Billionaire's Fake Fiancé (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #10)

by Claire Adams

  “Best offer; none of the other schools would give me a good enough scholarship to cover everything.” I nodded, accepting that answer. It made sense, especially if Johnny hadn’t grown up with a wealthy family. My own parents would have never accepted me getting a scholarship to a school other than an Ivy League—and then only an academic scholarship. They had insisted that they would fund everything for me, that I would never have to borrow money from a bank or beg for money from any foundation.

  “Do you go home and visit your parents? I mean, I know mine are a bummer to be around, but I hear some people have great relationships with theirs.” I tried to smile, giving his hand a playful squeeze. Johnny bit his bottom lip and worried it for a moment.

  “I’m pretty busy between school, the frat, and hockey; I don’t really get a chance to go home very often.” There was something weird about his voice when he said it, but I didn’t want to pry. We were getting closer and closer to my parents’ house every moment, and the last thing I wanted to do was show up after having an obvious fight in his truck. It wouldn’t be good. My parents would be pissed and not in a way that I could enjoy, and then we’d be the topic of conversation for all of their friends. So I changed the subject to something else, and as Johnny sped down the freeway, the subject of his home life and family disappeared behind us.

  Our arrival at my parents’ house was exactly what I had hoped it would be: Johnny helped me climb down from the cab of his truck, and as we went into the big house, he was smiling at everyone, one arm draped around my waist, looking even more like he belonged than half of my parents’ friends’ kids. I introduced him to everyone, and as Johnny shook hands all around, I couldn’t help beaming at the fact that he was obviously the hottest guy there. I wasn’t the only one who noticed it either; most of my mom’s friends were eyeing him as if they wanted to take the first opportunity that might come up to pull him into the bushes, and their daughters stared at him like a piece of meat.

  Dad came up as people started to drift away, men leading their wives off to chitchat with other women, women going to talk about whatever it was my mom’s friends talked about. “Hey, glad you both could make it,” Dad said, grinning at Johnny as he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. He shook Johnny’s hand. “Grab a beer; there’s plenty of all kinds.” Johnny smiled tightly, and I felt his grip on my waist tense.

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink—especially when I’ve got the responsibility of making sure your daughter’s safe.” I thought that was strange; I remembered Johnny turning down wine at the country club, but surely I’d seen him drink before. He belonged to one of the hardest-partying frats at the school. I couldn’t imagine him not drinking at least occasionally. But I remembered as I tried to sift through the events of the party Gigi and I had gone to that Johnny’s cup had been a different color from everyone else’s. I shrugged it off and accepted a glass of wine from my mother as Johnny and Dad settled into a conversation about their favorite hockey teams.

  “Hey, I just remembered; the neighbor’s kids have their stuff set out in the street just a couple of houses down from here. Feel up to a quick game?” Johnny grinned and looked at me only for a second to see if I approved.

  “Ugh, men,” I said, rolling my eyes even as I smiled. “Go show off.” Dad rounded up his other hockey-fan friends, and they all wandered outside, forming up teams while their women, me included, watched from the yard. The older guys weren’t terrible, but Johnny was obviously the star, getting past them, shooting into the net easily, dodging and moving faster than anyone else. Dad had gotten him on his team, and in a matter of only about ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that the other group of Dad’s friends weren’t going to have a chance at matching Johnny’s team, and they were old enough in their middle age years not to have enough stamina to want to keep going when they knew they were going to lose.

  I was full of pride as the men wandered back into the house, several of them remarking to me that Johnny was a great player, a good candidate for this or that major league team once he graduated. I was so pleased that Johnny had made such a great impression on everyone, and I thought to myself, Take that: he’s not some rich, private school brat, and he still whooped your ass.

  Chapter Eight

  The party was in full swing, and Johnny and I were left to our own devices as the groups of businessmen got involved talking to themselves, discussing boring financial topics and politics that seemed way too ridiculous for me to even care about while their wives talked about whatever rich women had in common. We were wandering around the living room, Johnny making low-voiced comments and jokes about being a country boy, asking how much money my parents would sue him for if he broke this or that. “Show me around your house,” he said, giving me a playful poke in the ribs.

  “It’s not my house,” I countered, sticking my tongue out at him. The wine was starting to fuzz my brain, and in the relaxed, approving atmosphere, I was less self-conscious than I could ever remember being around my parents’ friends in my life. It was good to be there with Johnny; my mom didn’t even bring a single boy over to talk to me, and I loved the envying looks I was getting from all the women who’d come.

  “Well show me around anyway,” Johnny said, nudging me. I led him through the living room and out to the backyard where he pointed out the hot tub. “You know, I bet your parents have had sex in there.” I made a gagging noise.

  “I know they have. I’m pretty sure it’s why they had it installed. I try not to think about it.” I showed him the little sauna, and we poked around the garden for a bit, barely avoiding the slightly tipsy party guests who had gone out to the back porch for cigarettes. We went back into the house, and I led Johnny through the kitchen and dining room; we snagged hors d’oeurves off of trays as the waiters passed by, and I got a refill on my wine, sipping at it while I told Johnny about the library and study and how many hours I’d had to spend at the stupid little desk being berated by my tutor because quadratic equations just never quite made sense to me.

  We left the party behind and moved upstairs, and I led him through the hall to my bedroom. “Don’t laugh,” I told him as I opened the door. “It’s pretty sickening.” My mom had nearly refused to let me take anything at all from my room when I’d moved to college, insisting that I should have new things—new linens, new rugs, new drapes, everything. So when we stepped into my room, it was exactly the way I had left it when I’d left for campus: posters clashing with the tasteful paintings my mom insisted I had to have, my little desk for doing my homework and playing on the computer with the matching dresser and vanity, all in the Provincial French style that Mom forced on me as a teenager.

  “This is great. What are you talking about?” Johnny pulled me close and kissed me on the lips, breaking away to look around. “I thought you’d have something embarrassing like…a pink and purple room.”

  “Oh God, no. Even when I was a kid, my mom would have insisted on ‘blush’ and ‘mauve’—tasteful colors.” I rolled my eyes, laughing, and wandered over to my vanity. None of my makeup was on it—it had all come with me—but I could picture where everything had been. Johnny was meandering around my room, taking everything in, and I watched him in the mirror, smiling to myself. I was so glad that he hadn’t been either disgusted by my parents’ wealth or opportunistic about it, that he wasn’t overly impressed but he wasn’t filled with contempt. I heard the bedroom door close and looked up to see Johnny approaching me from behind, his face in the mirror showing a little mischievous grin.

  He began to kiss the back of my neck, his hands sliding over the front of my body, caressing me through my dress. I shivered, leaning back against him instinctively before the reality of the situation set in. “Mmm—Johnny, no…we can’t do this, we’ll get caught.” Johnny was already reaching down, his hands slipping along the hem of my cocktail dress, pulling it up slightly. His fingers brushed against my thighs, leaving a tingle in their wake, and I found myself starting to get wet as he nuzzled agai
nst me, nibbling along the back of my neck. He slid his hand between my legs and began to rub my pussy through the thin lace of my panties, his teeth sinking into my shoulder just enough to make me gasp and shiver.

  “No one will come up,” Johnny murmured, his fingers somehow finding my clit. He brought one hand back up and cupped my breast, giving it a playful squeeze. “Think of how hot it would be…no one knowing you’re up here having your brains fucked out while they’re talking about stocks and casseroles.” I giggled. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly turned on as Johnny’s hand slipped under my panties, stroking and rubbing me.

  He pushed me forward gently, and I let out a soft moan as he lifted the skirt of my dress up over my hips. It was like the closet at the country club; I bit my lip, watching both of us in the mirror. Johnny tugged my panties down over my hips, his fingers brushing against the curve of my ass, and he flashed me a grin in the mirror. “God, you look so hot like this, Becky,” he told me. I watched as he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, not even tugging his pants down, just moving his boxers aside to free his hard cock.

  I closed my eyes as he thrust into me from behind, hard and fast, his hips slamming into my ass. I grabbed at the vanity, pushing back to meet him as Johnny started moving inside of me right away, rocking against me, his cock sliding deeper and deeper every moment. I could just barely hear the sound of all of the people downstairs, the dull roar of their conversations muted by the closed door. Any moment, someone could take it into their heads to come upstairs. They might hear me moaning out as Johnny pounded into me from behind, his hands moving over my hips, holding me tight right where he wanted me.

  One of his hands slithered up along the front of my dress; I’d chosen one with a lower neckline than what I’d worn to the country club. Johnny tugged the front of it down, pulling my bra with it, and I opened my eyes to see my breasts shaking from the force of his thrusts and his hand cup me, his fingers finding my nipple, rolling and twisting it to send a jolt of hot, electric pleasure through me. We started moving together faster and faster, and Johnny’s hand slipped down between my legs once more, rubbing and stroking my clit in tight little circles that sent tingles through me with every thrust of his hips.

  I hit my orgasm all at once, crying out—forgetting everyone downstairs completely as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me with the force of a tsunami. Johnny came a few moments later, thrusting into me hard and fast, and I felt the gush of his orgasm, felt his cock twitching inside of me even as his fingers continued to work me, even as he kept thrusting into me, bringing my climax higher and higher. We both slowed to a stop, me barely holding myself up against my vanity, my breasts still shaking from the force of my panting breaths as Johnny sagged against my body.

  As I came back to myself, I started laughing, shaking my head at my own reflection. “God, I look like a total slut,” I said. Johnny stood upright, and I felt his cock move inside of me, twitching slightly in renewed desire.

  “Nah. You look gorgeous. Both in the mirror and from back here.” He slipped out of me, and I took a deep breath to compose myself, knowing that we had to get back downstairs before someone noticed we were gone. I pulled up my panties, still feeling the sticky slickness of my fluids and Johnny’s mingling, soaking into the fabric of my underwear. Johnny fixed the front of my dress, giving my breasts a lingering caress before he leaned in to kiss me.

  We held hands as we went back downstairs; my cheeks were still flushed, but as far as I could tell, no one had noticed where we’d come from or even that we’d been gone. We grinned at each other over and over again, amused at the fact that we’d been able to screw like horny rabbits so close to the stupid party full of people. Every so often, I gave Johnny’s hand a playful squeeze and he looked at me, and I could see that he wanted more; so did I. But as fun as it had been, I wanted to wait until we could be alone again—I didn’t want to entirely make a mess of my parents’ anniversary.

  Chapter Nine

  We were finally on our way home; I was tired, but pleased. Mom had liked Johnny even better than she had the first time she’d met him, and Dad had made a point of telling me while Johnny was off looking for a bottle of water for me that I’d picked a great guy and that it was obvious that Johnny felt really strongly about me. Everyone had loved him, and it had been great to put one over on people who I knew would look down their nose at Johnny just because he hadn’t grown up with wealthy parents.

  I yawned and stretched, pulling my hand free of Johnny’s just long enough to get the tension out of my shoulders. I was tired, but part of me wished I could bring Johnny up to my dorm again and have one last, quick session of lovemaking before I went to sleep. I grinned to myself, remembering the way we’d looked in the mirror, remembering the illicit, forbidden pleasure of Johnny taking me from behind in my own teenaged bedroom while my parents mingled with their pretentious guests below.

  There was something definitely more thrilling about fooling around like that where we could get caught; it was exciting, knowing that at any moment someone could pass by and hear us or come into my room. My parents could have seen us go upstairs—anyone could have—and then not come down immediately, and they could have gotten suspicious and decided to investigate. It had been the same way with our tryst in the closet, the need to try and keep just a little bit quiet, and with Johnny’s scheme of getting into my dorm room to have sex. I definitely wanted to mostly stick to having sex in places where we weren’t going to be overheard or at least, where neither of us was going to get in trouble for it. But every once in a while, it was so much fun to take the little risk, to get more and more excited at the prospect of maybe getting caught.

  “I know you don’t think very highly of your parents,” Johnny said, giving my hand a squeeze, “But your Dad’s not that bad with a hockey stick.”

  I laughed. “I’m telling you, I had no idea at all that he even knew what hockey was. I swear, they live double lives.”

  “Next thing you know you’ll find out your mom was a drug-runner in college,” Johnny joked.

  “Oh God, that would actually be pretty cool and daring. No, I’m sure she was just as boring as ever—color-coordinated sheets, sorority pin, pledging her eternal sisterhood.”

  “Hey, sororities get pretty wild. Maybe she ran afoul of a drug cartel on a trip to Cancun.”

  “I am not joining a sorority.”

  “Aww, not even our sister organization? You could get your mom to help us plan our parties and themes!”

  “Ugh, everything would be so sickening. No. No sororities for me, no eternal sisterhood of the traveling pants.” Johnny cracked up, reaching over to give my thigh a squeeze.

  “I had a great time,” he said, smiling in the glow of the dashboard lights. “It was really good meeting everyone.”

  “Everyone liked you so much! I was really pleased,” I smiled, remembering all the envying glances. “Just don’t follow any of those old cougar trophy wives into the garden, please. I’d have to kill you. And them. I’d bring so much shame upon my family.”

  “Why would I go anywhere with them? I’ve got you.” Johnny glanced over at me with a smile, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

  We talked about the party, about how ridiculous everyone was, about stupid little things we’d seen on campus as Johnny sped down the highway heading back to campus. My parents hesitantly had invited us to stay the night and get a fresh start in the morning, but they had made it clear that Johnny would have to spend the night in one of the guest rooms; I figured I could sleep alone as well in the dorms as I could at home, and Johnny was almost as anxious to get away as I was, once he knew that there wouldn’t be any chance of sneaking into my room after everyone had left.

  I worried a little bit about what he had said—and what had hung in the air unsaid—about the fact that he didn’t go home very much, that he lived so far away from his parents. I wondered if there was something wrong between him and them; while I was irritated by my own
parents’ pretentiousness and insistence that I should marry a good rich boy and not have to work for a living, I still loved them and even enjoyed spending time with them from time to time. It seemed strange for Johnny to have no real connection to his parents at all.

  We talked about our classes, about the things going on in the frat and in the dorms, and I started yawning more and more. I could feel the tenderness between my legs, the ache in my hips from taking Johnny from behind. I giggled quietly to myself, squirming and feeling the lingering dampness of my panties. It had been a thrill of its own to walk around after our tryst, able to constantly feel that little reminder of what we’d done and knowing that no one else in the entire house had a clue what had happened—not even my parents.

  I felt stupid for my paranoid, panicked thoughts as Johnny drove us the long distance from my parents’ house back to campus. How could I have ever thought he was some kind of girlfriend-killing sociopath? Claire White’s suicide had been a tragedy, and it was cruel of me to have even thought for a second that someone as kind and sweet as Johnny was could have done anything to make it happen. I had seen him in action, and he’d had a dozen opportunities to show any hidden “true colors” of darkness if he had them. No one could be that wonderful one moment and a total unrepentant abuser the next. It just wasn’t possible.

  Johnny joked about how he would tell all the frat guys that he’d “struck gold” with me, letting them think that he meant how wealthy my family was and how well-connected, when what he really knew the “prize” as he put it, was me myself. “Don’t get me wrong; if any of those guys I played hockey with wants to give me a job when I graduate, I’m not going to turn them down.”

  “Aren’t you planning on going into the majors?” I asked him. Johnny shrugged.