Todos os capítulos de My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage: Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

“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 . . .

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

“What do you think?” he asks. Monica swallows as she watches him stroke himself and admit, “You are really big. I don’t know if you are gonna fit.” Jackson groans and a bead of precum appears. He swipes his thumb through it and offers it to Monica. She opens her mouth and licks his thumb, sucking to get every bit. He hooks his thumb into her mouth, keeping it there as he vows, “I will fit anywhere you want me—this mouth, your sweet pussy, your delectable ass.” Monica nibbles on his thumb, soothing it with a lick of her tongue, and he grinshungrily. Jackson pulls his thumb out, holding her face gently, and then leans down to kiss her. Now, they truly have both their juices on their tongues, and the idea is both dirty and sexy. He strokes himself again, hard and fast. Every few strokes, his tip bumps against her pussy. Monica would not have thought she would be able to come again for days, but the image of him jacking himself off over her is sexy as fuck. She reaches between them, s

Soon, it was their turn to do an onstage rehearsal, a practice walk in street clothes and show heels that gives the models a chance to get the feel for how it will be tomorrow night. At Jeanette’s urging, Monica even took a practice lap, and it’s . . . intense. There was light directly in her eyes no matter how she turns her head, and as she walks, music starts blasting her, which is even moredisorienting. She was damn near walk off the end of the stage. She was not the only one struggling with the runway walk as the other designers try it too. Molly laughs. “This is impossible and I have on boots! How do you do this in heels?” she asks her model. All the models laugh at their difficulties, breaking the tension of the afternoon. The doors at the far end of the room open, and in walks Jacqueline Corbin, Tobias, a man she have not seen before, and Jackson. Monica haven’t seen Jackson in a couple of days, not since he stopped by the workroom to speak to each designer one-on-one on Wedn

Each designer will have their five designs walk, there will be a two-minute break, and then the next designer’s time begins. The small separation will give people a moment to digest, make notes, and prepare for another stylepresentation. As they wait for the show to begin, he listens to the chatter around him. Most of these people are high society by birthright. They were people who have never had to struggle for a meal in their lives. Even the ones who did work their way up, as designers themselves or industry insiders, have forgotten what thattime in their life was like. Jackson was blessed to have never known struggle but also acutely aware that his life could have been so very different, and the seriousness with which these people discuss the latest red carpet fashion is off-putting. Why aren’t they discussing politics or poverty or anything that’s actually important? Jackson loves fashion. It was been the foundation on which he was raised. But there’s got to be more to it. It