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"Okay, now comes the challenging part. We've given them a glimpse of our 'marriage,' and now it's time to make them truly believe it," Ethan declares.
"How exactly are we going to do that?" I inquire, my concern evident in my voice.
"We need to go public..." Ethan begins, but I quickly interject.
"No, Ethan. I don't think I can handle the reporters," I express, my anxiety mounting.
"I understand your apprehension, Olivia, but if we want the media to believe our story, we have to face them. Just trust me," he reassures me, his voice filled with conviction.
"What kind of questions will they ask?" I inquired, eager to prepare myself for the upcoming challenges.
"Alright, let's practice. Firstly, if anyone asks if our relationship or marriage is fake, just don't respond. Secondly, when asked about how we met, say we connected on Instagram. And thirdly, if someone questions why no one was invited to your wedding, just explain that we had a small, private wedding, which is why it's not widely known," he instructs.
"Okay, noted!" I acknowledge, determined to remember these key points.
"These are just a few basic questions, Olivia. Be prepared for more probing inquiries from the media and the public. But rest assured, I'll be by your side, helping to answer their queries," he explains, his assurance comforting.
"I have complete faith in you, Ethan. Let's do this!" I declare, feeling a newfound sense of determination.
"Check your phone. I think we already have an event to attend tonight," he exclaims, a hint of astonishment in his voice.
"Wow, people work fast!" I say, amazed by the swiftness of it all.
"Come on, let's get ready for the event," he urges, the excitement palpable in his words.
As I stand in front of the elaborate mirror, the room is lit by the warm glow of vanity lights, there is a palpable sense of expectation. Ethan and I are going to take center stage as a couple on this night of high-profile glitz. My heart races with excitement and trepidation as I place the final touches on my makeup.
Ethan enters the room, commanding attention with his presence. He projects an aura of confidence that makes my heart race. He’s dressed in a cut suit that highlights his angular features.
"Olivia, you look absolutely stunning," he says, his gaze lingering on the mirror.
"Ethan, thank you. You keep yourself quite clean", I joke, my voice full of adoration.
His soft eyes twinkle as he laughs. "I do my best to match your shine."
The tense atmosphere of the evening starts to loosen up. As co-conspirators in this act, we handle the difficulties of our fictitious relationship with elegance and cohesion.
I grab Ethan's extended arm after giving the mirror one more look. We walk toward the waiting vehicle together, the excitement growing with each step.
Ethan and I step onto the red-carpet hand in hand with our bodies in perfect alignment. Our grins light up the room. As we attend yet another high-profile event as a pair, cameras flash and record every move we make. We present a unified face to the public, a picture-perfect couple joined by a fictitious union. But the connection between us is becoming more and more real, making it more difficult to tell the difference between what is pretend and what isn’t.
I can’t help but notice how Ethan's gaze lingers on me and the delicacy in his touch as he brushes against my arm as we mixed with the elite, exchanging courteous greetings and navigating discussions with ease. It seems as if the barriers we had erected to keep our real emotions apart from our fake relationship were gradually coming tumbling down.
Our movements are well orchestrated to retain the appearance of a loving pair while the dance of pretense and honesty goes on all night. But there are times—sneaked looks and quiet movements—when it seems as if our souls are composing a new play—one replete with sincere adoration and desire.
We found ourselves on a secluded balcony as we move deeper into the hall, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras. We’re enveloped in a gentle glow from the moonlight, which seductively affects us. Ethan turns to face me, a look of sharpness on his face.
He stares at my exposed cleavage line for a moment before brushing his fingertips along it, his touch giving me butterflies across my whole body. He starts to follow the cleavage line until he reaches the bottom of my breasts.
He can’t control his erection as we sprint toward the area's nearest restroom in a split second. Even though it isn’t our first time, he still kisses me passionately, biting the vulnerable region near my neck as his fingers grab my ass through my panties as if he had been waiting all this time. His fingers reach up to my ribs, under my shirt. I gasp and grin at him.
He raises the corner of my dress, moving it up my thighs and across my hip till it catches just under my breast as he peers up at me through his black eyelashes. He moves close to me and places his lips against my rib cage. He knows I like this shit the most, so he nibbles me and then licks across the same region to tease me.
I’m standing in front of him almost entirely bare, wearing just underwear. He groans, "Olivia." His mouth only shifts upward by less than an inch as his teeth’s grazes into me. I groan a lot. He puts his hand over my shoulder blades and makes me bend closer to him. He then shuts his lips, generating a beautiful, delicious suction with his teeth and tongue against my breast. He could fit my whole breast in his mouth, absolutely everything.
He strokes and grasps his cock, almost cupping it, and he takes a step back and observes my nude body after finishing sucking every last inch of my breast. His thumb strokes over the already dark and damp cloth between my legs, and I force an exhale, mortified by the thought that he must now be aware of how much I want it—and by the pleasure of feeling his finger's enormous, harsh pressure on my seam.
He was undoubtedly aware. He turned back to face me, breathing hard.
