Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(122)

I need to stop thinking about Lance and start worrying about what I'm  going to do. Maybe this run will clear my head. Maybe it'll-

I don't know what happens but all of a sudden I'm falling and hitting  the ground. Before I can even register what's going on I'm being picked  up by a pair of strong hands.

"Shut up, or your dead, bitch," a gruff voice tells me.

Now, as the Mayor's wife, I'm entitled to NYPD security when I go out.  But more out of practicality I've never used the protection service. I'm  a born and raised New Yorker, I can handle anything.

I open my mouth and raise my hands, and get ready to scream.

Without realizing what happens the side of my face all of a sudden starts to sting and I realize I've been slapped.

"No screaming, or you're dead!" the voice tells me with urgency. "You're too pretty to kill before I get a chance to fuck you!"

I look around me, desperately trying to figure out what's happening.

A man in a black hoodie, with his face covered is holding onto me. His  skin is dark, but I can't tell what nationality. He's got loose  sweatpants on and I can smell liquor on his breath.

With one strong grip, he's holding my hand. The other one he reaches over and places on my ass, giving it a squeeze.

I feel like throwing up as a shudder of disgust goes through me.

The man doesn't waste any time. There's no joggers running by me to call  out for help, and he starts dragging me toward the bushes.

"Like I said, don't fucking scream, or this will end even worse than its going to, understand?" he asks.

I can't move. I realize I should yell. I should kick him, but he's too strong. And he's dragging me at an insane angle.

I can't believe this is happening to me.

But just because I don't have a good vantage point now, don't think I'm beaten, hun.

When a man tries to take advantage of a woman, remember what we've  always been taught. Just bide your time, be patient, and when ready,  kick them in the balls extra hard.

I just need to find my opening.





96





Lance





I don't fucking know what came over me, but the moment I heard Jocelyn  walking up the stairs I was already lacing my sneakers and putting on a  shirt. I've already ran fives miles on the fucking treadmill before  moving on to the weights, but I can't fight against this fucking urge to  go after her.

When my eyes found her, tight yoga pants and all …  One fucking look, and  that was all it took for me to become fucking hard. Fuck, could she be  any more fucking irresistible? I almost dropped my fucking jaw to the  floor when I saw her.

But she's my fucking stepmom. I can't do it.

Welcome to my fucking head the last few days. Looking at her tight  fucking ass as she bends over and getting fucking hard. Then realizing  who she is and hitting myself. Watching her tits jiggle. Then realizing  she's married to my Dad and I don't want to fuck with that shit.

It sounded like a fucking good idea: get to the basement, work myself to  fucking exhaustion, and hopefully I'd have a clearer head afterward.  Yeah, not a fucking chance in hell. By now my mind is already busy  weaving the most fucking indecent kind of thoughts it can; I can already  picture my fingers tracing her perfect curves, my hands on her ass as I  fucking pull her into me …  Fucking hell, I'd give an eye and a fucking  arm to have her on her knees, my cock halfway in her mouth as she looks  up at me. Now that'd be a fucking sight. Of course, if that happened …   That'd only be the fucking start of it all. What, do you think I'd be  able to fucking stop once she had her lips wrapped tight around my  shaft?

Out of control as I am right now, I know I should stay fucking put, but I  just need to see her again. I'm not thinking straight, but to be  honest, I couldn't give any less of a fuck about that.

I hurry up the stairs, but she's nowhere to be seen. She has a fucking  head start, but I figure I can catch up with her easily. There's a  breeze as I step outside, and my skin prickles as I feel the fucking  cold air of New York's morning. Rubbing my hands together, I start  jogging down the fucking street, heading straight to the Park.

There, a few morning souls are already running around the lake; I ease  my pace, looking around for Jocelyn, but she seems to have fucking  vanished. Fuck, I hope she didn't decide to go somewhere else. Maybe she  thought I'd follow after, and if that was the case, she fucking nailed  it, and decided against coming this way.

I'm almost ready to turn the fuck around and head back home when I catch  a glimpse of a woman running in the fucking distance, following a trail  that sneaks its way among rows of imposing field maples. I squint my  eyes, taking in the distant shape of the runner; it's her, no fucking  doubt about that. Even though I'm too far away to see her face, I'd  recognize that sweet ass anywhere. Fuck, just one look at her and my  cock is already fucking twitching.

I pick up the fucking pace, running after her with a spring in my step. I  don't even know what I'll fucking say to her once I catch up, but hey,  what's the harm in jogging with my stepmother? That's not a fucking  crime, last time I fucking checked. We'll just bond as stepson and  stepmother. Oh, fuck, who am I trying to fucking fool? I didn't leave  the house because I wanted to "bond," whatever that fucking means. I did  it because …  Fuck, I have no idea why. After seeing her this morning,  yoga pants hugging her slender legs, her sweet lips almost begging me to  rest my cock between them... I just knew I had to come after her.         

     



 

I'm already within shouting distance but I keep quiet, deciding to  surprise her. And that's when I fucking see him-a fucking guy in a black  hoodie, a kerchief covering his face, fucking jumps out from behind the  trunk of a maple tree and pushes Jocelyn to the fucking floor. She  loses her balance and goes down fast; her knees hitting the ground as  the man takes one wide stride toward her. He grabs her by the hair and  pulls her into a hedgerow, making me lose them out of sight. Fuck, fuck!

My heart starts to fucking race, and for a moment, all I see is fucking  red. There's murder in my fucking veins right now. Whoever that fucking  bastard is, he has no idea about the world of fucking pain he has just  stepped into; he has just signed his fucking death sentence.

Running like a fucking train, I chase after the two of them. My feet  hitting the floor at an anxious frantic pace, I cover the distance  between me and the fucking hedgerow in just a few seconds. I stop, and  looking around, notice movement between two fucking bushes. Moving like a  fucking bullet-and as fucking murderous as one-I jump into the bushes,  my hands turning into fists.

The fucking bastard has her pinned down on the ground, struggling to  part her legs and rest his body on top of hers. The motherfucker is  trying to fucking rape her! I feel rage coursing through my veins, my  muscles tensing as I hurry toward the two of them.

Jocelyn is putting up a fucking fight, though. She has the flat palm of  her hand on his face, trying to claw his fucking eyeballs out, but the  man simply pushes her arms to the side. Then, he reaches behind his  back, pulling a fucking knife out from his back pocket. Motherfucker.

"Hey, let her fucking go!" I shout as the man presses the blade against  her neck. I lock eyes with Jocelyn, fear making her eyes wide as the man  turns to look at me. His eyes bore into me like nails, suddenly  realizing that he has a fucking problem on his hands. He has no idea how  big of a fucking problem.

Right now, he has one fucking choice to make, and I can see the gears  turning inside his head as he considers his options; he either lets her  go and bolts, or tries to get rid of both of me and Jocelyn, eliminating  all witnesses. As he gets up and turns to me, his fingers curled tight  around the knife's handle, the choice he made becomes clear as fucking  crystal to me.

"You're fucking dead, boy," he hisses, lunging at me and trying to  fucking slice me across the chest. Boy? Jesus fucking Christ, he's  already trying to fucking stab me, did he really have to call me boy?  That just makes me want to fucking knock his lights out even more.

I take one step back, getting out of his reach, but he comes after me,  the fucking sun reflecting on the blade as he moves it above his head  and brings it down. Fuck, I can't dodge him forever; if I simply keep  getting out of reach, my luck is going to fucking run out and I'll end  up with that knife buried five fucking inches deep in my chest.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath as my back hits the trunk of a large  fucking tree. Death in his fucking eyes, the guy in the hoodie closes  the distance between me and him and changes his grip on the knife,  grabbing it underhandedly. He raises his arm and then brings it down  again, aiming for my fucking heart. This is it; I can't dodge him  anymore.

Moving fast, I take one step toward him and raise my arm up in the air,  trying to block him. His forearm hits mine as he presses down, the tip  of the blade hanging two inches above my head.

"Who did you call a ‘boy'?" I ask him with a grin, gallons of fucking  adrenaline raging through me. He wasn't expecting me to be so fucking  bold, so I take his moment's confusion to ram my closed fist into his  fucking face. There's a nauseating crunching sound as my hand crashes  against his nose, and the man tumbles back, letting go of the knife and  bringing both hands to his ruined face. His kerchief is turning fucking  red, soaking the blood from his broken nose.