Between Love and Loathing: Dom and Clara’s Fake Dating Story (Hardy Billionaires)
Between Love and Loathing: Chapter 26

She was demanding her needs now, pointedly and with authority.

Gone was my cupcake and in her place was the little fighter, brilliant, beautiful, and completely naked on my desk.

Fuck, her pussy felt good. It felt like it was made for me, like she’d been designed by the very best to fit my every need.

Her words were gasoline to my already on-fire obsession with fucking her. I stepped back, pulling myself from her to stare at her sex. She didn’t close her legs, didn’t hide herself now. She just glared at me. “What are you doing?”

“Staring at what’s mine, thinking I should have been fucking that pretty pink pussy the whole time.”

“You aren’t done fucking me yet.” She lifted a brow.

I hummed low and I loved that she shuddered with the sound. “You want me, baby? Take me exactly how you want then.”

Her emerald eyes widened as I sat down in my chair again, my cock glistening with her slick, shiny arousal. I flexed it and her eyes immediately locked on to it.

“Come sit on my lap, baby. Put your little pussy on me and ride my dick like you want to.”

She slid off the desk slowly, like she was mesmerized with the sight in front of her. Her tits bounced when she hit the ground, her hips flared out from her waist and swayed as she took the two steps to me before climbing onto my lap. Without hesitating, she sheathed herself on me fast and hard. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” She murmured, riding me fast, her pussy so tight that every muscle in my neck, my back, and my whole fucking body strained not to come in her right then and there.

Her hands used my shoulders as leverage, the nails digging in tight as she moved faster, her hair swaying fast over her tits, her eyes drifting closed. Her pouty mouth formed an O as her ass and pussy bounced up and down on my lap until that final moment.

She shifted back, her gaze on mine fast as she took my cock, pulled me from her body, and squeezed as she cried out.

Seeing her lose it, having her hand milking my cock as she pointed it toward her stomach had me coming hard. I shot myself out over her stomach, unable to control myself for a second longer as her arousal gushed onto my leg. My hand went to her pussy immediately, wanting her on me as much as I was on her.

We marked each other, and a primal part of me loved it, relished in knowing I’d brought this need out of her. She’d wanted this, wanted me on her as if she couldn’t have it any other way. I ran my fingers over her again and again letting her ride out the aftershocks. All the while, I smoothed my other hand over her stomach, rubbing myself into her skin. “You’re mine, little fighter. No one else’s. Do you understand? I should leave my cum on you as a reminder.”

She slumped against me and nodded over and over. “Maybe but this relationship is–”

“I’m taking you to your bed,” I cut her off. I didn’t want to know what she was going to say because suddenly I was sure that this was a relationship, that I’d created something authentic with her, something I wouldn’t be able to back away from clean and easy.

I didn’t want to.

I put her to bed that night and tried my damn hardest not to crawl into it with her. It’d been my own rule once before and now I fucking hated that I was having a problem following through with it when it came to her.

That night, I tossed and turned thinking of her down the hall and hoped once I woke the next morning, it’d be better. I got to have sex with her. That should have gotten her out of my system.

It didn’t.

Of course I still expected a little bit of a disruption from Clara moving in the next morning. I told myself it would showcase why we actually would never work; it would be a reason as to why I needed to keep her and everyone at arm’s length.

And disrupt she did. Like a storm barreling ashore, she hit me like a tsunami.

The next day, she padded into my study and grumbled, “Until this facade of a relationship is over, I’ll stay. Then, I’m out with Sugar and Spice.”

I petted both cats that had already claimed my lap in the study while I sat at the desk and worked. “Fine.”

“Are you wearing sweats?” She sounded completely bewildered.

“Sure. It’s my house.”

Then a frown formed. “And a T-shirt?”

I lifted a brow. “You’ve seen me in Florida working out, Clara.”

“I know. But here… you’re always in a suit.”

“Again, I’m at home.” I shrugged and eyed her attire. “Are you wearing a sleepshirt?”

She crossed her arms and popped a hip. “I just woke up because …” Her face turned a bright red, and I smirked. She shook her head at me, her long red hair swinging back and forth in disarray, like I’d fucked the well put together out of her last night.

“Because what, baby? You got fucked so good last night you wanted to sleep in?” I licked my lips as she bit hers. “I like this look on you best, by the way.”

“Oh my God. You know what? There are rules if I’m staying.” She cleared her throat. “One, you don’t talk about the sex we shouldn’t have had.”

I chuckled. “I’ll consider it.”

She scoffed. “And you don’t come into my room unannounced, and you let the cats roam free.”

I glanced down at them. “Obviously. They’re not trained well at all. They’ve wandered in here already like they own the place.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw how she chewed her cheek like she couldn’t get enough of how they loved me. “And you stop wearing those glasses.”

“What for?” I barked out a laugh.

“They’re distracting.”

“Noted but not in agreement unless you promise to only wear the dresses my hands can disappear under quickly and with no underwear so I can—”

“Stop.” She held up a hand as she dragged her teeth over those red lips. I pushed the cats off my lap and rearranged myself. Now that I had her, I wasn’t going to think of much else.

“Sure you want to stop, or are we just getting started?” I saw the way her nipples were hardening under that sleep shirt.

“I want to decorate a room or two where I’ll be.”

I started to object, but she held up her hand.

“I don’t want your input. It’s yes or no.”

“Clara, our tastes are—”

“Different, and I need—” She took a deep breath and I saw pain in her eyes before she glanced away. Then she massaged a part of her shoulder that I noticed always bothered her. “I need a place I’m relaxed in, Dominic. I was trying to make that at my apartment.”

Silence filled the room between us as I warred with giving in and giving up what I felt I’d perfected. The home wasn’t full of flair and eccentricities of color like she would have wanted. Yet, it flowed. It was a Dominic Hardy design, and it was mine.

Not hers.

I’d taken what was hers.

“Fine, but—”

“I’m not done.” She held up one tiny finger, and I had to keep from smiling. “You don’t say a word when I’m baking in the kitchen. You let me do what I want in there. And you get used to my bakery name being Sugar and Spice because I already told Rita it’s one of the changes, and after arguing for way too long about it, the sign is coming in a few days.”

I glanced at the kittens that were already growing on me somehow.

“Don’t hurt their feelings, Dominic,” she warned.

“That it?” I said. She could have asked for the world, and I would have given it to her at this point to make her stay.

She frowned. “I think so.”

“Good. I intend to walk in the bathroom every time you’re taking a shower.”

She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not. What if I’m—” When she stopped immediately, I knew exactly what she was about to say.

“What if you’re what?”

“Well, um … In there with someone else?” she squeaked out, trying to distract me from what she was really going to say, but it did its job.

My brows slammed down, and I shut my laptop before pacing slowly over to her. She leaned back as I caged her in and dipped my head down close to her face. “You’re not having other men here … or anywhere, Clara. You’re mine.”

“Well, I’m fake yours,” she corrected, as if she could stop the blurring of lines between us at this point.

“Tell me.” I thrust my cock against her stomach. “That feel like my dick thinks this is fake to you? You’re here for three more months. You’re exclusively mine for all of them.”

“You’re counting down?” she whispered, then she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. If you want me to be exclusive, are you going to be also?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course the same goes for me. I’m not in the business of sleeping with a woman I’m not attracted to and it seems the only one I am attracted to right now is you. I woke up thinking about you in my study, and I’ll go to bed thinking about you coming on my cock with your pretty hair draped over your tits in my bed. Want to go fulfill my fantasy now or later?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ve got only a few weeks left until this opening. And you do too. We need to work, not mess around. Plus, being professional is—”

“Overrated when I know how you taste.”

She stepped away from me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dominic. You’re probably smarter than most when it comes to toxic relationships. Ours would be a whole keg of poison if we kept indulging the way we are now.” She breathed out fast and then looked at me with those big green eyes. “Right?”

Fuck, my dick wanted me to say wrong. But my mind knew she was right. My ex had stirred up a pot of poison and fed it to me. I was lost to love and relationships and the hope that they would ever end well.

I stepped back and whispered, “Right.”

She echoed it back again, her face falling, and her walls flying up. She took a deep breath before she excused herself to go unpack. Somehow, that one word of confirmation restructured our relationship.

We let the days tick by as we passed one another by in the hallways without touching. Without eye contact. With only soft hellos and small talk. Still, if she stayed late at the bakery, I made sure my driver went back for her, and I paced in front of her room half the time. I also wandered into it once or twice and saw she’d set up the pictures she’d had in her apartment on the dressers here.

Something about her having other people—even Evie, Declan, and my nephew Atticus—in a picture without her frustrated the hell out of me.

Her disruption to my everyday life shouldn’t have been huge with how quiet she was and how she moved around me. She even thanked me for having my assistant set up her bright rug in her room and move her small amount of furniture and pillows in there. She didn’t ask to have it in the living room. She just walled herself off with all her belongings every day in that room when we got home. But Clara couldn’t contain that she was brilliantly alive or that my attention was always drawn to her, even if she didn’t want it to be.

Every day, I’d offer to take her to work and she’d quietly worry her hands in the car. She kept her nails short but always painted in red or a pink to match what she was wearing. They matched the walls of that bakery, too, and her poppy cupcakes I was having a fucking hard time avoiding.

When I worked late in my study, I heard her tiptoe out to the kitchen to get water every night at some random point, never the same time, like she just remembered she needed it rather than planned for it.

When I met her footsteps with mine one night, I saw her taking pills with the water. “What are those for?”

She spun around fast, probably shocked that she hadn’t heard me sneak up on her. “Just birth control?”

The woman literally couldn’t tell a lie without about five movements that gave her away. Not only did she blush, she looked anywhere but my eyes, fidgeted on her feet, picked at a nail, and then combed her hand through her hair.

“Try again, little fighter. This time, no lies.”

She curled in on herself when she said softly, “I get joint pain sometimes. I have medication to help with it.”

“Joint pain—”

She shook her head and didn’t wait around to explain herself more. She just rushed past me with a soft good night. Suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything else. Did she wake up with the pain? Go to bed with it? Was it something more? Every question felt too intrusive for a woman that was living in my home but not sleeping with me. For a woman that barely talked with me now that we’d drawn some fucked-up line in the imaginary sand.

Every night after, she rushed past my doors like I wouldn’t see the deep-green or blue or red flurry of silk pajamas she was wearing. She was quiet, but the disruption was huge. All I thought about was her on my desk, how she tasted, how she’d wanted everything I gave her.

When she cooked in that kitchen, I ate copious amounts of little chocolates to try to curb the addiction I had to her. That very night, I’d shooed the cats out of my study and actually closed the doors, hoping to bar off the temptation of Clara Milton and get back to my work.

And when I heard clanging around from my study, I should have let it be. Instead, I sighed and ended a call with colleagues. Something was missing from the damn resort, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t reopen it without it being perfect either. The Hardy name was stamped on it.

It was also the resort I’d finally given my all to after the incident within the workplace, after Natya lied to me over and over again. I couldn’t let my family or anyone down this time.

The last thing I needed was to be bothering my fake girlfriend about whatever racket she was making in my kitchen. Still, I went. There, on her tiptoes on top of the counter, trying to reach the highest cupboard shelf stood my tiny fighter. And around her was the biggest mess I’d ever seen.

“What the fuck?” I whispered. Every one of my dishes had been pulled from the shelves, all my spices, all the food.

“I’m going to clean it up,” she responded loudly before she hopped and grabbed the bowl, and then landed with skill like she did this all the time.

Fuck. Had I invited this into my home? “Clara,” I warned.

“You said I could redecorate a few rooms. This is one. And you said you wouldn’t complain about what I did in the kitchen,” she quipped, a hand on her hip while I took in the mess. “So, please don’t.”

The black countertops were cleaned weekly even though I never used them, the dishes always in place, the stainless steel industrial appliances immaculate because, again, they were never used.

Except now flour was everywhere. In her hair. On her face. All over the counters and all the dishes she’d taken out. Probably in the crevices of the tile on the floor.

“What the fuck happened in here?” I started forward, reaching for a bowl just to see what she was working on.

“Ah!” She swatted her cooking utensil at me. “Don’t come in here. No taste testing until it’s done.”

“You let me taste test in your bakery before—”

“This is my …” She cleared her throat as she glanced away and then continued, “my home kitchen for the time being, and here I will not be critiqued. I need this time and space. I do not need you to toss negative comments about how you don’t like something I’m doing right now. I need to relax.” She sighed at me and then wrinkled her nose. She was all freckles and red blush after she said it. “It’s silly, but I do.”

I held up my hands. “Pastry chef’s kitchen then.”

The smile that flew across her face was worth flour and sugar and egg yolk all over my kitchen if need be. Clara, carefree and happy, was showstopping.

“Come back later.” She shrugged like I would be happy when I did.

“Will it still look like this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s a negative thing. You can leave.”

She didn’t even glance at me for the next five minutes as I stood there watching her stir ingredients. I hated that my mouth watered even as she poured fucking milk on top of flour. There wasn’t a single thing I wanted to eat in that kitchen. Well, except her.

My mouth watered for her specifically. “Something’s wrong with my resort,” I blurted out.

She stopped stirring. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t figure it out. I’m racking my brain, and I don’t know what.”

She glanced around the kitchen. “Something’s wrong with my menu. So. I’m making everything and having Paloma try them all.” She hesitated to continue.

“What?”

“Maybe you should try that. Have a meeting. You have the best colleagues in the industry around you. Ask for feedback and try everything.”

“Clara, that’s—”

“Remember you’re in the kitchen. No negative feedback,” she reminded me.

I nodded and stepped back once and then again and then again. “I trust that you’ll clean this up?”

“Obviously. You dragged me into your home, Dominic. But I will make it better, even if you think it’s already perfect.” She winked at me and went back to stirring.

I left with every doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be happy with what I saw later. Yet, the next day, it was completely cleaned, dishes in different places, more spices on display, small appliances moved, but everything was still functional. Maybe even more so.

She somehow perfected my perfection, and I saw her doing it every day. She’d bring in the mail and put different piles together for me so I didn’t have to reorganize them myself. I saw her planting seeds outside one day, and she even waved enthusiastically. “You’ll be smelling beautiful things in no time.”

I didn’t question her. If I hated them, I could rip them out in a few months, right? My heart beat faster thinking about the fact that in only a few months she’d be gone. She was planting seeds and they were growing roots but she wouldn’t be here to water them.

None of this would last. None of it was going to thrive. Not without her.

She stopped my train of thought when she announced, “I have a few changes I sent to Rita and one specifically that I think I need your help on.”

I shook my head. “Your changes, Clara. Not mine.”

We weren’t in a relationship. Her partnership was with Rita. Our boundaries were all muddled, and my mind was too.

I was going to have to learn to be without her soon and I felt the panic of it suddenly, like I had to disentangle myself fast.

“Right, but I really would like your expertise on picking out these flowers for the ceiling.” She emphasized by waving her hand full of dirt above her head. The sun shined down on her in my grass, planting a fucking garden, and I think my stress level went through the roof. Suddenly it was fucking hard to breathe.

“Whatever. Fine. Send it to my email.” I waved her off and tried to hurry inside. And then I made another idiotic decision by calling a brainstorming meeting with staff to discuss final changes to the resort.

When I walked out of the study and saw her, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to fuck her or flee from her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I muttered. “Just fine.”

I was not in fact fucking fine.

I was falling in love with my fake girlfriend.