Pretend I'm Yours: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Ella Miles

  Finally, my escort stops at an empty seat at the far end of the head table. He pulls out my chair, sliding it across the marble floor, and it makes a high-pitched scrape against the floor. I wince. And then I quickly take my seat, hoping the moment will finally stop.

  “Thank you,” I say in barely a whisper, but my escort is already gone.

  I feel everyone’s eyes around the room slowly leave me—if for no other reason than these people are rich and used to acting polite, and staring for this long is anything but polite. The noise in the room slowly builds to where I’m sure it was before I entered. Loud. But not obnoxiously so. But, while everyone else has returned to eating, everyone seated at my table is staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I look around at the best-dressed people in the room, all dripping in expensive jewelry that is beyond anything I could ever imagine.

  Most of the eyes quickly go back to their food, and they begin eating and chatting again. But three sets of eyes remain on me. A young girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen sitting on my left, an older gentleman in his sixties sitting toward the far end of the table, and Arlo, who is sitting three seats down from me.

  His eyes are the only ones I care about. I hope to learn everything from him just by looking at him. But his gaze doesn’t tell me anything. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m here, nor does he seem happy or upset. Just indifferent.

  “You must be Nina,” the young woman to my left says.

  I nod and smile weakly.

  “I’m Gia. My brother said you would be coming and that you would probably be late due to your classes.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Gia. I’m sorry I’m so late. I didn’t realize that it would cause such a break in the meal.”

  Gia laughs. “Don’t apologize. It’s just because everyone has been waiting to see the special guest my brother has invited to sit at the family table for dinner tonight.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that he didn’t really invite me, but then I stop as a delicious plate of pasta is placed in front of everyone. I’m sure I missed the first few courses, and for that, I will forever regret being late because just the smell of the pasta is enough for me to forget about anything other than how hungry I am.

  I dig in without thinking, shoveling the glorious pasta into my mouth. I moan when the buttery, creamy sauce hits my tongue. It’s the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. I shovel another bite into my mouth and then another after that, not able to get enough.

  A throat clears next to me, and I stop. I feel the liquid spill down my lip, but I’m too embarrassed to wipe it away.

  I look up and see more than a dozen eyeballs staring at me. I’ve caught the attention of the entire table. Again. I feel my cheeks burn as some of the richest and most powerful people in the city stare at me while Alfredo sauce drips down my face. I quickly grab my napkin, and I wipe my lip and chin before trying to muster a smile onto my face.

  I hear Gia giggle softly to my left, and I try to let her joy fill me instead of the disgust that everyone else has on their faces. But her laughter isn’t enough to overcome my own shame.

  A few more seconds pass before people at the table return to eating their meals in perfect precision, almost as if they were performing a dance. I finally chance a glance up across the table to see what Arlo thinks of me, only to find him gone. I sink back in my chair even though I know that my bad posture will be enough to get a couple of disgusted looks from others at the table.

  “My brother never stays long at these dinners,” Gia says.

  “Where did he go?” I ask.

  Gia shrugs and then takes another bite of her pasta.

  I glance around the room filled with beautiful people, including more than enough handsome men my age who I could spend one night with. But none of them are what I want.

  “Excuse me,” I say, getting up from my chair.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  I don’t bother answering her. She seems like a smart girl who is fully capable of figuring out where I’m going. And, if I tell her, all she’s going to do is try to stop me.

  I’m sure that everyone’s eyes are on me again as I storm out of the dining hall, but I don’t stop to look. My entire focus is on Arlo. And how I’m going to try to find him despite the fact that I’m sure there are guards throughout the mansion to prevent unwanted guests like me from entering the private spaces. Not to mention, there are over fifty rooms in this house, and it’s either going to take an extreme chance of luck for me to find Arlo or take all night for me to search through all the rooms.

  But surely he would want to be found by me? He made sure I had a seat at his table. He wants me.

  When we were getting the tour, we were only granted permission to about a dozen or so of the rooms. I’m going to assume he is not in any of those, so when I get back to the hallway that I know leads me toward the main areas of the house, I take a right instead of a left. Down a much darker hallway that isn’t lit up, meant to be as uninviting as possible.

  I walk past door after door. I don’t stop to look inside any of the rooms, even the ones that have lights on and voices inside. I take a left and then a right as I feel myself getting closer to Arlo. I don’t know how I know where to go. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, or chance. Maybe it is plain dumb luck. Call it whatever you want, but when my feet stop automatically in front of a set of double wooden doors, I know that Arlo is behind it. Knocking would be the proper thing to do, but I’ve never been about doing the proper thing. And I know my chances with Arlo are slim. This might even be my last chance with him. I need to surprise him, throw him off guard.

  I hear music pumping mildly behind the closed doors. It’s not the quiet, classical stuff that was playing downstairs, but it’s not a song I recognize either. Something fast. Pop music with a little bit of rock. I take a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding in my heart that matches the speed of the music, but it does nothing. The music, if anything, entices me further, making me want him more. Making me want to fuck Arlo to this very song.

  I grab both handles of the closed doubled doors, push down on the levers, and then swing the doors wide open.

  My heart jumps in my chest when I see Arlo. My eyes glow with lust, and I feel my panties soak.

  I should be shocked at what I see. I should gasp or blush or run away. But, instead, I’m just incredibly turned on.

  Arlo doesn’t widen his eyes or even raise an eyebrow when he sees me. He looks at me like I belong in his doorway. Maybe he put a spell on me that led me directly to his door. He’s sitting in a fancy chair that looks like a throne. His shirt is unbuttoned, letting me see every ripple of muscle on his chest down to the V that hides his cock beneath his tux pants. His eyes are fixated on me. I have no idea how I can be capturing any of his attention when he has three almost naked women around him with their hands all over his body. Their lips kissing and worshipping every inch of him. Their bodies willingly providing a very seductive show, only for him.

  I force my eyes to tear from his and really look at the women surrounding him. Two are blondes with fair skin. One rather curvy, the other as thin as a rail. The third woman has jet-black hair and skin darker than night, her curves sitting somewhere in the middle of the other two. It doesn’t seem that he has a type.

  None of the women care that I intruded on them. In fact, they act like I’m not even here. One continues kissing Arlo while another dances over his lap, and the third kisses his neck.

  They don’t look like strippers or hookers to me. They look happy, like their purpose is to please Arlo.

  It’s just a guess though. Arlo could be paying them. But by the jewels on their necks and dripping off their ears, the lace covering their bras, and the fancy dresses draped over various furniture in the room, they seem to come from their own wealth. Or Arlo pays his hookers like queens.

  I take a second to decide my next move. No one has kicked me out, but no on
e has invited me in either. Other than Arlo’s intense gaze still locked on me, I might as well not be here.

  But I have to decide. Do I want to turn away and take my chances at getting him alone by myself, or do I join them now and share him with three other women?

  Both.

  I’ll join in on the fun now and try to get him on my own later.

  I take a step forward, and then I close the doors behind me. When I turn back, his eyes are still on me.

  This is going to be too easy, I think.

  I reach behind me and find the zipper on my dress, quickly pulling it down. I slip my arms out of the straps and let the dress slink down my body. I shimmy it over my hips before it falls to pile on the floor. I step out of the dress and start walking toward Arlo.

  I’ve never had a threesome before, let alone a fivesome or whatever this is. But I don’t lack confidence when it comes to my body or sex. And, from the hint of surprise in Arlo’s eyes when I stepped out of the dress, I know that he appreciates my body, too.

  I walk forward until I reach the blond, who is still dancing in Arlo’s lap. I grab her hand, and I move my body close to hers until I’m rubbing up against her, dancing with her in front of Arlo. His eyes intensify even more, but he still doesn’t say anything. I turn to the blond and put a finger under her chin. I pull her toward me, off Arlo’s lap so that I can trade places with her. And then I firmly kiss her on the lips, letting our tongues tangle together and then slowly part. I keep my eyes on Arlo, showing him what I plan on doing to him when I get my turn with him.

  When I stop the kiss, I see that Arlo is deeply frowning at me. I smile. Maybe he does really want me all to himself. I move from the blond and toward Arlo, facing him as I climb up onto his lap. I hover my lips over his, prepared to tease him first until he’s begging me to kiss him.

  A second later though, I feel my body being slammed against the wall across the room with Arlo firmly holding on to my arm with one hand. He holds on to my chin with his other hand as he stares at me, breathing hard.

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

  He wants me all to himself, I think.

  “Excuse me, ladies. I have to deal with some business,” Arlo says. Not bothering to look at them as he drags me through another door and into a dark room.

  “I knew you wanted me,” I say.

  Arlo throws me into the room, releasing my arm as he does. I fall to the cold tiled floor, off-balance from my heels and the force he used to push me inside.

  He leaves the lights off, but I can still make him out as he walks back to the door.

  “You have no idea what I want,” he says matter-of-factly before shutting the door.

  Then, I hear the door lock.

  I slowly get off the floor, feeling my hands around until I find cabinets. I pull myself up and find a sink, mirror, shower, and toilet. I move in the dark until I find the door, but the knob doesn’t budge.

  That motherfucker locked me in the bathroom with no clothes.

  I can already hear him grunting and moaning with the women outside while I’m trapped, listening to him fuck other women. I’m no longer sure that he’s going to come back and fuck me after.

  That bastard.

  4

  Nina

  I’m going mad. The sound of Arlo fucking those whores is making me crazy. I’ve tried to distract myself by going through the drawers and cabinets in his bathroom. But I’m pretty sure that this isn’t the main bathroom he uses. All I’ve found are a few towels, a full bottle of soap, and a box of condoms. Nothing really to go through to learn about Arlo. Nothing to reorganize and distract myself with.

  Now, every moan, every groan, every grunt is going to forever be burned into my memory. I’m never going to forget the sound that Arlo makes when he’s had his turn with each of the women. The sound of their bodies banging together, completed with vivid images from my own imagination. My jealousy at not getting to be one of his girls consumes me.

  I don’t understand why Arlo won’t let me fuck him like all the rest of the women. How am I any different? But, on the other hand, I also don’t understand why he let me go as far as I did before he stopped me. Why did he let me strip for him? Why did he let me dance on his lap? Why did he stop me only when I went in for a kiss?

  I don’t have the answers, only questions. Questions that are driving me mad. I have no idea how long they fuck, but it seems like hours pass until they stop. They don’t talk when they’re done. Not a, Was that good for you?, Did you come?, or, I’ll walk you out. They just stop.

  And then there’s nothing for me to hear but silence. And, somehow, this feels worse than listening to them fuck. I feel empty and abandoned.

  I wait a few seconds for the door to open, but it doesn’t open.

  I walk over to it and try the doorknob again, hoping that, this time, it will somehow be unlocked. But the doorknob doesn’t budge. Pushing on the door doesn’t help either. Despite the house being hundreds of years old, the door is solid. There is no way I’m breaking the door or the lock.

  I walk back to the rug in front of the bathtub, and I sit down. I shiver immediately from the cold. I remove my heels, setting them on the floor next to me, so that I can be as comfortable as I can while I wait. And then I hug my legs against my chest to try to stay warm.

  Waiting for Arlo to unlock the door.

  Waiting for Arlo to give me answers.

  Waiting to plan my revenge.

  I consider yelling for help, but I don’t think it would do me any good. Arlo seems like a stubborn man who takes complete control. Screaming would just leave me exhausted and worn out.

  So, instead of screaming, I try to come up with a plan to make him as jealous and angry as he’s made me. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, letting my mind drift off as I imagine ways that I can make him jealous.

  I quickly sit up, startled by the sound of footsteps.

  I smile slowly. Finally.

  But the footsteps don’t come toward my door. Instead, more footsteps join them. Followed by sounds of kissing, of spit being swapped, of tongues tangling, and of bodies joining together with sweat and lust.

  Bastard is fucking them. Again.

  I’m not going to let him get to me.

  So, I close my eyes and drop my hand down my body to where my panties are soaking wet. Despite how angry and jealous I am, I’ve never been more turned on by a man in my life. I won’t let him break me. I don’t know why, but I know that’s what he’s doing. I won’t let him win. My fingers slip inside my panties and I pleasure myself to the sound of his groans, pretending he’s fucking me instead of them.

  The door opens, and I jump awake. I must have drifted off to sleep in the cold bathroom after making myself come on the floor—twice.

  “Why does it smell like sex in here?” Arlo asks as he steps into the dark bathroom.

  With lust-filled eyes, I look up at him from my spot on the floor. “I was turned on and had no one to help me, so I took care of myself.”

  He smirks. “Feel better now?”

  I want to lie to him. I want to tell him, Yes, I feel perfectly satisfied now, but the way he looks at me makes it impossible for me to lie to him.

  “No.”

  “Get up,” he says.

  I do.

  “Get dressed.” He tosses my dress at me, and then he turns and walks out of the bathroom.

  I put the dress on, but I don’t zip it up. For one, it’s almost impossible to zip up by myself, and two, I want him to have to touch my body. I don’t bother with my shoes either. I just pick them up and then carry them out of the bathroom. It feels like defiance while still following his command. I love it.

  He disapprovingly looks at me but doesn’t say anything about the fact that my dress is still unzipped.

  “How did you know that I would come tonight?” I ask.

  He walks over to a small bar I didn’t see before in the corner of the bedroom and pours himself what looks li
ke scotch from the decanter on the table. He doesn’t offer me any as he walks back to me. He’s fully dressed again in his tuxedo, as if the last few hours didn’t even happen. The girls are gone. The only remaining clue that they were ever here is the lingering smell of sex still clinging to the room. The smell alone makes me infuriated, but I will not let him know that. He doesn’t get to know how jealous or angry he made me. Not until he pays for what he did to me.

  “Because it’s my business to know everything about everyone in this town, including spoiled, rich girls who are only here for four weeks.”

  I take a deep breath, but I can’t help but glare at him. Everything about him drives insane. I have so many questions left to ask, but I know his patience won’t last long. And my patience has completely run dry.

  “Why didn’t you let me fuck you like the others?”

  He looks at me straight on without blinking. “Because you’re not in my debt.”

  “What…what does that mean?”

  He sips his scotch, completely unfazed by my questions. “I run a business that loans out money and services along with many other things. I accept many forms of payment for the debt. Those women were just paying me back.”

  I blink rapidly as my brain tries to understand what he just said.

  “I’m in your debt. You saved me, now I owe you.”

  “No. I didn’t save you. I just wanted an excuse to stop having to give the tour. Pretending to save you was that excuse. You owe me nothing.”

  “But—”

  “No. You are not in my debt. I’ll admit that, that day you infatuated me. I had to touch you. But then I came to my senses after I jumped in that pool after you.”

  I hesitate. “And what if I want to be in your debt?”