Fake It Real: A Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance

by Zahra Girard

  “Not far,” I say, zipping up. “Too far.”

  The look she gives me is hot enough to set me on fire. “Will you be ready by the time we get there? I need you to fuck me.”

  My cock stirs and, somehow, starts getting hard again. “I’m ready now.”

  “Seriously?” She laughs. “You’re insatiable.”

  “Maybe try looking a little less gorgeous if you don’t want me trying to fuck you all the time.”

  She makes a face. “Ok, now you’re just going to make me gag.”

  “I’d be happy to. Get back on your knees and open up.”

  Laughing, she grabs my hand and starts pulling me along. “You. Me. Bed. Now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melody

  I wake up in his arms.

  This isn’t how we fell asleep last night. But then, last night was a lot of acrobatics and we both just kind of collapsed and passed out wherever we landed. At some point while we were sleeping, he wrapped me up and pulled me close.

  I sigh, breathing in deep, taking in his smell. This is as good as I’ve felt in a long, long time. My body feels relaxed. My soul feels content.

  He stirs a little, but stays asleep and I just watch him, tracing my gaze over the strong lines of his jaw, the stubble he’s wearing that looks so rugged, down his chest to the full eight-pack that’s like a magnet for my pupils.

  How did I get a man so incredible?

  I run my tongue over my teeth and frown. They feel like velvet’s coating them.

  Gross. I forgot to brush.

  Groaning, I sit up even though I don’t really want to. It feels so good having Julian’s arm over me, but I need to stretch, too. I think I might’ve bruised my hip with all the thrusting and riding we did last night.

  “Leaving so soon?” Julian says, dreamily, as I swing my legs out of bed and slowly stand up. “How about round two?”

  Laughing, I shake my head and then start stretching. “Round two? It’s more like round seven.”

  “Seven? That’s all? I could swear it was at least eight.”

  He sits up in bed, blatantly eying me as I try and work the kinks out of my tired body. It’s flattering, and I wink at him over my shoulder. “Either way, I could be convinced. I just need a second to stretch. It feels like I’m just one single bruised knot.”

  Chuckling, he gets up and turns on the room’s coffee maker. “I’d love to, but, in all honesty, I think it’s going to be a little while. You drained me last night.”

  “As your doctor, I can tell you that’s a terrible excuse.”

  “You’re a vet.”

  “And you’re a dog, by your own admission,” I shoot back with a smile. “Who am I to judge how you self-identify? Especially if you’re right.”

  He rolls his eyes and shoves a mug of coffee in my hand. I drink up the aroma, then take a sip. Already, I’m feeling more alert, more alive.

  Rocking my hips slowly from side to side, I look him up and down. “I think you could go again.”

  He laughs even louder, this big belly-laugh that shakes his whole body. “Now who’s insatiable?”

  Maybe I am.

  There’s just something about him when he’s not laser-focused on his goals that makes him so easy to be around. Something that’s irresistible. When he’s just Julian Stone — super-rich, super-hot businessman — he’s the kind of man I’d spend time with, even if we didn’t have some crazy fake-engagement arrangement.

  He’s perfect when he’s not being an asshole.

  I finish my coffee and turn to him, pretending to be angry. “So what if I am insatiable? It’s your fault for being so ridiculously hot. You make me feel like I’m wandering on some desert salt plain, I’m so thirsty.”

  Eyes roll. “Wow. Just wow. Really?”

  “See? That’s what happens when you get me all twisted up like that.”

  “You drop terrible one-liners? Relax, we can fuck later. I’m calling room service for some breakfast. You want anything specific, or should I just get two of everything?”

  My stomach growls.

  “Two of everything it is,” he says.

  He’s standing right by the bed, receiver next to his ear and coffee cup in his other hand; he’s entirely naked and his athletic body on full display. I can’t help myself.

  I push him.

  Hard.

  He lets out a startled “what the—?” as he lands on the bed.

  The coffee cup goes flying, spilling it’s liquid contents against a wall. I jump right on of him, straddling his chest, and I snatch the phone.

  “Hello?” says a very confused hotel clerk. “Is everything ok?”

  “Yes, thank you. Cancel our order. We’ve found another way to satisfy our appetites,” I say into the phone.

  “Hold on,” Julian starts to protest, but I put my finger to his lips.

  Shh.

  “Julian Stone,” I say, loud enough that whoever’s on the phone is definitely able to hear us. “You have a reputation to uphold. Your fiance needs you. Now get to work.”

  With the push of a button, I hang up the phone and then shimmy further up his body until I’m nearly straddling his face.

  We’re both grinning.

  Even when I pinned him, Julian didn’t fight me. We both know where this is going.

  “You said you’re hungry?” I say.

  He nods. If the grin on his face gets any wider, his face is going to split open.

  I stand up right over his face, my legs spread wide, one to each side of him. Making a big show of it, I lean forward until my tits are right over his face and he is staring up at me, enraptured.

  I love the way he looks at me. Every single time his eyes tell a story of naked desire, speaking to me as loud as if he used his voice that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

  I’m going to miss this when it’s over, I think, before I lower myself down to sit on his face. And then his tongue chases away any thoughts I have.

  His tongue is magic. It’s worth more than all the money in the world for what he’s able to do with it.

  His lips suck me in just the right places while his tongue teases a slow path to my clit. Stroking, coaxing, caressing, teasing and tantalizing every part of my pussy.

  It makes one slow circle around my clit.

  I bite my lip.

  I know what’s coming, but still, when I feel that gentle suck as he pulls it between his lips and that first bracing caress, I cry out.

  “Holy fuck.”

  He chuckles beneath me and the rumbling vibrations light up my body.

  Holy shit, he’s not a businessman — he’s a fucking magician with that tongue.

  I grab hold of the blankets, knotting them tight in my tingling fingers. He’s doing something with that tongue, it’s gentle as a whisper and as rapid as a hummingbird’s wings and it’s making my toes curl.

  “I love your tongue. Oh god, I love it.”

  And then he starts growling. It’s this feral, wild, deep growl that says he’s in heaven, that there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing at this moment than licking my pussy.

  My body starts tingling and twitching and I am tearing at the sheets.

  I’m close. My breath catches. My eyes flutter shut.

  “Julian.”

  His tongue flickers, pushing me further until I’m right up to the edge of bliss. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I force myself to look down at him.

  He’s staring right back at me with those bright green eyes.

  Come, they’re screaming at me.

  Come.

  And then he growls again.

  I lose it.

  “Julian,” I moan his name, the word ripping out of my throat over and over again while I clamp down on his face with my legs. I ride every single lick of his tongue into oblivion.

  Falling to the side, my body spasming like I’m riding my own private earthquake, I pull in a heaving breath. My uncooperative fingers reach for him and
his touch sets off fireworks inside me.

  Julian Stone, I just might love you.

  Is this fake anymore?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julian

  I don’t know if she’s more beautiful when she’s asleep or when she’s awake.

  Asleep, she’s at peace and, every once in a while, she’ll get this cute smile on her face when she finds herself in a particularly good dream. She’s the picture of heaven.

  It wouldn’t be a bad thing to wake up next to that smile for the rest of my life.

  But when she’s awake?

  She might even be better. Somehow.

  Inside and out, she’s a knockout.

  Melody keeps me in check. She’ll call bullshit and she won’t hesitate to tell me the truth. Which is probably one of the rarest things in the world once you get to being as wealthy as I am. People you can trust are worth their weight in gold.

  The fact that she’s the most gorgeous woman in whatever room she walks into doesn’t hurt, either.

  As I watch her sleep, I start to think that maybe, somehow, I’ll have to find a way to make it work. Maybe I’ll relocate Stone Capital to little Rockaway Bay. Or maybe I’ll buy her a new veterinary clinic down in Los Angeles and let her work to her heart’s content.

  But figuring out any of that can wait.

  My stomach is grumbling at me like an old man who just found out he missed the Early Bird Special.

  Room Service.

  Not knowing what she wants, and not wanting to wake her, I order for us two of everything that looks good, along with a couple bottles of the best champagne they’ve got on the menu.

  The food arrives and I have the room service attendant leave it all in the entryway of the hotel room and I carry it in myself so I don’t wake up Melody.

  The food is all fine; not the best I’ve eaten, but it’ll do, and for regular people it’s probably a treat. At least the champagne’s delicious, and there’s few things on earth better than relaxing with a naked woman in your bed and a flute of champagne in your hand.

  “Mmhmm,” she makes this languid, luscious stretch as she wakes up.

  “Breakfast is here,” I say, handing her an effervescent glass of champagne and smiling as her eyes widen a bit when she sees just how much of a spread there is.

  I might’ve gone overboard.

  There’s five platters of food spread out on the table.

  “Wow,” is all she says.

  “Most if it’s decent enough,” I say. “Though they did cook the bacon just right and the salmon souffle’s pretty good.”

  She holds one of the souffle ramekins up to her nose and gives it a long sniff and her eyes light up. “Not bad?” she says, then, taking a bite, she glares at me in disbelief. “You call this not bad?”

  “I’ve had better is all I’m saying.”

  “Well I haven’t. Not that I’m a souffle connoisseur or anything. But, damn,” she says, shoveling it into her mouth like it could be taken away at any minute.

  “Hungry?”

  She nods, crumbs all over her lips.

  “Let’s take this outside,” I say. “The bay looks especially good this morning.”

  We put on robes and take some of the food and champagne out onto one of the suite’s balconies. There’s an unobstructed view of the whole bay; fishing trawlers, kelp forests, sea life, it’s all laid out before us on the glittering azure canvas of Monterey Bay. It’s serene, and the only sounds are the occasional horn of a boat blaring it’s presence and the squawking seabirds.

  I feel like a king and I’ve got my queen by my side. Things are good between Melody and me, and I can practically taste success on that sea breeze. I just know, deep inside, that this is going to work.

  Unable to help myself, I start humming an old Sinatra song that my grandparents used to play all the time. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this good.

  After a few bars, Melody looks up at me from her plate of food. “Sinatra?”

  I nod. “Yep. It Happened in Monterey.”

  I get back to humming, pausing every now and then to drink champagne.

  “You know he means Monterey in Mexico, right?”

  I shrug. “From what I remember of the times I’ve met Frank, he’d be alright with the switch. There’s just something about spending a morning like this, with a woman like you, that’s better than words.”

  “Wait. You’ve met him?”

  “He was friends with my grandparents. He’d come around sometimes, usually stay for dinner and a cocktail or seven. He and my grandfather met way, way back when in Vegas, and he was actually at my grandparent’s wedding.”

  “So, is there just some super-secret club for the rich and famous? Do you all send each other Christmas cards? Is there a secret handshake?”

  “Not really. We just tend to frequent the same places, and if you run into someone enough, eventually you build a relationship and usually end up either becoming friends or hating their guts.”

  “Are there any enemies of Julian Stone I need to know about?” she says, jokingly.

  “Not really,” I shrug. “Aside from everyone in my family who isn’t one of my brothers. I don’t actually have that many enemies, believe it or not.”

  “You almost sound disappointed.”

  “It can be interesting. My great grandfather really had it in for the Archduke of Austria — which is where my family immigrated from way back when. He hated the Archduke so much that he changed the family name from Stein to Stone and may have made a few donations to some of the duke’s enemies.”

  She whistles. Below us, a tugboat lets out a long call from its horn.

  “So your great grandfather started World War One?”

  I laugh. “No. That would’ve been bad for business. He just wanted to ruffle the duke’s hair a little… and maybe kick him in the balls. Figuratively.”

  “Rich people,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Are people. They’re just as petty and ridiculous as anyone else, they can just act on it easier,” I say. “But what about you? Any enemies I need to know about? Any dark family secrets lurking in little Rockaway Bay?”

  She scoffs, but it seems a little forced. “I’ve only lived in Rockaway Bay for a little over a year, and before that, I lived in some little town outside Fort Collins, Colorado. I don’t have any enemies — I’m not important enough to make any enemies.”

  “That’s not true; you’re important to me.”

  I can’t help but blurt that out — I hate when she downplays how much she’s worth because, the way she does it, I know she’s not just being modest. She actually believes she’s not worth much.

  Someone must’ve done a number on her.

  “Damn that was cheesy,” she says, her eyes laughing at me. “With pickup lines like that, it’s a wonder you even have any kind of reputation at all. No woman would ever fall for that.”

  Still, I can tell she loves it.

  “I use my tongue for better things than pickup lines,” I say, winking at her and making her blush. “Besides, when you have more money than most people can wrap their heads around, you don’t need lines. It just sort of happens. With whoever I want. Whenever I want.”

  “Another reason I’ll be glad to get back home when this is all over. I can go back to Rockaway Bay, be anonymous, and leave the bizarre world of the rich and famous far behind.”

  “You sure love being anonymous, but a beautiful woman like you shouldn’t hide herself,” I say, grinning while Melody makes an audible gagging noise. “What’s so great about it?”

  “I can be who I want. I can live without people judging me, I can go after my dreams and, if I fail, there’s no one to throw it back in my face.”

  There’s such bitterness in her voice that it even makes the champagne taste bad for a second. It gets my hackles up and I’m making fists without realizing it. Just the thought of someone doing something to her has me ready to bust heads.

  “Who hurt yo
u?” I say, gently.

  Her face goes dark. She pauses as she searches for words but then there’s a ringing from the front door.

  “Hold that thought,” I say as I get up and head to answer the door.

  Standing there is some young hotel clerk. His uniform’s a bit baggy on him and he looks kind of intimidated. He’s carrying a small wooden box in his shaky hands.

  “Um, uh — Mr. Stone?” he says in a kinda-squeaky voice.

  Ah, puberty. Poor kid.

  I try and look less angry at being interrupted. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  He holds the box out, his arms almost robotically stiff. “So, um, this came for you and the front desk asked me to run it up right away. Said it’s from someone named Gordon Cunningham.”

  I smile. This has got to be good news.

  “I’ll take that,” I say. Then, “wait here.”

  I leave the kid in the doorway for a second while I take the box back into the room and grab my wallet and fish out a couple bills. I’ve only got fifties and hundreds, but I doubt the kid’ll mind.

  “This is for you,” I tell him as I hand a wad of them over.

  The shocked look on his face is hilarious. “Um… thanks.”

  He’s still standing there, right in the doorway, so I can’t shut it. His gaze is going right over my shoulder and I’m positive he’s staring at Melody, who’s wrapped in her robe and watching us from near the bed.

  “Yeah, kid, she’s hot and she’s with me. But, anyways, I am kind of busy with my fiance. So if you could…” I say, motioning for him to back the hell up.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Um… good work, man,” he says, nodding at Melody and then giving me a thumbs up.

  I know what he means. “Yeah, she’s better than I deserve.”

  “Bye, future Mrs. Stone,” he calls out, before awkwardly walking away.

  Turning back around, I practically race to the bed and open the box. If there was any doubt about whether Gordon was on my side, that’s gone now. Inside, there’s two very fine bottles of champagne — probably from his private reserve — and a small, handwritten note.