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“Brendan, do something!” The shouts came from everywhere.
“Me?” He stood frozen, halfway down the aisle.
“Fix this! Save us!”
Hands suddenly grabbed his. “Come on,” Sonia hissed. She dragged him to the front of the train, right under the wedding arch, and pressed his hands to her dress. “Do this.”
With one pull, Brendan ripped off her black dress, leaving Sonia naked. She was hot beyond belief, all smooth skin and toned muscle and firm, suckable tits. But he didn’t have time to stare, because she shoved him backwards onto the floor. Leaping on top of him, she lashed his wrists to a handrail with his tie.
“You like that, bitch?” she sneered.
Before he could answer, she sank down on his cock, enveloping it in heat.
Vaguely, he knew he and Sonia were fucking in the middle of Ian and Diana’s wedding. They’d interrupted the vows. The flowered arch was falling down around them. He was tied up in public, helpless, on a shaking train, loving every second of it, and he didn’t give a damn who saw.
Sonia’s eyes narrowed at him. “You know what I hate about you, Brendan?”
Jesus. His name, on her lips, was everything he wanted.
“What?” Straining upward, he sucked her nipple until she groaned. “What do you hate about me?”
“You're a liar and a fake. The world thinks you’re a saint? Fucking hell, Brendan, you're no saint. You made your brother take the fall for everything growing up. I know the whole story. Oh God…”
Her pussy was so hot, a blazing fist that gripped his cock. Lengthening his thrusts, he angled to grind against her clit until she gasped.
“Damn you, Brendan, you're gonna make me come…”
Pulling at his bonds, he kissed her. Gently, softly, until she snarled and scratched tracks down his chest. She exploded around him, her orgasm rushing through them both. As he climaxed hard inside her, she dissolved, like the wind blew her away.
*
Brendan’s eyes opened. He was alone in his bed, his heart racing, his thighs covered in cum. Another nightmare, turned into the hottest hate-sex of his fantasies.
He lay still, listening to the hum of the air conditioning. He’d always been a peaceful sleeper, and a heavy one. Ian joked about needing a siren to wake Brendan up. But once plans for the wedding got underway, the bad dreams started. Each time he showed up at the ceremony, something went wrong, and everyone expected him to swoop in and play the hero.
But he couldn’t. Because deep down, he was no hero.
In his loneliest moments, he feared he was exactly what Sonia called him in his dream: a liar. A fake. A man who didn’t know who he was without his twin, a man who’d worn a pleasant mask for so long, he barely knew what lay beneath.
Groaning, Brendan shoved his covers back and reached for a handful of tissues to clean up. Sleep, that was all he wanted. And some fucking peace.
Tossing the tissues in the trash, he picked up the beer on his nightstand, but there was only swill in the bottom. It was as empty as he felt.
And watching Sonia dance again tomorrow would remind him his fantasies could never come true.
He stared up at the ceiling and squeezed his cock. “Sonia, baby,” he murmured.
Don't call me baby.
“I hate you too.”
Smooth-talking politician. You'd never dare tell anyone you hated them. You want to be liked too much.
He imagined the luscious landscape of skin he'd never touch or lick. All that sexy taut muscle, her firm ass and pointed nipples.
Maybe he wanted Sonia because she was the only woman he couldn't charm. Or maybe it was because she wasn’t afraid of the truth. If someone handed Sonia a mask, she’d smash it. When she danced, she wasn’t playing a role — she was herself. She didn’t need anyone to prop her up or tell her who she was.
Brendan rolled onto his stomach. Pulling the pillow over his head, he tried to think about work. Sports. Anything but this prickly, impossible girl. But all he could see was Sonia lying in front of him, her rounded ass welcoming him as he pressed his cock against her tight, slick back hole.
