Page 21 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

“How you like that?” he growled.

“If Evan Jones comes back, can you tell him that his grandpa was trying to fuck me?”

His eyes widened, and I shot him a fierce grin. Then he clamped his hand down on my neck and drove into me harder. His teeth gritted, his eyes shone with that perfect moment where men give in to their physical desires.

“You like it hard, huh?” he growled.

“Yes,” I gasped between slapping thrusts. It felt amazing, but I couldn’t help but poke the bear. “So, if you want to start fucking me hard any time now, I’m ready.Sir.”

His fingers tightened on my throat, and he went at me even harder. The desk shook on its foundation, rattling the chairs. A folder slid off and tumbled to the floor, sending papers flying about in disarray.

I cried out, wrapping my legs around his waist as he thrust into me like a pile driver. His soulless office had never seen passion like this, I knew that for a fact.

“Are you coming?” he asked as he thrust me over the precipice of orgasm.

“Yes, SIR!” I screamed and that time I wasn’t mocking him. I screamed my throat raw as he filled me with his hot seed. His cock throbbed inside of me for several seconds after he came.

I pushed him on his chest until he got the hint and straightened up. I slid off the desk and pulled my skirt back down as he looked on in confusion.

I buttoned up my shirt without saying a word, and then walked out of the office. I paused at the door, not even fully looking at him, just glancing over my shoulder.

“All right, Evan. Send me the damn contract.”

Chapter 8

Amanda

Have you ever seen one of those reality shows following a bride and groom around as they prepare and then engage in the most fabulous of weddings? Magnify that by about ten million times and that’s how opulent my ‘dream’ wedding to Evan was.

I walked over the verdant green of beautifully manicured grass. The wedding was being held outside. Part of me had hoped for rain. Not just so that the day would match my mood. But also because I could just see Evan yelling at the sky and telling God to knock it off long enough for us to get married.

There were hundreds of guests, literally. I’d never seen so many people in expensive suits and gowns in my entire life. I bet that the cost of the combined wardrobe of those gathered outside of the palatial estate manor house was higher than the gross national product of some small countries. I saw all of the biggest designers, and quite a few that I didn’t recognize—which probably meant they were even more super exclusive and expensive.

The manor was one of several that my husband-to-be—make that fake-husband-to-be—owned around the world. Evan didn’t do things by half measures. If he thought he was going to stay somewhere for more than a couple of weeks out of the year, he bought himself a mansion in that area.

I passed by a champagne fountain, amber fluid spilling down in cascading waves. The bubbles caught the sunlight and splashed it in dazzling colors onto the white lace tablecloth. I wished I could be one of those bubbles. A brief, effervescent existence where you just keep going up, up, up, and then it’s over and you’re never any the wiser.

Queen Bey belted out her top tunes on a private stage built just for the wedding. I had no idea how much my husband-to-be had paid her to be there, but I’m willing to bet it was millions. Probably tens of millions.

I spotted celebrities, movie stars, musicians, and high-ranking politicians from all over the globe. I was way past the point of being star-struck by any of it. There were also a large number of reporters there, the press having been invited because that’s what it really was about.

I passed through the outdoor gala section and came upon the rainforest. Evan had spared no expense, bringing in the hardier species of tree from the Amazon. He wanted a genuine article rather than a facsimile.

When it came to the animals, we didn’t want to traumatize any of them. So, holograms took their place. You could see roaring jaguars, slithering anacondas, and brightly plumaged birds all through the micro forest. I marveled at how amazing the technology was even as I realized that it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered since it was all a fake wedding anyway.

The only real animals at all were the capybaras. The gentle, docile creatures were extra cuddly, and their petting zoo was one of the more popular areas of my wedding. I kept walking really fast so that nobody would try and strike up a conversation with me. I didn’t want to speak to anyone and let my mask slip. I was afraid I would blow the entire scheme with an errant comment or even just the look in my eyes.

I knew that anyone who got a good look at me would be able to tell something was off. You weren’t supposed to walkaround despondent, like you’re in a gulag instead of at your own wedding.

I headed inside the manor house, hoping to run into fewer people there. I meandered around through the kitchen where the cooks strove to keep the steady stream of delicious food flowing to the numerous guests. I passed through the servants’ break room, where they smoked cigarettes and drank coffee and talked about what an amazing wedding it truly was. It made me feel even more ungrateful.

I found my way up the grand marble staircase to the second floor. There I made my way through hallways wide enough to drive a Mack truck through. The artwork on the walls was all original, no prints. Some of it more properly belonged in a museum, it was so historically significant.

I reached the end of the hallway and pushed open a set of glass double doors. From there I stepped onto a half-circle balcony, its rails carved into an elaborate pattern of ivy leaves and vines. I could look down on almost the entire wedding from there. It should have been nothing short of magical.

The only problem? It was fake. All fake. The wedding wasn’t real, so the ceremony, by proxy, wasn’t real, either. It made me angry to think that all of the people at our wedding were having a fabulous time. Meanwhile, me, the bride, the one who was supposed to be having the best time of all, was wallowing in abject misery.

And I couldn’t let on to a single soul that this was what was happening inside of my head. I had to keep the secret for the sake of our big lie. After all, how was he supposed to make his billions of dollars if I didn’t?

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