His father’s eyes narrow in confusion. “You did?”
“I did. Both are good people.” He pauses. “Dad, back off,” Irvin repeats. “Excuse us,” he snaps then.
We disappear into the crowd, and he introduces us to people.
I glance back at Preston, and a muscle ticks beneath his eye.
I’m glad to be away from his father.
I spot five men wearing plague masks from the eighteenth century, dressed in suits. They give me the creeps.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“The board members of the American Billionaire Club,” Irvin answers, not explaining further.
For the rest of the evening, Irvin and I dance, drink, and laugh. It truly feels like a real wedding, and for once, I imagine Irvin is actually my husband. It’s a stupid dream—one that will never happen.
Once everyone leaves, we head to his bedroom.
My mind wanders to his father. I knew this was going to happen—someone would eventually ask about my past.
I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Irvin presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry for my father.”
I sit up and intertwine my fingers with his. “You didn’t have to lie to him, Irvin.”
He slides his fingers through my hair. “I know.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Then why did you?”
His eyes linger too long on my mouth. “Because we’re only fake married temporarily. There isn’t a reason for him to know your business.” He sighs. “Everyone has something to hide—or something they aren’t proud of.”
He yanks me into his lap, thrusting his fingers through my hair again, then presses his mouth against mine.
This is what I need—an orgasm—but this isn’t a good idea. We should keep things platonic so my emotions won’t get more involved than they already are.
He bites my bottom lip. It stings, but I love it. He gazes into my eyes, then strokes my cheeks.
“Now that you’re my fake wife, I’m going to fuck every inch of you.”
He kisses the side of my neck, unzipping my white dress and pulling it over my head. I should tell him no. I should push him away. But I don’t. Why am I not stopping him? If I don’t put a stop to this, Irvin is going to assume this is real. He already lives in this delulu world where we’re actually together, but no matter—I draw the line, but he doesn’t listen.
I do want him, but we can’t simply be together.
This marriage isn’t real—but I can enjoy the sex with him.
He yanks down my panties, lies down between my legs, rubs his nose over my clit, and licks it. I moan, my core tingling, and arch my back.
“Irvin… We shouldn’t.”
He pulls away, and lust lights his jade pupils. “Stop lying to yourself about not wanting me to fuck you.”
He’s right. I am lying to myself, and I can’t anymore—and he knows it. He knows that I want him to touch me, and I can’t fight him anymore.
Slowly, I nod for him to keep going as tremors rush to my core.
He slides his fingers inside me. I allow him to finger-fuck me and lick me at the same time. I feel my orgasm climbing my spine, and before I know it, I come in his mouth. He keeps licking me, and I try to push him away, but he doesn’t stop.
