Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(236)

I'd been in my own little world. Not even realizing that we're already in Midtown.

Fuck, I need to get my mind off of this shit.

"Just drop me near 6th Avenue far corner," I tell the cabbie and he pulls up to the curb. I swipe and get out.

I need to get my mind off of Lorna.

I also need to get it off of Becca. I mean, my brain needs a complete reboot.

So what do I do?

I head into Lace.

It's a strip club off 35th street, in the shadow of the Empire State Building.

Don't shake your head, Gorgeous. New York City is filled with strip clubs, massage parlors, peep shows, and brothels.

They're just sitting right in front of you in plain sight.

Times Square? You got peep shows where you pay a buck per minute to jerk off to the girl in the room fingering herself.

Near Grand Central? $200 an hour gets you a massage with a happy ending from a fucking Eastern European or Asian masseuse.

On the East Side? $300 and up and you can go into apartment buildings  and pick the girl and take her for an hour to a room where you can fuck  her brains out.

Sure, I've done some of it.

But I work on Wall Street. This is the fucking culture.

"Hey Mason, long time," a stripper says as I enter the dimly lit main stage.

I look at her.

"Destiny?" I ask. She smiles at me.

Right. I forgot to tell you that there have been a host of Kane Price  department parties at this place. Destiny and I have had our share of  fun in the past.

She's a good fuck. Just likes her pussy liked and her ass spanked and for me to cum all over her face.

"What you looking for today?" she asks, her hands traveling to her tits.  "Fuck me in the Champagne room or you want me to blow you in the VIP?"

I look at her for a second.

That's when it hits me.

Did I just leave Lorna to come here?

"Just give me a second, alright?" I tell her and go outside again.

Thankfully, the rain has stopped.

I look downtown.

In my old life, I would have been looking either inside to Destiny or uptown to Lorna.

In my old life, I would have no problem fucking Lorna. Hell, I might have even traded in my morals and enjoyed it.

But I've changed.

I realize that I'm no longer the same person.

It took me a long time to figure this out, but I realize that I've been a complete idiot.

My company is something I built. The whole ‘King of Wall Street' is something I built for myself.

But it doesn't mean a damn without the woman I love being by my side.

I need Becca. I love Becca.

But it's already late. And I don't want to text her booty call fashion on top of everything she's been through.

I need to go home and calm down. Then I need to wake up in the morning and work out.

And then, around noon, after she's had enough time, I need to go make things right with her.

And never look back.





189





Becca





They say yoga is like refreshment to the soul. It's with that in mind  that I put on a tight tank top and squeeze myself inside a pair of yoga  pants. I place the rubber mat in the living room, at my feet, and close  my eyes. Exercise has always helped me deal with the stress at work, and  I just hope it will help me the same when it comes to matters of the  heart. Because there's no other way to put it: right now, my heart is  shattered.

After tasting what real love and lust feels like, I truly don't know how  to move on with my life now. Mason is on my mind constantly: I've been  thinking about him nonstop since I ran out of the Four Seasons last  night, and I dreamt of him when last night even as I was asleep. It's  torture, plain and simple, and I have no idea on how to escape from the  pain.

I go down on the mat, placing my hands in front of me, and arch my back,  taking one deep breath. I start slow, assuming an easy position, but  then progress to more complicated ones, pushing both my mind and body to  the limit. As time passes and beads of sweat start to form on my skin, I  feel my body relaxing - still, the gears inside my head keep on turning  and turning, Mason's smile dancing behind my closed eyelids.

Trying some of the hardest positions, I let my muscles work until  they're exhausted and, only when I can no longer move, do I lay down on  the mat. Sprawled on the floor, I look at the ceiling, the pounding of  my heart against my eardrums. Locks of hair are plastered to my  forehead, glued to my skin by sweat, and I already feel my shirt  sticking to my body. Sighing heavily, I sit up and purse my lips, giving  up on trying to forget about Mason. Forget about yoga, I need something  more drastic.

I go up to my feet and, grabbing my cellphone, I go through the contact  list. My heart starts to race, and there's a little voice in my head,  whispering for me to get a hold of myself. I know that I'm about to do  something terribly stupid, but I just can't help myself. Heartbreak is  the leading cause for bad decisions, it seems.

Remember Robert? Well, he has been sending me text messages almost every  day, even though I never bother to respond. I figured that after our  failed date and Mason's intervention, that he would see the painting on  the wall and simply forget about me. Of course, I couldn't be any more  mistaken about that. If anything, it seemed that when Mason entered the  scene that Robert's competitive streak flared up. Now, alone and  depressed after a failed yoga session, I'm glad that he hasn't given up.

When his name pops up on the screen, I double tap it and take a deep  breath as my thumb moves across the screen. "Want to have lunch?" I  write, my thumb then hovering over the SEND button. Don't do it, Becca,  my rational mind seems to say, but I can't stop myself - I press the  icon on the screen, and the message flies away from my cellphone and  into his.

I throw my phone back on top of the table, expecting for him to take a  while to respond, but his answer is almost an immediate one: the moment I  let go of the phone, it vibrates at once. I pick it up, unlock it, and  feel my heart tightening up as I see Robert's response. "Yes! We can  have lunch at your place. I'll bring wine," his text says. Fully knowing  that I shouldn't be doing this, I text him back a simple "sure".

I went from trying to set up a lunch with Robert to now having him come  into my house with wine. To say that I'm not thinking straight would be  putting it mildly, I know. Sighing, I look down at the clock on my phone  and, realizing that Robert will probably be here in a hour or so, I  head straight for the bathroom. I get undressed and, hopping into the  shower, I step under the hot water and let it wash over me, pushing all  my anxiety to the back of my mind. It doesn't work, of course, but I  have no idea on what else I should do. I never really had to deal with  heartbreak before and, now that I find myself going through it, I'm at a  complete loss. Nobody ever told me that it was this hard.         

     



 

When I finally get out of the shower, I put on a matching black lace bra  and thong, and then squeeze myself into a close fitting dress. The  dress is a bit revealing, showing more of my cleavage than what I'm used  to, but by now I'm far from thinking straight. Am I actually expecting  for something to happen between Robert and I? No, that whisper of  rationality seems to say, and I know it's the truth. I'm not expecting  it to happen, and I don't want it to happen …  But the pain in my heart is  guiding all of my decisions right now and, as I step out of my room  wearing a provocative dress, I'm no longer sure of what I'm doing. I'm  working on auto-pilot, and I've set it to drive me all the way against  the wall. Right now, all I want is to crash and burn - self-loathing at  its best, I guess.

I sit down on my couch, waiting for Robert, but I don't have to wait  long. When the clock strikes 12, there's a knock at my door, and my  heart almost explodes at the sound of it. I go up to my feet, straighten  the hem of my dress, and put on a fake smile on my lips. God, what the  hell am I doing?

Stopping in front of the door, I take one deep breath as I reach for the  handle. I wait one long second before turning it and, when I do, I feel  my knees shaking. I can't back down from this now.

When I open the door, I try and put on my best smile as I see Robert.  He's holding a bottle of red wine in his hands, and there's a truly  happy smile on his lips. On his eyes, I can already see hunger and lust  holding hands, and I'm not sure that I like it. But, just like I said,  it's too late to back down from this.

"Hey," I greet him meekly, accepting the bottle as he hands it to me.

"Hey," he repeats and, without giving me the time to react, leans into  me and kisses me on the cheek. Oh, God, this is already going sideways. I  bet he expects to fuck me once we empty his bottle of wine.

I know I should try and put a stop to this while there's still time, but  the autopilot is in full throttle. "Come in," I tell him, stepping to  the side and allowing him to get in. I close the door behind me, and  anxiety kicks in with all its forces. Crap, what the hell got through my  mind for me to invite Robert over? Or, rather, to allow him to invite  himself over.

I go up to the kitchen counter and, setting the bottle down, I rummage  through the drawers, trying to find the bottle opener. While I do it,  Robert leans on the counter, looking at me with that barely contained  hunger in his eyes. I don't mind when men look at me like that but,  somehow, he's giving me the creeps. Maybe it's because I've grown  accustomed to having Mason look at me like that …  Maybe it's because I'll  never be with a man again without thinking of Mason. He ruined me for  other men, that's for sure, and I'm not talking about his massive cock -  although, I'll admit, I'm going to miss it for the rest of my life.  Hey, don't judge - you don't come across a man with a cock that big  often in your life. And he also knew how to use it, don't forget about  that.