Page 21 of Billionaire's Fake Wife: A Single Mom BWWM Romance

It takes me a couple of hours to finish the second beer and actually pay attention to the TV.

I stay in the living room long after the football match ended, browsing through channels mindlessly. My thoughts are on Sonya again.

With her talent, I am a hundred percent sure that the business will flourish. If we have more people like her, who are passionate about their job, we're in good hands.

Sonya can be my partner in the future and help me run my mother's company once she steps down. I might focus more on the marketing and financial side of things, while she can handle the production.

I chuckle. That'll probably take a long time, not soon, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared and have plans. It's essential to have goals, after all.

My mother will pressure me even more if I don't show her how serious I am about my work or even my future. As if I'm not doing myself a service by saving up. Savings are good for anyone's future, no?

Apparently, to Gloria Fields, it isn't. Now, I'm left with no choice but to get married, well, it's fake marriage.

At least my fake wife-to-be is quite the looker.

Sonya definitely is.

I never noticed it before, but aside from her pretty face, she has good shoulders. Yes, shoulders that help carry her posture well and, um, show off the great curves of her waist. With her sitting ramrod straight yet relaxed in that restaurant chair, her —

I shouldn't be thinking about how perky her breasts looked; for Pete's sake, the woman was tastefully clothed.

So...what do I think about? Her face? Yes, her beautiful face. Her eyes usually look black to me, but I saw hints of chocolate brown in them while in the restaurant. The warm lights really bring their colors out.

She barely wore any makeup, just enough to enhance her features, but I love the color she used on her lips. I don't know much about makeup beyond the things I hear from the other women, especially models I've slept with, but that glossy brown she wore had attracted my eyes a couple of times during our lunch and conversations.

Will I be allowed a taste? Will her lips be soft? Can I take a bite?

I think they will look good on my...my own lips? I want her to kiss me. Oh my...I groan, shifting my pants and opening the zipper a little. It's getting uncomfortable and too snug down there. These fucking tight pants... they're supposed to fit perfectly.

When I realize that I have started palming and rubbing myself to images of her eyes and thoughts of what magic those sinful full lips can perform, I jump up and run towards the shower, making sure it's on the coldest setting.

I scream not from pleasure but from the Arctic-cold water raining down from the showerhead.

I put the phone down and wait with a tall cup of coffee for the pizza delivery man. The cold water helped a bit, as it always does; all the X-rated thoughts flowed down the drain along with the soap and shampoo suds.

Sonya Lynx, however, stays in my mind.

I'm not gonna deny it; like any other man, I have fantasies and urges. I don't typically deny myself those except if the woman's married. And another line I don't dare cross is thinking about my colleagues —my mother's employees— romantically or sexually.

I don't want to put anyone in that spot and be tagged as unprofessional by my own mother.

I guess Sonya is really just that attractive. Not to mention sharp and witty. Hey, isn't smart sexy? And paired with that face...I reach for my coffee cup and took a gulp that scalded my tongue. Not the kind of pain I like, but it'll do.

Boundaries must be set, not only for her sake but for mine as well. I can't take advantage of her and our agreement just because I can't keep it in my pants. Besides, I can hit up some of my contacts, and even friends, if I want a quick fuck.

Yet, why, Sonya? She has never shown me any motives, unlike Kelly from marketing or Arianne, one of the receptionists. Those two women tried to tempt me several times, but I've always managed not to give in. Hard not to, but I put my foot down even when my dick was still up.

I am typing a message on my phone when I realize who the sender will be, and I quickly delete the 'What's up' before opening another app.

Rubbing my hands all over my face, I brood and play games on my phone until the pizza finally arrived. I give the delivery man a hefty tip, and he thanks me profusely.

Thanks again, I hit send before I can stop myself. Well, that was dumb.

But not as dumb as the grin on my lips when my phone buzzes. I pluck it out of my trousers, and the reply stares at me.

A reminder.

You're welcome. I'm just doing my part of the bargain.

---