KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys (11 page)

T
he room is beautiful
. Thick drapes line the window; tapestry curtains hang around the four-poster bed. I wondered how old-fashioned his parents would be, and if we’d be able to sleep in the same room—but apparently this diamond ring works wonders.

Fiona pitched a little fit when she realized Landon and I would be sharing quarters--Landon says she and Geoffrey were together five years before they were allowed to sleep in the same bedroom at the family estate.

“This was your childhood bedroom?”

“Ridiculous right? Fit for a king.”

“I love it.” I fall onto the bed, still dressed, unable to help myself. It has been a long day.

“Are you all right with me sleeping here?” Landon asks. “I know this is a job ... and sleeping together was not in the contract.”

“We didn’t actually sign a contract, did we?” I ask, sitting up.

“No. I just don’t want you to feel forced.”

“Oh,” I say, pouting a little. “I actually want to be forced into a few things tonight.”

“Do you?” Landon throws his suit coat and tie on a chair. Slips off his shoes and shirt. His pants drop next. He’s down to his boxer briefs in a matter of seconds.

“Eager, much?” I laugh, standing up and removing my heels. Truthfully, I want him as much as he wants me. When he pressed me against the wall in the hallway downstairs, I thought I might melt into a puddle on the hardwood floor. I love aggressive Landon, but gentle, insecure Landon makes me equally turned on.

“You were incredible tonight,” he says, walking toward me.

I take off my scarf, pull my sweater over my head. Fold them carefully before setting them on top of a bureau.

“They ate it up,” I tell him, unbuttoning my pants. I take them off and add them to the pile. I don’t want ruin these clothes; they’re worth more than my car.

“You are a good liar.”

“I prefer to call it embellishing the truth. All those things did happen. Just, you know ... not the falling in love part.”

A flicker of understanding crosses Landon’s face, and I turn from him, taking off the necklace I’m wearing and setting it on the dresser. I hate the emotions running through my heart. They make me feel weak.

While I sat downstairs, for a moment it didn’t feel like I was playing a part. It felt ... real. Like this was actually my life. That Landon, the playboy gajillionaire, had actually chosen me.

But he didn’t. He only chose me to play a role. And thank my lucky stars that I’ve practiced deceiving my friends for the past few moths. I’ve gotten really good at being a person I’m actually not.

But what if I was? What if I was the girl who got swept away, swept off her feet? What if I was the girl who got a happily ever after, just like Emmy did?

What if I was a girl who fell in love with a man who didn’t want to leave, who didn’t go without ever coming back?

“Claire,” he says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He kisses my neck tenderly, and a shiver crosses my spine as his skin presses tight against me. “Can we pretend ... for just one night ... that this is real?”

“That what is real?” I whisper, wanting it to be real so badly my eyes prick with tears. Is it just that I’m so desperate for someone to choose me that I’ll take it in any form I can get? In the form of a man who doesn’t really love me or want me? In the form of the only man who is here?

“That today we really did get engaged, did come home and tell my parents,” he says into the crook of my neck. “Can we pretend that this is real? You and me? Us?”

I’m grateful that our eyes don’t meet—that we aren’t face to face—because I’m scared my heart would betray me. That he would see everything I want to hide. I feel ashamed for the things I want from him, the things he has never offered to give.

Because our fake engagement suddenly feels real in ways I know it shouldn’t. He thinks I’m someone I’m not, and I want him to be a man he isn’t.

“Okay.” The word is easy to say, because I want to pretend as much as he does. It’s easier to act like this is real than to admit that neither of us have the things we need.

His exhale is long against my skin, and he pushes away my hair, kissing the base of my neck. I give into the sensation.

“I love you,” I whisper words that aren’t true. Words I want said back.

“I love you, too,” he says, unclasping my bra, pushing the straps off my arms, and cupping my breasts from behind. He is so close against me, his hardness pressed against my ass.

I sink into him, his hands warm and strong, holding me up. His cock massive and thick, the only thing able to let me completely release, utterly let go, and I want to touch it, taste it, suck it.

My hands reach up, touching his face, and I turn, kissing him hard, with passion, with desire. I give my mouth to him, hoping he takes more.

“I want all of you,” he says, as if reading my mind. He picks me up, and my legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed.

Sliding off my thong, I lay naked on the pile of pillows under the beautiful canopy. Amber light glows from the sconces on the wall. And as he pulls the curtains around the bed shut, a heavy decadence covers us. Like we are in a cavern, our own little cave.

He takes off his boxers, and then we’re both kneeling before one another, our eyes finally meeting—but this time my heart isn’t on the line. Right now the only thing I’m offering him is my body. His giant rod is between us, so thick I can’t help but bend over and lick the length of it.

I moan in pleasure as my lips trail the skin of his shaft. He smacks my ass playfully as I lick him, and then, unable to help myself, I press the tip in my mouth, and take as much of him as I can.

My lips are stretched around his thickness, and I feel the tip of his cock in my throat, but I want to be filled with him until I gag. I want to taste his come in my mouth and hold his balls in my hand. I suck him, my head bobbing up and down as my hands rest on his thighs. His fingers run through my hair as his thickness pulses in my mouth.

I taste his saltiness begin to pour in my mouth, feel his thrusting slow and deepen at the same time. I want more of him so I keep him in my mouth as ropes of come fill me. I swallow, my pussy wrecked with heat, wanting so badly to be fucked.

My thighs are slick with my wetness; I’m unable to stop myself from moaning in desire as I suck him off until he’s emptied his seed in me. I clench myself together, wanting to save my ecstasy for when he fills me up, but it only heightens my desire.

Landon is such a man that I can’t help but want to please him, take care of him. Be his plaything all night long. I’ll play the part of his fiancée tonight, but I also want him to use me as his personal sex toy.

I pull his throbbing cock from my mouth. “Fuck me however you like, Landon. I want you to use me however you want.”

He greedily pulls me to him, and kisses me hard. His hands cup my face as his hot kisses seal me to him. My head falls, my back arches, my core is on fire.

His hand reaches down to my entrance, his fingers touching my wet pussy, and the softest touch from him elicits deep moans from me. I want so much, all at once. I want everything. He must sense this, because his fingers rub against me with more intensity. Each circular motion they make causes me to shake with desire.

“I need you in me,” I beg him.

“Not yet.”

“I need it though, baby. I need you in me.”

“Let me get you off. I want to see you squirm.”

He gently pushes me against the pile of pillows, and he spreads my thighs on either side of him. Reaching for my opening again with his fingers, he begins to rub my clit until I have tears on my face. The mounting pleasure is uncontainable as his experienced fingers rub against me, until there’s nothing left but for me to scream out in relief.

Three of his fingers reach inside me, hitting my g-spot with such intuition that I know he must have finger-fucked a hundred women this way. As my pussy clenches around his hand, my opening gushing with release, all I can think is
thank god I am woman one hundred and one
, because I deserve someone experienced, someone who knows how to use his massive cock, his strong hands.

“Now you’re ready,” Landon says, his cock hard once again. My eyes flutter closed for a moment as I catch my breath. But he knows what he’s doing. He knows that waiting for me to recover isn’t what I need. I need to be fucked so hard my eyes will close for the rest of the night. He knows I need to be fucked until all I see is black skies and bright stars.

I need to be fucked until all I see is him.

He presses his thickness into me, and I gasp as he does. He fills me up in ways I have only dreamed about. Ways I need. I grab his shoulders and pull him down, wanting his body to cover mine.

“Oh, baby,” I moan. “This is everything.”

“This is magic.” He kisses me again, as he rhythmically ravishes me with his cock. “This is us.”

When he comes it’s hard and fast; I do too. Unable to comprehend the ceaseless orgasm he causes to ripple through me, I laugh.

He rolls off me and takes my hand. Our fingers lace again. It’s natural and it feels like love … and I don’t want to think about that fact that it is all fake.

Landon doesn’t either, because in the stillness of the dark curtained bed, where our sweaty bodies and slick skin reveal the ways we gave ourselves to one another, he whispers, “I love you, Claire.”

And I close my eyes again, wanting to remember the moment when I forgot what was real and what was not. Wanting to remember when I chose to believe, for just one night, the things I wanted, not the things I had.

* * *

The next morning I wake in an empty bed. Pulling back the curtains on the bed, I find Claire texting on her phone, pacing the room in nothing but her panties and a tank top.

“Everything okay, love?”

She whips to face me the moment she hears my voice.

“Love?” she asks. “I thought the sentiment was just for last night?” She drops the phone in her purse, and crosses to the bed. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she tilts her head and smiles.

“It’s just so easy to pretend,” I tell her, holding her at her waist so effortlessly. Last night felt like a dream but, waking up this morning and seeing her here, it feels so real.

Maybe it can be.

Maybe this is more than a job, more than a ruse. Maybe Claire is the perfect woman for me.

“I know, but we need to keep our heads in the game.” She smirks, her lips twisting in perfection. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks me.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re up to no good.”

“That’s my motto, sweet cheeks.”

“Sweet cheeks, huh? What will you call me next? Snookums?” Claire laughs, her head falling back and her graceful neck tempting me to devour it. But she pulls away before I can plant kisses in the places I want to—which is everywhere. “I’m starving. And it’s already nine. I haven’t slept in this late for five years.”

“Five years?” I scratch my chin, watching as she opens a suitcase and begins rifling through the piles of clothing.

“Give or take.” Her back is to me, but she keeps talking. “What do the English wear to breakfast?”

“Anything will do. I’m sure Dad will want everyone to walk the property and Mum will insist everyone sees the greenhouse. Fiona will act like they’re the most amazing plans of all time, and Geoffrey will grumble. It will be a pleasant day, I’m sure.” I know I sound jaded, but I know exactly how days with my family go.

“Well, that makes it easy for us,” Claire says, holding up two sweaters. “We need to get downstairs and beat them to the punch—ask them if we can walk the dogs and see the garden first.”

“You should wear the green one,” I say, pointing to the one with the lower neckline. “And you’re brilliant. We should play our cards just as you suggest.”

“Aww, the blackjack player using card analogies. Very cute.” Claire stands and swats my legs with her top. “Now, get dressed. And we need to be matchy-matchy. I want them to think we’re the perfect couple.”

I nod, but inside I silently say words that shock me.
We are the perfect couple.