The CEO Hired a Size 20 Fake Wife, Then Couldn't Keep His Hands Off Her novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Courthouse
They marry at the courthouse, and on the night he gives her the bigger bedroom she crosses the hall and learns he means every word he says about her body.
We got married on Friday at 10:40 a.m. in a courthouse with a broken water fountain.
My cousin Gwen stood beside me as my witness, wearing her nurse's clogs under a purple dress.
A quiet woman from his office stood on his side, holding a folder.
The judge read the vows in the voice of a man who wanted lunch.
"You may kiss your bride," he said.
Declan turned to me.
I'd planned to offer my cheek.
Instead he put one hand along my jaw and the other flat on the small of my back, and he pulled me into him until my breasts pressed against his chest.
Then he kissed me.
It was slow, and deep, and it went on well past what a judge needed.
His beard was soft.
His tongue touched mine, and a sound came out of me that I'd never made in public.
When he finally let go, Gwen was fanning herself with a marriage form.
"Jesus Christ," she whispered. "I'm a nurse. I know what that was."
"It was for the photographs," I said.
Declan's eyes hadn't left my mouth.
"There weren't any photographs," he said.
The ride to Rittenhouse Square was ten minutes of him sitting very still beside me with his hand open on the seat between us.
On the top floor of the building I would live in, he showed me two bedrooms across a hall from each other.
His was the plain one.
"Yours is the big one," he said. "It has the bath and the good light."
"You gave me the bigger room?"
"You're the guest."
"I'm the wife."
"Then you get the bigger room twice."
I laughed, and he watched my whole face while I did it.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm dinner."
"I can't do anything about it," he said. "I'm a bad liar. I looked at your picture on Tuesday and I haven't thought straight since."
"I'm a size 20."
"I know. I counted every inch of it when you walked in."
He said it so calmly that my knees forgot their job.
"Good night, Winnie," he said, and he went into the plain room and closed the door.
I lay awake in the big bed until midnight, in a nightshirt, staring at the ceiling.
My whole body was humming.
At 12:10 I got up and crossed the hall.
I didn't knock.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed in a gray T-shirt and pajama pants, with a book open on his knee that he wasn't reading.
He looked up and went still.
"The contract says no obligations," I said.
"It does."
"I'm not obligated."
"No."
"I want to be here."
He put the book on the floor.
"Come here," he said, in a voice so rough that I walked over before he finished the second word.
He took my hips in both hands and looked up at me.
"Take this off," he said, touching the hem of my nightshirt. "Or I will. Your choice, wife."
I pulled it over my head.
I stood in front of him in my underwear, with the lamp on, and my arms stayed at my sides.
His eyes moved over me slowly, from my shoulders to my breasts, down my soft stomach, over my wide hips to my thighs.
"Look at you," he said. "God. Look at all of you."
He put his palms on my belly and slid them around to my back and down to my ass, and he squeezed.
"These hips," he said. "I've been thinking about these hips for three days."
"They're a lot."
"They're exactly enough."
He hooked his thumbs in my panties and pulled them down my thighs.
Then he turned us and sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor in front of me.
He pushed my knees apart with his big hands.
"Lean back," he said.
I did.
He kissed the inside of my right thigh, where it's softest, and then the left.
"I love how thick your thighs are," he said into my skin. "I'm going to spend a long time between them."
"Declan."
"Say it again."
"Declan, please."
He put his mouth on me.
His tongue drew a slow stripe through me, and my back came off the bed.
He groaned, a deep sound that I felt against my clit, like he was the one being fed.
"You taste incredible," he said, and went back in.
He licked me in long, patient strokes, circling and then pressing flat, and when I grabbed his head he only made a pleased noise and sucked my clit between his lips.
My thighs closed around his shoulders.
He pushed them wide again with both hands.
"No hiding," he said. "I want to see you come on my face."
I came apart.
It rolled up my spine, and I said his name, and I didn't care who heard.
He didn't stop.
He licked me through the shaking, gentle and hungry, until I was crying out again and begging him to quit and begging him not to.
I came a second time with his fingers inside me, curled deep, and his voice rough against my thigh.
"That's it. Soft, wet, perfect. Look at how you take it."
When I lay limp across his sheets, he climbed up beside me and wiped his beard on the pillow.
His erection pressed hard against my hip through his shorts.
"You didn't," I said.
"Not tonight."
"Declan."
"Tonight was yours."
He kissed my forehead, and my mouth, and I tasted myself on him.
"I told you I can't lie," he said. "Everything I said about your body is true. Every word."
I believed him.
That was the scary part.
I fell asleep in his bed, under his arm, and I woke with sun in my face and the smell of coffee.
I walked to the kitchen in his T-shirt, smiling.
An old woman sat at his marble island, with her silver hair in a twist, a plum suit and a brass-topped cane across her knees.
She looked me over from head to toe.
"So," she said. "You're the wife."
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