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My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 98 A mission for Monica
As Yori glances up. “It doesn’t fit the theme, but I like it.” Monica can see her point. Though it is floral, it was black and gray and would be more suitable for a winter design, or springtime for Goths. “Maybe work with it and play around. If the result is not what you want, you can always cut it out of the final show. You have got to respect your muse, though. Sometimes, she knows more than you do.” “Arigato,” she says, her eyes still locked on the fabric. Monica settles in at her worktable and begins pulling together fabrics for the designs she has worked on last night. At some point, Katarina and Beatrice comes in. Together, but working on their own projects, they make magic happen. They chat about fashion and their families while they work. At some point, when Molly starts growling at a particularly ornery sewing machine, they even have a dance party to break the stress. As bass beats fill the space, they make their own circle, cheering each other on through moves that are more s
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 99 Mouthful of desires
Monica goes downstairs to wait for Jackson. In the courtyard, it occurs to her . . . how does he know where her apartment is? But House Corbin is providing the space, so of course he could find out. Checking her details from their files is a little sketchy, though. Back home, that would be worthy of an HR grievance for sure.The gate opens, and Monica's heart, gut, and ovaries all do simultaneous triple.backflips worthy of an Olympic medal as Jackson steps through, looking like a movie star knockout. The breeze carries to Monica a soft scent of cologne and manliness, a heady, almost feral waft that has her mouth watering even as her eyes feast on his simple attire of a white dress shirt and black slacks. His hair was brushed to the side and he also looks freshly shaven. Not that Julien was any uglier than him. But he failed to be the one for Monica. Elegant is not usually a word associated with men, but Monica can’t think of a better way to describe Jackson right now. He stalks towar
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 100 For both of them
Jackson knows that his city is beautiful, all of her uglier sides hidden by the cloak of darkness and the dazzle of her lights, but seeing it through Monica’s eyes makes him fall in love with his city all over again. Like he never loved anyone before. The need to love her is anything to go by. He turns on music, finding a song every French person knows, La Vie En Rose. “I know this,” Monica says in delight. “It’s the perfect soundtrack for this.” Jackson turns a corner and in front of them stands the Eiffel Tower, lit up in her golden glow. Monica gasps. “Oh, my God. It’s beautiful.” “Millions of people come to see her each year because of her beauty, but tonight, her beauty pales to yours.” “Wow,” she says breathily, her eyes falling to his. He can see the reflection of the Tower’s lights in their depths, and the moment feels heavy with possibility. A car horn honks behind them, and he have to focus on the roadway once again, but he doesn't forget the look in her eyes. As they drive
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 101 A modest evening
Their waiter returns with the first course, and their conversation pauses as the first white wines are poured. When they were alone, Monica seems more in control of herself. “What about you? Is your aunt proud of her internationally famous fashion model nephew?” Jackson dodged the question, which hit too close to home. “I would not say internationally famous. I’m just a minor celebrity within France, especially Paris. Here, I am recognized, but Aunt Jacqueline has done her damnedest to keep me humble because abroad, I'm like any other man.” Monica snorts. “I think you actually believe that, but you are nothing like other men I have known.” “How so?” “We can start with your six-pack and work our way from there if you really need an ego stroking,” she offers. “Six. Pack?” Jackson repeats, his brow furrowed as he searches his mind for the word. Monica pats her belly, tapping in six places. “Six pack, abs, bump-de-bumps, man muffins.” Jackson figured out what she was referring to, but he
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 102 A night to remember
“All of Paris is not lights and beauty. Like many cities, there is ugliness and sadness as well,” Jackson tells her quietly. “That wss a shanty development, with makeshift homes for dozens of people. They are somewhat fortunate, not alone on the streets like many, but it’s a very small improvement.” Melancholy washes over her face. “There are lots of unhoused people in New York too. I see them on the streets, sleeping in alleys, begging for food, desperate for help. There are organizations that try—soup kitchens, mobile shower units, placement assistance—but there are so many people.” “Paris is better than some, and there are many volunteer groups here as well. But still,” Jackson whispers, his voice cracking, “people die on the streets every year. Some say it’s because of migrant camps and ‘outsiders’. But it’s not true. That’s only one piece of the problem. The costs of living are rising faster than wages, and people with good jobs are being forced out on the street. Families . . .
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 103 a big step
“Well, this is Xerxes, my littlest friend and the biggest reason my apartment is never clean. Xerxes, this is Monica, who is very beautiful. So be nice.” “He’s um . . . friendly. Cute.” “He thinks he’s an emperor,” Jackson explains with a chuckle, “and I’m the sole inhabitant of his empire. He does have a bit of a temper, but he will warm up to you.” Jackson puts Xerxes down, who gives Monica a wary look as he walks around her, giving her a wide berth as though afraid she was going to punt him across the room again. “I’m sorry, Xerxes. I hope you can forgive me?” He sniffs and walks on, his nose in the air and booty wiggling left and right. Jackson picks up a folder from the kitchen counter. “Would you like to see the proofs from the shoot?” “That sounds good.” They both sits on the couch as he spreads the 8x10s out across the coffee table. No matter what she look at, her eyes returns to Jackson, his strength and potency leaping from the photos. Regardless of the outfit, regardless o
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 104 Melting into each other
Jackson's pupils get larger to Monica's trust, nearly obliterating the warm brown of his irises. He picks up the tie from his lap and tells Monica, “Hold still.” It takes her a split second to realise what he was going to do, but as hecovers her eyes with the silk fabric and ties it behind her head, she doesn't feel any concerns. She feels excited. Monica's other senses were sharpened. She can hear her heart racing in time with the music. She can smell the champagne and Jackson’s cologne. She can feel the leather of the couch. Jackson leans in. Monica can’t see him, butshe can feel his closeness, and then his lips pressing to her. She kisses him back, but he keeps the slow pace, reconnecting both of them physically and giving her time to adjust to the onslaught of sensations. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in tighter, and only then does he deepens the kiss. His hand cups her jaw, guiding her to lift her chin, and he lays a line of kisses toward her ear. “I can’t wait
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 105 Responsiveness
Later, Monica might be ashamed by how easily she come, but right now, all she knows is pleasure, and already on edge, she bucks into his mouth. Jackson fastens his lips around her clit and sucks hard, his tongue fluttering at the same time. It was more than she can handle. “Fuck, fuck . . .” With her eyes already closed, Monica squeezes them tighter and see firework-likesparkles against the blackness as her body spasms. “Yes,” he groans against her pussy, “so responsive.” That is not something a man has ever said to her, not even Julien especially not in bed. He was always so busy and tired that they both had those csrdios like two days a week. Or on a couch, as the case may be. It feels like he was praising her for coming when he was the one who got her there in record time. “I have never . . . not that fast.” He presses a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, and Monica realises her honey must be coating his lips. The thought is sexy, and she wants to taste herself on his lips. “Kiss me
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My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage Epilogue
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 173 Altar to his future
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 172 prayers
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 171 Dreams and dreams
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 170 Across the knowledge
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 169 love bites to moon
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 168 A life of assurance
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 167 Pure truth
My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage 166 Love is so cruel
