faith in me.”

  “Fine,” I whisper, taking up the fork like a sword. I cut into the side of the pancake. Great, fluffy texture. They certainly look good. But that meant nothing if it didn’t taste good, too.

  Shutting my eyes, I bring the pancake to my mouth.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Mouth orgasm. And not just any mouth orgasm, but one with 4 opera singers wailing and 3 symphonies blasting and 2 contortionists contorting and a partridge in a pear tree…

  My eyes fly open. “I just remembered something!”

  Preston’s eyes darken. “Was is it?”

  “It’s a Christmas carol. And…we used to sing it in school. Before Christmas break, we’d gather in the assembly room, and each grade would sing their part of the song. So the fifth graders would be five golden rings, and the first graders—”

  “The partridge,” Preston finishes for me, smiling.

  “Yeah. And the first graders would always sing the song all proper, because they didn’t know that it was actually a shouting contest. I think once it got to the fourth graders, though, it became pretty clear. By the end, everyone would be hoarse except the high schoolers, because they only had to shout out their part one to four times.”