Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(119)

Had Michael succumbed, it would have been the first time in our marriage  that we had actually had sex. That our relationship would have been  consummated.

See, it wasn't bad enough that I was forced into this marriage. What's  worse is that for the last six months, ever since we've been married, I  don't think Michael Anders has touched me once in private. Never a kiss  unless it's in front of the camera. Never a stare of desire when we're  alone.

Some couples have their whole relationships based around sex.

Ours revolves around a lie.

Michael stops at the edge of the door right before walking out. Without turning to me, he speaks to me.

"By the way," he says coldly. "Lance has gone and gotten himself fired  from the job I arranged for him at the White House. So he's coming over  to stay the summer with us. I think I want to use him for the  re-election campaign."

I've never met Lance. Michael has mentioned him maybe once. When we were  getting married and signing the papers. And today. So I guess that's  twice.

"I trust that you'll act appropriately around him," Michael says. "We  can't have any surprises like what you tried to pull tonight happening  while he's here."

And almost as an afterthought, as he leaves, he adds, "I'll be having dinner in my office. Don't wait up."

And with that he's gone.

Leaving me near naked and horny in my gilded cage.

Remember when I told you I wasn't stuck up about being told I was  beautiful? You probably didn't believe me all the way. Well, this is why  I don't let my beauty go to my head.





93





Lance





Coming home isn't supposed to be such a fucking miserable experience,  but that's what you get when you're fired after fucking the President's  daughter and risking WW III. I'm lucky I'm not in a fucking Guantanamo  cell right now, so I guess it's not that fair of me to complain.

But still, can you fucking blame me? I've never been close with my  father, and I haven't even met my new stepmother. Especially after  having to read in the newspaper that my father fucking remarried. He  couldn't even pick up the fucking phone to let me know. So, yeah, I'm  fucking sorry if I'm not overly excited with the prospect of being  around two people who are only family on paper till November comes  around. I mean, they're probably only husband and wife on paper as well.  My father isn't exactly someone who cares about women, if you know what  I mean. Knowing him as I do, he probably arranged the whole fucking  thing as another power move. For ol' Michael Anders, everyone around him  is nothing more than a fucking pawn to be moved across a chessboard. I  actually feel sorry for the poor woman he pulled into that fucking  arrangement.

"You can drop me off here," I tell the cab driver as the silhouette of  the townhouse I grew up in emerges at the end of street. I give him a  folded fifty-dollar bill and leave the car, carrying just a backpack  over my shoulder. I never liked to move around carrying bulky suitcases.  Besides, this is fucking New York City. What I don't have, I can just  fucking get.

I walk toward the building and take a deep breath before going up the  stairs that lead to the entrance. Balling my hand into a fist, I rap my  knuckles against the door, cursing the day I decided to leave my own set  of keys in my old bedroom. If no one's home, I'll have to wait here as  if I were a lost pup.

If you're from New York, then I bet you're going to roll your eyes right  now. Because you're gonna ask yourself why I'm not pulling up to Gracie  Mansion, where the Mayor of the City traditionally lives.

Well, I got news for you. My dad is so fucking wealthy that he made it a  campaign pledge to not move in. Instead, he brought the fucking mansion  staff to his own townhouse - which is still located in the Upper East  Side in Yorkville.

Yeah, that's the kind of asshole my Dad is.

Look … I'm sorry if I sound fucking pissy, okay? You don't know what its  like having to come back with my tail tucked behind my legs. Back to a  man who never fucking cared about me in my entire fucking life.

I almost wonder whether I'd want no one to be home.

Luckily, the sounds of footsteps on the other side of the door reach me and the door swings open a few seconds after.

"Lance, right?" a beautiful woman asks me, politely smiling. She looks  radiant, in a pair of skinny jeans and a blue silk blouse that's tucked  in. She's roughly five feet and seven inches, a slender beauty, but she  has the most toned legs I have ever seen. They lead up to a sumptuous  looking heart-shaped ass that's framed exquisitely in her jeans and a  small tapered waist. Her slender and flat tummy yields the most  impressive set of tits that I have ever beheld; these giant breasts are  struggling against her blouse and are easily D cups. They don't sag, and  don't detract from her figure. Even her neck is elegant, long, and  smooth. She has a cute face with a pair of luscious lips, slutty eyes,  and hair that comes to her shoulders. In two short words: fucking  beautiful.         

     



 

"Yeah …  That's me," I manage to say rather dumbfounded. "Jocelyn?" I ask,  feeling like a complete fucking idiot now that she's in front of me: I  never even bothered to look at a photo of her before coming back home.  To be honest, I didn't do it because …  Well, because I didn't expect my  stepmother to be this fucking hot. I just knew based on what my Dad  cared about that it was probably some political fake marriage. I knew  her name was Jocelyn, and that she was a thirty-something woman from New  York, but I had no idea that she looked like a fucking goddess.

"Yes, that's me," she replies in that polite tone, smiling gently. I  extend her my hand, trying to be as polite as her, but she waves my hand  away. Leaning into me, she brushes her lips against my cheeks, laying a  simple kiss there. The moment her lips touch my skin I feel my cock  twitching, and I have to focus really hard to not pop a boner right here  and now. That'd be fucking rich, greeting my stepmother with a boner.

"We're family," she simply says, taking my backpack and stepping aside so that I can get in.

"We are," I repeat after, walking into the hallway and trying hard not  to stare at her cleavage. Jesus Christ, how the hell did my father marry  a woman like this? "Is …  my father home?"

"No, I'm sorry, Lance. He said he had a few meetings he had to attend,  but he should be home any time now." Of course. It's not like my fucking  father would wait on me. Alright, sure, it's not like I deserve to be  waited on after my little stunt at the White House …  But even if I did,  I'm pretty sure he wouldn't fucking bother to be home waiting for me.  It's not like I give a fuck about it; I'm pretty used to stuff like this  by now. "I hope you don't mind being here alone with me," she  continues, my cock twitching again as a response to her words. Fucking  hell, where did this woman come from?

"It's okay," I tell Jocelyn-my stepmother-as I run one hand through my  hair. I look into her eyes, all of my thoughts turning into something no  one should ever know about. I'm already imagining myself peeling the  clothes off of her body, her naked figure slowly revealing itself to me …

Focus, I tell myself inwardly, trying not to make a fucking fool out of  myself. What am I fucking supposed to say to her now? Chit chat until my  father gets home? Oh, fuck no - two more minutes around her and I'll  have a boner so massive I'll pass out from lack of blood. "I'm kinda  tired from the trip. I'm just going to unpack my bag and take a shower,  if that's alright with you."

"Oh, of course," she replies, handing me my backpack again. Turning my  back to her, I walk up the stairs to my room as if I were in a daze, my  heart kicking against my ribcage. Holy fuck, how am I supposed to  fucking live inside this house all these months? With that fucking woman  walking around? That's just torture, if you ask me.

I step inside my old bedroom and throw my backpack on top of the bed,  slamming the door shut as I take one deep breath. I knew my father was  ruthless enough to marry for political gain, but I never would have  thought he'd end up with someone as hot as Jocelyn. I don't mean to be a  fucking ass about this, but it's not like my father cares for the  beautiful sex. He never really admitted it to me-let alone to the  world-but there's no doubt in my mind about where his interests lie.  Good for him if he's into men, I guess. I just find it in poor taste to  drag someone into a fucking loveless (and most likely sexless) marriage.

I walk into my bedroom's private bathroom and close the door, locking  it. I strip naked and hop into the shower, turning the faucet on and  waiting for the water to warm up. Here, some privacy to myself, all my  fucking self-restraint goes out the window. I close my eyes for a full  second and that's all it takes for my mind to dart back to Jocelyn. Just  like that, I feel my cock hardening, warm blood rushing to it. Look, I  know she's my stepmother and all that, but it's not like I can help it.