His Curvy Fake Wife

Damien Voss slammed the barbell back onto the rack, the loud clang reverberating through his private penthouse gym. Sweat streamed down the hard ridges of his abs and over the thick slabs of muscle on his chest. His veins stood out sharply along his biceps and forearms from the heavy deadlift session. At thirty-two, every inch of his body was carved from brutal daily discipline.

He had no time for women. No interest. His entire life revolved around scaling Voss Security to the next level.

But right now, The Herrington deal forty-seven million dollars, was hanging by a thread. The conservative old-money client only trusted “stable family men” with spotless reputations. Damien’s rival had already started whispering that the CEO of Voss Security was nothing more than a cold, womanizing bachelor who couldn’t commit.

He needed a fake wife, fast. Someone with a completely clean past. No ex-boyfriends. No scandals that could be bought and weaponized.

Damien grabbed his phone, still breathing hard, and dialed his sister.

Elena answered after a few rings. “Brother, you mistakenly called me.”

“No,” Damien said flatly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Ok then, tell me what you want.”

“What makes you so sure that I want something from you?”

Elena laughed. “You would never call me or anyone if you don’t need something particular. Just get to the point.”

Damien wiped sweat from his brow. “I need a fake wife. Courthouse marriage, live together for six months maximum, appear as a happily married couple in public until an important business deal closes. She must have a completely clean past, no ex-boyfriends, no drama, nothing my competitors can exploit. Can you find someone like that?”

There was a short pause. “I am not a woman smuggler, you know.”

“Can you find one or not?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Five million,” he said without hesitation. “Paid the moment the deal is signed.”

Elena hummed. “I’ll call you soon, brother.”

She hung up.

Exactly one hour later, his phone rang again. Damien answered immediately.

“Found one already? You sure you’re not a woman smuggler?”

“It’s five million, brother,” Elena replied, amusement clear in her voice. “Anyway, I already knew one. I just needed to confirm her current status.”

“Very good. Tell me about her.”

“But I’m not sure she is your type. You’re such a muscle freak, you may not even like her.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like her or not,” Damien said coolly, pacing the gym floor. “She’ll be just a fake wife. Nothing more than that.”

Elena sighed. “Her name is Sophie Bennett. Twenty-eight. My college best friend. She’s a freelance graphic designer. Sweet, hardworking, and most importantly, she has never been in any relationship. Not one boyfriend, not even a casual date. She’s been completely focused on her career. Her reputation is spotless. No exes for anyone to dig up.”

“Perfect,” Damien said. “Set up a meeting. Tonight. Your place.”

“Already done. She’ll be there in an hour. But fair warning, she’s not the usual stick-thin type. She’s very curvy. Just so you know.”

“I don’t care what she looks like,” Damien replied, voice flat. “As long as she can play the role and keep her past clean.”

He ended the call, showered quickly, and changed into a fitted black button-down and dark jeans. No spark of interest stirred in him. This was purely transactional. A means to close the deal. Nothing else.

An hour later he stepped into Elena’s sleek apartment. The space smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh coffee. Elena greeted him with a knowing smirk, but before she could speak, the doorbell rang.

Sophie Bennett walked in.

His entire world narrowed to one point.

She wore simple black leggings that clung tightly to thick, plush thighs that rubbed together with every step, and an oversized cream sweater that did little to conceal the lush body beneath. Her full, heavy breasts strained against the soft fabric, rising and falling gently with each breath. A soft, rounded belly curved outward in a gentle, inviting swell, the hem of the sweater riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale, yielding skin. Wide hips flared dramatically into a round, bouncy ass that shifted hypnotically when she turned to hug Elena. Long, wavy rich dark chestnut hair cascaded past her shoulders, a few loose strands brushing the generous swell of her cleavage.

Damien’s mouth went dry. A sudden, violent surge of lust slammed into him so hard his cock thickened instantly against the front of his jeans.

Fuck.

He had never reacted to a woman like this. Not once. Years of disciplined control, zero distractions, and one look at all that warm, abundant, jiggly softness made his blood rush south with shocking intensity. She looked nothing like the polished, gym-sculpted women who occasionally tried to catch his eye. She looked real. Plush. Made for a man’s hands to sink deep into her generous flesh, to grip those wide hips, to feel that soft belly yield against his hard abs, to watch those heavy breasts bounce while he claimed every untouched inch of her.

Elena’s voice cut through the haze. “Sophie, this is my brother Damien. Damien…. meet your future fake wife.”

Sophie turned. Warm brown eyes met his, and a shy smile curved her full lips. A delicate flush spread across her cheeks and traveled down her neck, disappearing between the deep valley of her breasts.

“Hi,” she said softly, a little breathy. “Elena explained the arrangement on the phone.”

Damien forced his gaze up from the way her thick thighs pressed together. His voice came out lower and rougher than intended. “Strictly business. Six months at most. Courthouse marriage in forty-eight hours. You move into my penthouse. We appear as a happily married couple in public until the deal closes. In return, I’ll pay you one million dollars, wired the day the contract is signed, plus all living expenses covered for the entire six months.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. The flush on her cheeks deepened. “One million?” she whispered. “That… that would change everything. I’ve been killing myself on freelance gigs just to pay rent and student loans. With that money I could finally launch my own graphic design studio, proper equipment, a real office instead of my tiny apartment, marketing, hiring help. I could build something that’s actually mine instead of scraping by month after month. I’d be able to create without constantly worrying about survival.”

Damien barely registered her words. His mind was too busy devouring the sight of her, the gentle jiggle of her soft belly when she shifted her weight, the way her heavy breasts moved with each excited breath, the plush curve of her hips that begged to be gripped.

Elena clapped her hands once. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the details. Don’t scare her off, Damien.” She winked and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

The air in the room grew thick.

Sophie tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, the simple motion making her breast shift enticingly under the sweater. “So… we’ll really be legally married? On paper?”

“On paper and in public,” Damien replied, taking one slow step closer. He towered over her, the sweet vanilla scent of her skin wrapping around him. “You’ll wear my ring. Live under my roof. Attend events on my arm looking like the perfect, devoted wife. When we’re alone…” His eyes dropped involuntarily to the soft swell of her belly, then lower. “We keep things strictly professional. No complications. No real feelings.”

Sophie nodded, though her flush had spread down her neck. “Professional. I can do that.”

Damien’s hands flexed at his sides. The iron control he was famous for was already cracking.

Sophie Bennett had never belonged to any man.

In forty-eight hours she would legally be Mrs. Damien Voss.

And Damien Voss was no longer sure he could keep this arrangement fake.