Between Love and Loathing: A Fake Dating Romance (Hardy Billionaires)

She screamed my name over and over before whimpering that she didn’t care where we were at this point, she just wanted me to fuck her.

I almost did.

I was that close.

Yet, I’d wanted her all night and that meant we had to go the fuck home.

Plus, I’d seen the way Valentino had looked at her in that meeting, how he’d waited to hear her outside the fucking doors. Knowing she’d hired him to help her had me seeing red all over again.

And she’d also spent over half a million of my money. Not that it was worth shit to me. But the point was I could deliver her punishment better at home. She needed to understand that this was a real relationship, and I was really never going to let her walk all over me.

Fuck. That was a lie.

I would in fact let her do whatever the hell she wanted. Still, reddening her ass was going to give me a sick amount of pleasure.

The ride home was quiet. I don’t know if she was thinking about me eating her out in the resort, like we both knew I shouldn’t have, or if she was thinking about what would happen when we got home.

As we walked through the entrance, she took her shoes off quietly, and her cats weaved their way through our legs before disappearing back into my study. She hadn’t turned around to face me yet, and I was surprised that she actually started to walk to her room without so much as a good night.

Did she think we were done? “Clara, you realize we still need to discuss your purchases and your hiring of an assistant today?”

“I …” She narrowed her eyes, and the angry fire behind her concern and embarrassment of the night ignited. “We already discussed that.”

I shook my head slowly. “No. Go ahead and change, but be back out here in a minute to finish the discussion.” I waved her forward and saw her jaw set before she spun on a heel and stomped to her room. The door slammed not a second later, and then she was gone for a good while.

She took her time, made me wait. More than twenty minutes.

And then she met me in the kitchen with a languid walk of hers wearing a sleep shirt that was deep red. She was basically waving that color in front of a bull. She wanted a fight, and I was about to give her one.

“You’re twenty minutes late,” I pointed out, trying to hold onto my anger. Most people didn’t make me wait.

She shrugged. “If we’re discussing our meeting this afternoon, then tit for tat.”

I hummed. “Does that mean you’re going to pay me back the half a mil you spent today?”

“It’s for the good of your resort.” She lifted her chin like she would never say she was wrong. I enjoyed that about her, how she didn’t cower from me like most would.

“What about for the good of your bakery? You think your bakery deserves it over Valentino’s restaurant.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she folded her elegant little fingers together and clenched them tight enough that I figured she was imagining strangling me. Maybe she’d even try it by the time this conversation was over.

“My bakery is close to the lobby. It needs to make a statement. Plus, my desserts are near perfection, which means the interior of my bakery should be also.”

“Confident tonight, huh?” I sat down and waved her forward. “Bake the best for me then.”

“I …” Her mouth snapped shut. “You know what? Fine.”

She didn’t even hesitate. She pulled ingredients from the cupboards, turned on the convection oven, and was mixing a batter within minutes. I watched her in awe and silence. I loved that here I got to see her without makeup, without the mask of the pushover she pretended to be for everyone. Here she was a masterpiece no one could replicate.

She could have fed me shit that night and I would have enjoyed every single bite of it because she baked with love and the tension in the air filled those cupcakes.

They’d taste like sex to me, I knew it. Mouthwatering, decadent sex. They’d be just as divine as she was.

When she set the timer and slid them in the oven, she finally locked eyes with me. “You know, if we’re going to fight about this floral arrangement, you should know that you can just change it to fit what’s best for you.”

I hummed. I didn’t want her to back down. I didn’t want to see the fire in her eyes dim at all. I wanted to push her to make her see her full potential. She deserved everything she wanted as long as she was proud enough to stand up for it. “Remember that bridge I built? You know they didn’t agree to it at first?”

“Okay.” She dragged out the word.

“I might be your boss, but you’re the artist. The customer doesn’t tell an artist what they want. Nor does a boss. You’re the artist. You’re the expert.”

She pursed her lips and my eyes dipped to them. Something charged both of us in that kitchen right then. Her pushing back, fighting me on my ideas of what was right versus wrong. “So, you’re saying the flowers were my choice?” She scoffed. “You’re obviously angry about it and honestly, I don’t agree. What about when there’s so many requests for something new that you have to bend to the will of who you’re selling to?”

I tsked. “Still your choice when you bend or if you don’t. Either way, we own our choices, and our art. We make the decisions. Not them. Don’t be a pushover when it comes to your art. Own it.”

She shook her head at me. “And what? Just own that you’ll like it when it’s installed?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I own that the floral arrangement is perfect for my bakery, it seems someone”—she pointed to me—“is going to be mad.” As she said it, her gaze trailed up and down my body as I got up to walk toward her. Before I did, I took off my suit jacket and unbuttoned the top of my white shirt before I rolled up my sleeves.

We let silence fill the air before I walked over to her, caged her into the island countertop and said, “You realize that a customer or a boss will always listen to you when you’re confident that you’re right, Clara? That they’ll actually reward you for steering them in the right direction?”

We were so close to one another now that she only had to whisper out, “You can’t possibly think what you’re saying is true. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘the customer is always right?’”

“Of course, little fighter. It’s for those who aren’t willing to work to prove their idea was perfect. Want to test my theory?”

“I want to prove it wrong, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her breath trembled as she exhaled, looking up at me with eyes that were confused but also knowing.

She knew I was going to punish her or fuck her. She probably wasn’t sure which. I wasn’t either. But I wanted to see which way the night would go. I deserved that with her after the day we’d had.

“Good. I’ve missed my fake girlfriend while she took her time coming to talk with me about her frivolous tantrum today. And she’s wearing a sleep shirt that makes me want to feel what’s under it. Care to be my client?”

My little fighter didn’t fight at all. Our bodies were pulled to each other now, no use resisting it. I wanted to fuck her, and I knew she’d let me. Still, she shrugged like she wasn’t that interested and turned to the beeping oven. She’d only made a few cupcakes, and the convection oven cooked them quickly.

She pulled them out and set them in the freezer, then she grabbed the whipped cream and the poppy petals she’d made earlier from the fridge. After a few minutes, she pulled them out and I let her delicately assemble her presentation.

“You be the client first.” She handed me the cupcake. “I’ve updated the recipe. Tell me if they aren’t worthy.”

We stared at each other as I took one bite, and it was like my body surged to life tasting it. My dick hardened, my blood rushed, my taste buds practically sang her praises. She knew she had me. “They’ll fit the bakery,” I confirmed.

“And?” She pushed me to continue.

“And they taste as good as your pussy.” I let the compliment fly. “Happy?”

She smirked and blushed at the same time. “I’ll take that from you.”

“Now, my turn.”

She rolled her eyes like she wasn’t at all interested, but that was fine. I was going to make her beg anyway. She wanted to try to prove that the customer was always right. That wasn’t the case here.

I lifted her onto the island counter and then I glided my hand over her body, up to her neck, to push her back down onto the counter slowly. She went willingly and let me lift her sleep shirt inch by inch. Immediately, I realized she’d left her underwear off and I brushed my hand over her sex. “Look how you listen when I tell you something while I’m playing with your pussy. I should do that more often, it seems. Maybe you won’t fight me as much.”

“Please be quiet,” she ground out, but her hips rocked back and forth over my fingers, her arousal coating me. “Just— I want you, Dominic.”

I knew she did. She’d begged me at the office, and her pussy didn’t forget that so easily. My dick didn’t either, but even still, I took my time as I kissed her smooth stomach, then her ribs, then I focused my efforts on her nipples, biting them just the way she liked.

Her hands were in my hair as she tried to hurry me along, but I was taking my time here. I was proving a point. Maybe to her and maybe to myself. My cock strained against my trousers, but I didn’t undo the belt. I let her pussy soak my fingers instead.

“Dominic, I’m not kidding. Please, I want you.”

“Exactly what do you want now?”

“I want you to fuck me.” She said it fast, but I shook my head slow.

“Wrong. You see, I’m the artist and the expert here, baby.” I knelt down in front of her. “You want to feel what you do to me first, and then you want me to eat that pretty pussy. That’s what you want. And I’m going to show you. Spread your legs.”

She didn’t hesitate, and I realized my house had been imperfect before. Her on my island is what the house needed. She was the missing piece. I had her spread out on my granite counter, every goddamn topping of food I could want scattered around her, and I was going to use it to my advantage.

I took the whipped cream and spread it onto her pussy. She gasped at the sensation, cool sugar coating my favorite fucking dessert. Clara’s pussy was going to taste good tonight. I took a petal from one of the cupcakes and dragged it over her stomach before I licked my way down to it and let it melt in my mouth. When I moaned over her skin, she trembled.

Then, I took my time sucking the whip cream from her clit, savoring the flavor of how she wanted me with the sweetness of the dessert.

“Sweetest dessert I’ll ever have, Clara. I don’t want to eat anything of yours but this pussy.”

I tasted her long after I’d licked her clean. I felt her body clench as she moaned and screamed my name more than once. And even when she thought we were done, when her body tried to relax, I took more from her. “Not done, baby. Far from done. Ride my face, pretty girl.” She whimpered she didn’t know if she could anymore. I smacked the side of her ass. “Oh, you’re going to. Right here, right now.” I pulled her closer to the edge of the counter. “Ride it hard and rough just how you want.”

I winked at her, and her eyes narrowed, but her jaw set as she lowered her pussy onto my mouth. I yanked her even closer as I sucked that clit hard. I was telling her just what she wanted and, God, her body agreed with me.

The next orgasm had her convulsing around me, her back arching as she begged over and over for something she didn’t even know she wanted. When she tried to pull me off, I smacked the side of her ass again. “Have I not taught you? I know what you want better than you know yourself.”

By that point, though, I was drawn to the reddening of her side. I flipped her over and murmured, “How many times should I redden this ass to prove a point and make you see, baby?”

She wiggled against the cool countertop, but she didn’t move. If anything, her ass arched out further. “Make me see what?”

“Make you see that you’re an artist.” I smacked her once and she gasped. “That you need to own what you do.” I smacked that cheek again. “That I believe in it. And that spending any of my money for your vision is not only condoned but necessary. Want to know why?”

She whimpered, “Why?” as I smoothed my hand over her.

“Because you’re mine, and I only claim perfection. Beautiful imperfect perfection.”

I let my hand drift between her thighs and found her arousal dripping down the sides of both of them. “God damn you’re wet, baby. You like when your boss punishes you, don’t you?”

Without a second thought, she breathed out yes over and over.

My finger slid into her without much resistance at all. “Look how you take me. Your pussy loves it. You think it would redden if I smacked it, too, baby? Pink to red, just like your bakery?”

I’d never see it the same now. Not as I delivered two small slaps to her sex and watched it darken as it glistened with her slickness.

She was crying, begging, moaning for me to fuck her. Instead, I thrust another finger in her and commanded, “Come, pretty girl. Show me you liked your punishment.” She screamed my name and my cock strained against my trousers. “Fuck, cupcake. You scream for your fake boyfriend like you want him to be real. Such a damn good girl.”

I started to kneel before her to taste her again, but the vibration on the counter had her tensing before she reached over and tipped the phone to see before she said softly, “Your ex is calling.”

No one was ruining this moment. “Ignore it.”

She shook her head and hopped off the counter so she could pull her sleep shirt back down and take a deep breath, like she was trying to center herself after her orgasm. Then she turned around and hopped back on it so she could look me in the eyes probably to study how I reacted, “No. You said you always ignore her. Answer her instead.”

And then Clara did what I wasn’t expecting. She pressed the green button and answered the call herself. “Hello?”

My eyes widened as she chewed her lip.

“Yes, he’s in his study. Can I ask why you’re calling?”

More silence.

“I’m aware of who you are. Are you aware of who I am?” She asked it nicely enough and there wasn’t fear there. Natya wanted fear and I was proud Clara wouldn’t give it to her.

“Right. Well, now you know it’s serious and the reason you don’t get a hold of him is because he’s quite busy.”

She tipped her head and listened, but her hand went to undo my trousers and then grabbed my cock. She rubbed it up and down. Up and down. And when I shook my head at her, trying to explain this wasn’t the time, she murmured, “An artist knows. I’m just owning it.”

Then she turned the phone back to her. “He’s here. You can definitely talk to him about coming to the reopening.”

As she handed the phone over, I growled at her, narrowing my eyes. “You want to play?”

“Maybe. I want to fight.”