Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(228)

Fuck. It's a catch 22. She has me by the balls and she knows it. What  can I do at this point? I feel like I've got my neck in a rope and the  longer I'm with Lorna, the tighter it gets. I'll hang myself if I'm not  careful.

I realize there's only one thing left for me to do.

I grab my keys and wallet.

"I'm coming over," I tell Lorna before hanging up the phone.

"Now that's more like it," she purrs.

But she has no idea why I'm coming over.

I have to end this marriage.





180





Becca





It's as if I'm under a spell. A spell cast by Mason Kane. Have you ever  been so captivated by someone that you don't mind spending every waking  minute with them? Well, that's how I feel about Mason. It's strange to  admit, but it's true.

Sure, his ego is sometimes too big for his own good, but with that comes confidence.

I feel his intoxicating draw as soon as he steps next to me  …  his  warmth, his strength, and his cologne-a mixture of leather, and spice,  and seduction. And don't get me started about his suits. Anything would  look good on a body like Mason's, it's true, but his suits elevate him  to the next level. It's as if James Bond has handpicked his entire  wardrobe. Classy and perfectly tailored. It's delicious.

There's something about him  …  his power, and success, and drive. He's  driven in a way that few men are, and I find that incredibly sexy. When  Mason walks into a room, he commands it, almost without effort. People  turn, and stare, and want to know this man.

Many want to be him.

In that sense, he's my opposite. I was painfully shy in school. I'll  admit it. I've gotten better over the years, but I've always admired  people who don't have that level of social anxiety.

God, just listen to me.

I'm gushing on and on about a man who's technically my stepfather.

I shouldn't be feeling this way  …  but I have to admit that I do.

I think I'm really falling in love with this man.

I'm lying on my bed in the soft light of my room and I realize I better  start packing. I promised Mason I'd come by his apartment later, and  stay the night.

I tap my cell phone and check the time. It's almost 8 pm.

I jump up and rummage through the top drawer of my dresser  …  where I've  neatly stashed an enviable collection of lingerie. I decide to pick out  something a little  …  naughty. I grab a sheer, black lace set. You can't  go wrong with black. It's sexy and classy, and flatters everyone who  wears it. If you don't believe me, you can ask Aubrey Hepburn or even  the stripper down the street at Scandals. And if you ask men, most will  pick black. Yes it's true, more men, if given the choice, will choose  black even over red.

Next, I spritz myself with a little perfume, something ultra feminine-a  floral scent that is sexy, like walking through a secret garden of  jasmine and orchids, and rolling around in a bed of roses. I dab some  perfume on the pulse of my wrists, on my neck  …  and even a dab in  between my thighs. The fragrance is impossible to miss, which is a good  thing. When it comes to Mason, I want to be unforgettable.

I also need to also think about clothes for the morning. Maybe we'll  splurge and grab breakfast at Norma's-their Papaya Mango Brown Butter  Cinnamon crepes are seriously to die for. I'm not even exaggerating. If  you haven't tried them hun, I suggest you do sometime.

And honestly, the thought of waking up next to Mason tomorrow morning  makes me giddy. I don't know what's come over me, but the thought of  nuzzling into his strong chiseled chest and walking hand-in-hand with  the King of Wall Street down the streets of New York City is enough to  make my heart leap.         

     



 

A man has never made me feel this way before.

I lean down and zip up my overnight bag when I hear something.

There's a thump, and then I hear what sounds like two people laughing in  the living room. It's normally quiet around this time, so the commotion  piques my interest. Maybe my mother is talking to Carl? I didn't think  mom was having any guests over tonight, so I walk over by the wall and  strain to hear.

"You like what you see?" Lorna says. "This is just the beginning  …  a taste, if you will."

A man replies, "You think you're going to have me?"

"Oh, just wait till I wrap my lips around-"

The rest of the conversation is muffled and I strain against the door to  hear more. It's clear that something is going on, and then something  else becomes crystal clear  …  the man's voice is  …  Mason.

What in the hell is he doing here? He's supposed to be at his apartment. We made plans. And what's he doing with my mother?

Yes, I know they're married, but only on paper. He swore it was all against his will.

But if that's the case, why is he in my mother's house in our living room  …  being seduced by the sound of it?

"Ah, ah, ah-no hands  …  yet anyways," Lorna purrs. "Someone's awfully eager."

"That's not what I came here to do," he says. "This wasn't what we agreed to, Lorna."

"I'll tell you where, when, and how I want you. All you need to do darling is follow my lead," she replies.

"I'm not a man used to taking orders," he replies. "Especially not from women."

"I'll think you'll find this a nice change of pace," she replies.

What exactly is happening in there? By the sound of things, Mason seems  to be going along with my mother's desires. This isn't the man I know  …   or maybe I never really knew him at all.

I feel a boulder-sized rock nestle itself into the pit of my stomach and I can barley breath. It's a heaviness I can't shake.

Maybe Mason isn't the man I thought he was.

One thing's for sure; I definitely won't be going to his apartment tonight.

I reach for my overnight bag and draw back the zipper. I grab the  lingerie sitting on top of my clothes and wipe back a tear that's  threatening to spill out from the corner of my eye.

I throw the lingerie to the floor in disgust.

I'm not helpless, and I'm certainly not weak, or gullible.

If that's what he thinks, he doesn't know me at all.





181





Mason





Lorna is right fucking here. Her tits are nearly spilling out of her  dress. Her body is angled into mine. Even the way that I'm sitting has  my cock open to her and don't I fucking know it, I feel first her knee  rubbing at my crotch, and then her hand starts massaging my cock through  my trousers.

She's squeezing it, palpitating it like a shoe saleseman as she squeezes down the shaft looking for the head.

She finally reaches it, and just by her manipulation, she's gotten me fucking hard.

Understand before you get fucking pissed at me that I have zero  attraction to Lorna Lowell-I refuse to even think of her with my last  name. I fucking hate what she's done to the people around her-her  father, her daughter, you name it. There is no way I want to fuck her in  this lifetime.

In fact I came in here fully expecting to end this shit.

But she was ready. She was waiting for me to do that. And she pounced.

Try telling someone you're trying to end the marriage and be nice about  it, okay Gorgeous? Especially when they're the single largest  shareholder in your company after you.

It's not easy.

But my cock doesn't know that. It feels a pair of hands squeezing and massaging it and it's an instinctual response.

Lorna rubs her open palm on the head of my cock as her eyes open wide.

"Jesus Christ, Mason," she whispers throatily. "You're so huge."

Yes, we already fucking know this. 12 fucking inches of pussy pleasing  power when the average in the United States for adult men is 5.5 inches.  I'm double the man as the national average.

It has Lorna openly salivating. She's breathing heavy.

"I can't wait to see what this cock is going to do to me," she says.

Doesn't she know that her daughter is somewhere in the house?

It grates me enough that I fucking mention it.

"You don't want to close the door even, at least?" I ask, and  immediately wonder if she's going to take my question as an acceptance  to fuck.

But Lorna, being the selfish person that she is, only shrugs. "And tear  myself away from this magnificent cock?" she asks. I sigh. "I'm just  saying that as her mother..."

That's when Lorna's face snaps back to reality from whatever deluded lust game she was in.

"I'm not her mother!" she snaps at me. "Her loser of a father brought  her into the marriage. He was a widower. When he went off to join his  poor wife in the afterlife, it was a tax credit to claim her as my  dependent," Lorna explains to me.

There's a fucking ferocity to her that momentarily stuns me.

And is it me, or did you just hear a gasp from outside the door?

Holy fucking Christ, is that Becca?

Does Becca not know about...

"Does Becca know?" I ask Lorna, flexing my abs to sit up a bit more.

Lorna shrugs. "I let her think whatever she wants," she says to me. "It  usually helps me if she thinks of me as her real mother."

That's fucking it.

If there was ever any way that I had thought that this evil woman in her  short skirt trying to rub herself on my body would get me to  succumb-any iota in my brain that was even tempted by that body-it's  gone now.