Page 13 of The Fake Fiancé
Kissing her slowly, I give her time to adjust, tangling our tongues before telling her, “I’m going to move now, Elowen.”
She nods once. It’s enough.
I pull out just as carefully as I pushed in, and repeat the process, getting faster, more forceful, each time, until I’m fucking her inearnest. Elowen is gripping my arms even harder now, but her expression is suffused in pleasure, mouth open, pupils blown wide. Her gasps have become full-on moans. She fuckingloves it,loves being fucked. By me.
Shifting forward even more, I coax her legs over my shoulders, hitting even deeper inside her pussy, and the way she throws her head back tells me she’s seeing stars. There’s a tell-tale tightening in my balls, and I know I’m not going to last much longer.
But I know just how to get her there first, using one hand to find her swollen clit and rub my thumb over it again and again. Her moans become almost sob-like, her nails dig into my back, her inner walls starting to flutter against my cock.
Then Elowen cries out, those muscles milking me rhythmically as she comes, a full body shudder rolling over her. I claim her mouth in a hot, messy kiss as I follow her over the edge, groaning against her lips as I spill myself inside of her with a handful of hard, frantic thrusts.
It’s so fucking good. Nothing has ever been so good.
When I’m sure we’re both spent, I roll off her, pulling her into my arms. She’s soft, sweaty, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
"That was…" she wonders drowsily.
"Yeah. Yeah, it was." I press a kiss to her damp hair. “Rest for a minute. Then we’ll check out the shower together.”
Elowen hums in agreement, too tired for words, and I know I’m not getting any work done for a long while.
7
ELOWEN
The world outside our suite ceases. Adam hitspause, cancels everything, calling his harried assistant, Oliver, while he traces idle patterns on my bare back. He clears his schedule, and we exist in a self-contained bubble of each other’s bodies, showers, luxurious baths, and the occasional room service delivery.
It’s a delicious, hedonistic haze. We talk for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells me about his childhood, about the lonely, driven boy who inherited his father’s empire. I tell him about my love of languages.
Adam fucks me in every imaginable position, lets me learn what I like. What makes me scream in ecstasy, what fascinates me, and what makes me wince and pull back from. He learns to read my facial expressions so well I don’t even need to say much. I see it as an extension of my translator skillset, I joke. And he laughs. And he allows me to explorehisbody for as long as I want so I can learn the same about him. His cock fascinates me. I explore it from every angle.
It's a bubble I never want to leave…but bubbles are made to be popped.
On the morning of the second day, Adam's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He glances at it, a small, genuine smile touching his lips.
"She's here," he says, and reality instantly slaps me in the face.
My stomach tightens. I know exactly who it is because of the itinerary I was given–it’s Camille, his daughter. In the whirlwind of the accident and the bath, the bed, the sex and the bubble, I pushed the knowledge of his daughter’s arrival out of my mind. Now it crashes down on me with the force of an avalanche.
"Right," I say, hoping he doesn’t pick up on how anxious I’m suddenly feeling. "Okay." I hear myself saying, but my mind searches for excuses. Anything to avoid meeting her. I don’t feel ready.Too soon. Those two words repeat inside my skull. Like my chorus for the past few days. I love what I have found, however unexpectedly, here with Adam. And I don’t want it to end. But it is dizzyingly fast, and I need space and time to process.
Thankfully, he doesn't notice the shift. He’s already up, pulling on a pair of jeans, a new energy animating his movements. "Come on. I want you to meet her."
Of course, he’s super eager. That’s Adam. A force of nature, in human form.
Sometime during the past two days, some new outfits have been delivered to the suite, and I dress on autopilot. They fit perfectly. I make a note to thank Oliver for that. We take the private elevator down, Adam’s hand on my back feeling out ofplace even though his hands have been all over me for days now. When we reach the lobby, it’s early enough that everything is still pretty quiet…and she’s quite easy to spot.
Camille. She’s a few years younger than me, tall, and looks so much different than she did when I saw her last at the funeral. Like her father, she looks like she’s healed enough to smile again, and that smile broadens when she sees Adam.
"Dad!" She launches herself into his arms, and although she’s a grown woman, he catches her easily.
When they pull apart, Adam’s arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me forward. "Cam, this is Elowen. My…translator."
It's been so long since I've been introduced as anything but his fiancé, but of course, he wouldn't keep up the lie with his daughter of all people. Camille grins slyly.
"Is that so? I've heard from a bunch of people on Insta that Elowen is your betrothed. Care to explain?" she says. “I’m all ears, Father.” Her tone, though, is light and teasing, not accusatory. "It's nice to meet you, Elowen. I'm so glad someone's finally managed to drag him out of his shell."
Her kindness throws me through a loop. I shake her outstretched hand, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face. What has Adam told her about us? The change in our relationship has been so sudden, I think she’s still under the impression that we’re in a fake relationship. Adam and I definitely aren’t engaged, but we definitely aren’t just employer and employee anymore either?
