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Guilt was definitely a factor when I insisted she come and stay with me, but it’s not the reason I want her here now. Izzy is easy to be around. I don’t know if that’s because she’s just a generally chilled-out person or if she’s so used to being alone that she doesn’t have that competitive vibe most of the girls in our social circle do.
Rich girls tend to be elitist snobs. They sit and chat nonsense about designer labels and expensive vacations to must-be-seen-at locations. They compare notes on guys they’ve slept with, guys they want to sleep with, and those they want to tie down and marry.
But Izzy isn’t like that. She’s polite, kind, and unassuming until you poke her. Then, from what I know of her so far, she’s feisty, a warrior with a strength that I don’t remember ever seeing in any of the other women I know, not even the grown ones.
I like her. It sounds so fucking third grade, but I really fucking like her, and not just because I want to fuck her. The guys are completely enamored with her too. Hell, Kip’s half in love with her already, yet she thinks we’re only including her because we feel bad about the whole fake engagement thing.
When she walked down the stairs in that red dress this morning, nothing about her being mine felt fake, and I didn’t feel even a hint of shame about fooling everyone into believing she was my fiancée, because I wanted it to be true. She looked like a fucking goddess, and the caveman alpha male that’s inside of me was beating his fucking chest and calling himself a winner because she was wearing my ring and rubbing her hot, wet pussy all over my suit pants.
Nothing was fake for me today—not when I kissed her, not when I touched her, and not when I was staring at her like I wished I could steal her away and worship her naked body.
When she kisses me, it doesn’t feel like she’s faking it either, but she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t understand what was happening between us. It’s why I asked her to pretend with me. I need her to pretend because I can’t stand the idea of her leaving, and if all I can ever have with her is make believe, I’ll take it until I can change her mind.
She’s mine, and if that’s a lie, then I have no idea what the truth is anymore because I know she belongs to me just as surely as I know I’d do anything to protect her, to help her and make her happy.
Striding into my room, I close the door tightly behind me and exhale loudly. I’ve never let a woman get into my head like Izzy has. I’ve never been anything less than calculated and calm. But Izabella fucking Rhodes makes my thoughts chaotic in a way that feels like the best drug high in the world.
Stripping off my wet tux, I drop it to the floor and head naked for my shower, pressing the panel on the wall that controls the temperature and flow as water begins to cascade from the ceiling. The one good thing the designer who made the white monstrosity downstairs did was put touchscreen-controlled showers in all the bathrooms, and mine is epic.
Stepping under the water, I let my head fall forward and replay the image of Izzy dancing in the fountain—her dress wet, her smile real and wide—in my head. Grabbing myself roughly, I stroke my fist up and down as a movie reel of images of Izzy plays fast forward through my mind. From the very first time I met her and thought she was her sister, to the way she felt pressed up against me as I stole that first kiss from her on the steps of the school.
Faster and faster I stroke, wishing she was here, her wet body gloriously naked and sliding against me, her tits begging to be sucked, touched, and fucked.
I’ve never seen her naked, but my imagination fills in the blanks. Her pussy wet and dripping, eager to be filled, her eyes full of lust as she turns around and braces her hands against the tile, teasing me and silently begging me to take her from behind.
A groan slips from my lips, and I grip my cock tighter, the twinge of pain pushing me over the edge as I imagine Izzy looking over her naked shoulder at me, wet and willing and indisputably mine. Hot cum bursts from me in long jets that are immediately washed away by the water of the shower, and I slide my hand up and down my length slowly, squeezing every drop of release from my dick before my arms fall limply to my sides.
The water beats down on my head while I catch my breath, aftershocks making me shudder as the last ounces of pleasure are wrung out of me. “Fuck,” I whisper into the air. I want Izzy, and it’s not about guilt or even possession. I want to laugh with her. I want to play with her. I want to sit and watch movies and eat pizza with her. I want to be her everything, and I think I might be too spoiled to convince myself that I can’t have her.
This all started with a joke, but I’m not laughing now. She wants to watch her family fall from grace, and I’m going to help her. I’ll drag my Little Ghost into the spotlight and make sure everyone sees her. I’ll stand at her side, with our friends at our back, while the Rhodeses lose all the money they were prepared to sacrifice their daughter for, and if I’m lucky, maybe this game of pretend I just asked her to play will become just as real to her as it already is to me.
29
IZABELLA
My mind is a mess of confused thoughts, while my body is a mess of want and need that I refuse to sate, because I know if I touch myself, I’ll be thinking about Gulliver while I make myself come, and I’m not sure if that’s what I want.
Stripping out of my wet dress, I turn my shower as hot as it will go and wash all of the fountain water out of my hair, wiping away the two inches of makeup Yolanda had to use to cover all of the bruises on my face. My skin is pink and flushed when I wrap myself in a towel and pad back into the bedroom. Brushing out the knots, I twist my hair up into a wet pile on top of my head and throw on the new baggy overalls Fitzy sent over yesterday and a sports bra.
I look like a mess, but I don’t care, and weirdly, I don’t think the guys will either. If I’d left my room looking like this at home, my mom and Penelope would have been appalled, but even though I’m incredibly attracted to Gulliver, I don’t think getting dressed up to watch a movie and eat pizza would impress him any more than wearing something baggy and comfortable.
And I’m not sure if I actually want to impress him or not. I enjoyed the way his eyes heated and the way he kissed me senseless when he first saw me in the red dress this morning. But his eyes were equally as hot when he was asking me to play pretend with him and I was a bedraggled wet mess.
My entire relationship with Gulliver has been a lie, and now he’s asking me to pretend it’s all true, and I don’t understand why. He asked me to pretend that I felt the connection between us, but I think it’d be harder to pretend that I don’t feel it.
Physically, I want him, but emotionally, I’m not sure I can trust that any of this will be real when the games are all over and all we have left is real life.
Following the sound of the TV, I find the guys lounging on two huge couches that fill a comfortable and cozy den. “Why have we been sitting in the ugly white room when you have this comfy den?” I ask as I pad through the door.
“We use the terrace more than the white room, but this is where we chill to watch movies,” Gulliver says, patting the empty space next to him on the couch.
Climbing around Davis’s legs, I lower myself into the space next to Gulliver, tensing a little when he drops his arm along the back of the couch, his finger drawing circles on my bare shoulder.
“Beer?” Thorn asks, opening a wooden unit at the side of the couch and revealing a small refrigerator full of bottles of beer and cans of soda.
“Yes please.”
He throws me a bottle, and I lift my hand to catch it, but Gulliver plucks it out of the air, twisting the cap off before magnanimously handing it to me.
