Page 170 of Charming Deception

When he finally steps out of the sunroom a while later, I’m pondering this conundrum—that I’m getting scarily attached to my fiancé, and I’m really not sure if I should.

He’s changed into swim trunks, though, and my thoughts are instantly hijacked by the view.

Long, lean torso sculpted with muscles.

Yes, please.

And that gorgeous face…

Those light-blue eyes, burning with hunger.

I swim to the shallow end and walk up the wide steps, smoothing back my wet hair. I move slowly, letting him enjoy the view of the bikini he picked out for me. I’m soaking wet and barely covered, which is clearly how he wanted it.

He bought the top of the string bikini a generous two sizes too small, which I know was no mistake. His stylists have all my sizing. The fabric of the unlined triangle top covers my nipples and a little more, but I’m spilling out.

As I walk toward him, my breasts jiggling lewdly, his cock stands at attention. Thickening in his swim trunks, it flexes when my gaze falls to it.

Appetite, indeed.

He holds two flutes of champagne, but sets them down on a table as I approach.

Then he reclines onto a lounge chair, admiring me, his hard-on shamelessly evident.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Why don’t you be a good girl and get on my dick,” he greets me. His voice is soft and indulgent, like a stroke across my skin.

I stand just out of reach, dripping, my nipples hard through the pasted-on fabric. “Oh? Is your business all finished?”

“Yes. Come here.”

“Anything wrong? You seem stressed,” I tease, not coming here at all.

“It’s fine. Just the usual nightmare of renovating a resort. We’ve got seven months left, and Graysen’s heading steadily toward his heart attack.”

“Hmm. Maybe he needs to get laid more.”

He laughs shortly. “Yeah. I’d say.” He reaches, trying to grab me. “Now give it here.”

Sadly, “it” is just out of reach. “I thought we were swimming.”

“Plans change.”

“Are you objectifying me, Mr. Vance?”

His gaze roams over me hotly. “I have every intention of objectifying you every chance I get, wife.”

A shiver runs down my back at that word.

Wife.

A thrilling, delicious shiver.

He only referred to me as his wife one other time; when he told his siblings he’d asked me to be his wife and I’d said yes.

But that was all fake.

What is it now?

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