Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance (Black Tie Billionaires)
Black Ties and White Lies: Chapter 23

A hand plays with the waistband of my PJ pants. I lean into it, trying to turn my body to give the hand more access as I wake up from a deep slumber.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” a recognizable voice says from behind me. I grind my hips against Beck’s obvious erection.

“Touch me,” I plead, trying to line my core up with his fingers. It’s no use, he taunts me, softly running his fingers over the sensitive flesh right above where I want him most. My hips rock back and forth as I desperately seek the friction I need.

“You’ll have to beg for it,” Beck’s deep gravelly voice says against my ear. He bites at the spot behind my ear, sending shivers all the way down my body.

“Beck,” I moan, rocking back and forth so much, frustrated that I don’t feel his fingers against the throbbing spot between my thighs. “Beck, please.”

Cold air hits my entire body, making my eyes fly open. I look around me, realizing that I was dreaming—and the person in my wet dream is staring back at me with a triumphant look on his face.

Beck looks delicious this morning, standing in front of me in a black tuxedo that is tailored perfectly to his body. He wears a black shirt underneath, and he’s paired it with a black tie. All of the black matches the darkness in his eyes.

His smile is so fucking dangerous as he clutches the comforter in his hands, pulling it completely off the bed. “Having a wet dream about me?”

I look down in horror at the pillow between my legs. I think I was gyrating against it, thinking it was Beck and not an inanimate object. What in the actual hell.

“No,” I snap, trying to grab the sheet at my feet and pull it over my body. Beck is too quick for me, snatching it and pulling it as well. “Don’t be so full of yourself.” Looking down, I replace my sleep tank bunched to the side, my boob close to spilling out the armhole. I try to discreetly fix it, all while he stares down at me with the storm of desire in his eyes.

“Mhm,” he says. “Beck,” he mimics, his normal deep tone a few octaves higher than normal, “Beck, please.” His moans are dramatic and nowhere near what I sound like, but god I’m so freaking wound tight that even him mocking me turns me on.

I bury my face in my hands, dying of embarrassment. I need to lock my door if he’s going to keep showing up in here unannounced and replaceing me in mortifying situations. “I never said any of that,” I lie, willing time to go back ten minutes and for him to never have witnessed me having a wet dream about him.

At least, I think that’s a wet dream. I’ve never had one about anyone. I’m pretty dang sure if he hadn’t woken me up, it would’ve gone a lot further too.

“What are you even doing here in the first place?” I accuse, looking at him from across the bed. He stands at the foot of it, both my sheets and comforters in his grasp as his eyes take their time looking me all over.

“I’m waking my assistant up. We’re already late. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Screeching, I look down at my phone. I’d set an alarm. In fact, I’d set seven alarms to make sure I got up before the sun today to get ready for my first day of work. I look at the screen, trying to tap it until it lights up. No matter what I do, it doesn’t light up.

Shit. I must’ve forgot to charge my phone last night when I ran up here after another strange and intoxicating moment with Beck.

I was too horny to think straight, apparently—which resulted in me forgetting to plug my phone in.

‘Fuckity fucking fuck fuck!” I mutter, flying out of the bed toward the massive walk-in closet. It’s huge for a master bedroom, let alone a guest bedroom. I’m not complaining, especially after the brand new wardrobe Beck got me.

Hangers and clothes fly in every direction as I try to replace something to wear. Normally, I’d lay out whatever outfit I want to wear out the night before. This is the one time I didn’t do it because I returned to my room with my head in such a mess.

Finally, I replace a blazer that’ll go perfectly with a pair of high-waisted pants Quincy had picked out just for me. Both of them scream business, and if I want people in the office to take me seriously from the very beginning, this is the perfect way to start.

Aside from the fact that I might make both myself and the boss late for the day.

“Haven’t heard that one before.”

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” I yell, pulling my tank top off and throwing it on the floor. I’ve made a mess of the closet in the minute I’ve been in here, but I don’t have time to clean up. I’ll do it tonight when we get home.

“I tried.” Beck’s voice is closer this time. I look over my shoulder, replaceing him filling the closet entrance.

“A little privacy here?” I yelp, covering my boobs with my hands.

Beck sighs, turning around and leaving the space he just filled. “I knocked countless times. You weren’t waking up, so I had to barge in.”

Weird. I don’t normally sleep that hard.

I strip from my PJ pants and slide each foot into the pant legs and bring them up my thighs, fastening the button above my hips. I’m looking for a blouse to pair underneath the blazer when Beck returns. He squeezes his eyes shut, a lace bra hanging off his pointer finger between us. “Put this on,” he demands. “No one in the office gets to see those perfect pink nipples besides me.”

“So you did see!” I snatch the bra from his grip. It doesn’t take me long to hook it at my back and get it righted on my body.

One eye pops open slightly, looking to see if I’m dressed or not. Apparently he deems me dressed well enough even though I’m only in my bra and pants. He opens both hands and gives me his familiar Beck smirk. “I didn’t see anything on purpose. You should’ve told me you were naked in here.”

“Sure, you didn’t mean to.’

“I have no reason to lie about that, Margo. Either way, no man is seeing those in the office. There are a bunch of horny men I work with, and the last thing I’ll be able to do is work if I’m imagining all of my coworkers fucking my fiancée.”

I slide a white blouse over my head, holding my left hand out between us. “Future fiancée,” I correct, pointing to my bare ring finger. “I have no ring.”

He bites his lip as I push both arms through the sleeves of my blazer. I’m having to get ready faster than I imagined I’d have to for my first day, but at least the new wardrobe gave me plenty of amazing options to quickly choose from.

Now, what torture device of a shoe do I want to wear for the day?

My eyes scan over the shoe shelf, taking in the numerous pairs of red-bottomed shoes I now apparently own.

Even Winnie, with her rich as fuck parents, only has one pair of Louboutin shoes. And those were a twenty-first birthday gift.

“We’ll have to fix the ring problem then, won’t we?” he fires back. If he’s trying to call me on a bluff, it won’t work.

“That’s all on you, Beck. You do the proposing. I want a big, fat diamond on this hand. People wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He runs a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair. I remember how it looked last night, the tendrils still wet after he’d showered and not bothered to gel it after doing whatever he’d done for a majority of the late afternoon. I liked that Beck, but this clean-shaven boss look totally does it for me as well.

“You’re the one that keeps pointing out that this is fake. Is a proposal necessary if it’s just for show?” The way he says just for show makes me wonder how much I wounded his ego by my insistence on keeping things platonic between us. Well, as platonic as two people who want to jump the hell out of each other’s bones can be.

I slide a pair of nude brown heels off the shelf, sliding my foot in each one. The shoes give me a few extra inches, allowing me to look Beck in the eye a little better than before. My hand runs down his black tie, smoothing it out even though it wasn’t necessary at all. I play with the silver clip on it. “The sentiment behind the proposal might be fake”—I begin, risking looking up at him—“but we could still pretend.”

The tension lingering between us is so thick. Part of me wants to replace out if his words were true. If I wanted to kiss him, would he let me? Or would I have to beg for it like he threatened? It’d be so easy to replace out. It’d feel so good, but I think better of it.

No matter how bad I want to sleep with Beckham Sinclair—which is past the point of bad and encroaching on desperation—I know better. He’s the older brother of the man who broke my heart. The much better, hotter, richer version of Carter. I know how easy I’d give my heart over to Beck, and it’s not something I’m willing to do.

Fucking him would probably change my life. Eventually I’d mistake lust for love, and I’ve been in the terrible cycle of heartbreak I’ve been trying to avoid after Carter.

I attempt to step around Beck but he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me against his body. “Ezra is going to drop me off at the office for my meeting and then will return for you. Get ready.” He looks me up and down. I look put together from the neck down, but I definitely have to get makeup on my face and do my hair before anyone in that place can see me. “Make an impression when you show up, Margo. You are the future Mrs. Sinclair after all.”

Beckham Sinclair plays fucking dirty. He leans in, grabbing both of my cheeks and eyeing me with a look that doesn’t seem as simple as lust. Not at all.

And that’s your problem, Margo, I tell myself. You’ll mistake want for something far deeper when it isn’t. It’s a dangerous flaw to have when your heart isn’t as whole as it used to be.

He lays a soft kiss to my forehead before stepping away and leaving the closet.

I’m left watching him, wondering why I just want to allow myself to sleep with him already.

I’m scared he’s right. It’ll happen eventually, and the dark glint in his eyes tell me he’ll make me beg for it. Beckham Sinclair doesn’t like his ego bruised, and I’ve done that by denying him. The best part of it all—or maybe the worst—is I’m extremely turned on by the thought of him making me beg.