The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  Enough is enough.

  I’m standing there, lathered hair, soapy skin, and frankly, I’m wet in more ways than one, when it finally dawns on me.

  I can’t fight this.

  I really don’t want to fight this.

  It doesn’t even matter anymore that he’s an asshole. I don’t care how he talks to me or how arrogant he is.

  I absolutely need to fuck this man.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think straight again if I don’t. Obviously, I can’t spend the rest of my life dreaming about his cock.

  I set out that night in Russia fully intending to lose my v-card.

  Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  I rinse off, completely certain what my next move is.

  I’m going to fuck Michael.

  9

  Michael

  I’ve taken her to Sunset, a high-end fashion outlet about an hour from my house. Here, you can find all the top haute couture brands.

  It’s the right choice, if the excitement on her face is any indication. She’s glowing like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to squeeze his fat, jolly ass down the chimney. Instead of presents though, she’s got her eyes on my fucking credit card.

  Doesn’t matter. No matter how much she spends, it won’t even put a fucking crease in my bank account. I’ll just make more.

  That’s what I do.

  She’s bouncing around, and my eyes keep drifting to her perky tits. She couldn’t very well wear my doctor’s coat to the mall, without drawing some curious stares. Especially not here in snob central.

  She’d end up getting blacklisted for her poor fashion sense.

  Instead, she’s donning one of my blue Battistoni dress shirts. It’s tied together like a dress with a brown leather belt looped around her tiny waist, twice. The poor fucking shirt.

  Not that I mind lending women my shirts after a night of passion, but let’s be real. This is the first time one has ever become a fucking dress.

  It’s kind of hot. No, strike that. It’s very hot.

  She’s got the top three buttons undone, giving me a clear view. Couple that with its short length that stops mid-fucking-thigh, and it’s stirring desire deep within me. Almost makes me want to drag her into a changing room and make her mine.

  After last night, and the way she sucked my cock dry, it’s only a matter of time. I ain’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. It fits, so she stays.

  “Givenchy, Versace, Chanel! Helloooo my babies!”

  Her voice is shrill as she grabs the racks and spins them. So much for not drawing curious stares. I look in her direction, and she’s got the fabric of a sexy black dress in her hands, rubbing it on her face.

  “Hey, cut it out,” I snarl in a whisper. “Be normal, for fuck’s sake. They’re only clothes.”

  “Normal? I am being normal! What’s wrong with admiring a one-of-a-kind dress?”

  Her stare is challenging. I can tell she’s just itching for a fight.

  “Right, that’s why everyone’s staring at you right now.”

  “So tell them to get out!”

  “Get out? It’s a fucking public shop!”

  “And? They’re throwing off the damn vibe.”

  The vibe? What the fuck is this chick on about?

  I’m temporarily stunned into silence.

  That doesn’t happen often. But it’s not often that I encounter Cinde-fucking-rella either. Instead of her glass slipper, she’s lost her fucking mind.

  “I can’t possibly shop with all these people around. I need concentration. I need to be one with the clothes.”

  “You need a fucking psychiatrist is what you need.”

  At this point I’m done. I’m ready to walk out the fucking store and leave her there.

  “Aren’t you a doctor?”

  She smirks and jabs me in the chest.

  “I’m a fucking surgeon.”

  Christ, this is becoming a mega fucking headache. This is what I get for being nice.

  I stalk over the register and ask for a manager.

  Fuck this. She wants the store shut down? I’ll get it shut down.

  “How much would it cost to have the store shut down for a few hours so we can have it to ourselves?”

  “Well, it’s not impossible, but we typically require advance notice,” the manager states matter-of-factly.

  “Do you know who I am?” Stella comes walking over with that sashaying walk and entitled tone of voice.

  “Take the silver spoon out of your goddamned mouth for once, Stella. I got this.”

  The manager’s mouth drops open. “Stella Hensley?”

  Apparently she really is something of a popular model. Who knew?

  Just like that, we work out the details, and I pay out the ass to get the store closed down for her.

  “You have two hours, Miss Hensley. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  Like she fucking would. She’s already trying to lead me around by the nose. I’m not fucking having it.

  “Great, shop. I’ll be back later.”

  I head to the entrance.

  “Wait, you’re leaving?!”

  “You wanted everyone else out, right? That includes me. Wouldn’t want to interfere with the vibe.”

  “Wait!”

  She grabs my arm.

  “You can’t leave. Who’s going to tell me how fucking amazing the clothes look on me?”

  “Apparently, you’ve forgotten what a mirror is. Look into one and repeat after me: I look fucking amazing. See? Done.”

  “No. No way. You’re sticking here with me. It’s your fault that I’m in this fucking situation to begin with. Or, have you already forgotten about that, Dr. Pervert?”

  Fine, I relent. I’ll stay, but I won’t enjoy it.

  She takes a few dresses into the dressing room and parades them one by one in front of me. In any other situation, I’d be more than happy to give my lady heaps of compliments. Shower them in affection.

  Today, though? Fuck that. She’s not getting one fucking compliment out of me.

  I pull out my phone and start scrolling through the news sites. Anything’s better than playing dress-up over here with the spoiled princess.

  “What about this one, darling?”

  She does a three-sixty spin in a red dress with a slit up the side.

  Playing cute ain’t gonna work now.

  “Mm.” I don’t even look up from my phone. Then I add for good measure, “Yep.”

  “Hmmph!”

  She disappears back into the dressing room. She does this a few times, but I give her the same response.

  “I don’t fucking care, just pick out whatever fits your vibe and let’s go.”

  She’s not satisfied with that, though.

  Instead, she comes over, grabs my phone and hides it behind her back.

  I try to grab it back, only to finally see the sexy black lace number she’s wearing.

  Oh, fuck. It’s snug and hugs her every curve. My eyes wander from her tits to the sexy hourglass shape of her waist and down to her toned thighs.

  “Like what you see?” she drawls in a mock southern accent.

  I reach around her waist and pull her up against me, and suddenly my phone is the last thing on my mind.

  I grind my pelvis against hers and say, “You tell me.”

  10

  Stella

  He’s staring down at me, breathing hard with what I can only assume is a mix of rage and lust. His chest rises and falls quickly with each heaving lungful of air.

  I might’ve gone a little too far this time.

  I wonder if he’ll strangle me or just give me a good spanking. Inside, I’m really hoping for the latter. Okay, maybe a little of the former, too.

  God, he’s sexy when he’s mad.

  He lunges for me, his hands grasping the collar of my dress. It’s by far the most gorgeous in the whole shop. The softest black lace I’ve ever felt.<
br />
  Before I can wonder what he’s about to do, I hear the fabric begin to tear.

  In shock, I watch as the one-of-a-kind garment falls to the floor, utterly destroyed.

  I’m stunned, I’m appalled…

  I’m sopping wet.

  Even as a part of me mourns the loss of the one-of-a-kind gown, I’m closing the gap between us. Pressing myself, now once again naked, firmly against him.

  Really, when it comes to Michael, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

  I push myself up, claiming his mouth with my own.

  In some far-removed way, I recognize that this is exactly what I’m trying to do. Claim him. Make him my own.

  I’m not sure how or when I got here, but I’m finally able to recognize where I am.

  I want this man in more ways than one.

  He returns my kiss passionately. I can still feel the anger burning through him.

  Good.

  His cock is rock-hard and pressed firmly against me.

  Even knowing my own effect on him drives me crazy.

  I reach down, grabbing him forcefully, hearing him moan in response. I begin to massage him through his pants, feeling him grow even harder at my touch.

  I don’t need an invitation this time. I eagerly fall to my knees.

  In a frantic rush, I unzip his pants, impatiently freeing his massive cock.

  I’m still amazed by the sight of him. My mouth drops open in shock all over again.

  Which is fine because he’s there to fill it.

  Inch after inch, I take him between my lips, moaning at the familiar sensation.

  Above me, he moans along. I honestly can’t tell which of us is enjoying this more. I pull him free of my mouth, taking the time to lick the length of him, to flick my tongue over the tip of his dick.

  Then, I grasp him firmly in one hand before continuing. I slide him back into my mouth, this time using my hand in unison with my movements. I can feel him starting to tense up; the sound of his moaning tells me he’s getting close.

  I wait until the last possible moment to pull him from my mouth, his cock dripping pre-come. It lands on my chest and slides between my tits.

  He yanks me from my knees in one swift movement, hauling me up to his level.

  My legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he carries me towards the counter.

  Once there, he lays me flat on my back, my ass half-hanging off the edge. He bends down, kissing me hard on the mouth before beginning to travel lower. I feel his lips everywhere.

  My collarbone, my nipples, my stomach.

  When he reaches my hip bones, I begin to feel his teeth. Gentle at first, but he’s soon biting me with a ferocity that makes me cry out.

  Before meeting him, I thought pain and pleasure were two very different things.

  Now, I can barely decipher one from the other.

  He lowers himself to his knees, grabbing me around each leg to spread me further apart. I gasp when his tongue finds me, rubbing fiercely against my clit. I raise my hips towards him, matching his movements with my own, desperate for more.

  I reach for his head, pulling his face tighter against me.

  It occurs to me that a man could suffocate this way.

  Meh, there’s worse ways to go.

  I pull him against me even tighter. I feel him groan against me. The act sends vibrations deep into my core.

  That’s all it takes.

  I come hard, hips thrusting, hands clinging wildly to his head. When my orgasm passes, I collapse backward, breathing heavily.

  God. After that, I could definitely use a nap.

  Then, I’m being lifted, and I cling to his waist with my thighs. He carries me to the nearest dressing room.

  As soon as my feet are back on solid ground, I reach for him, grasping enthusiastically at his remaining clothes. Those that I can, I tear from his thick, muscular form. The rest, I yank and slide away until he’s finally free.

  He stands naked before me, fully erect. A smile now replaces his scowl.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  My smile ought to be answer enough.

  I turn from him, fully facing the dressing room mirror, and bend over until my hands rest firmly on the bench.

  “Holy fuck, yes,” I say, just in case he’s still wondering.

  I watch his reflection in the mirror as he closes what little distance remains between us, the enormous weight of his own cock held firmly in one hand.

  He meets my eyes in the mirror, his smile matching my own. Then, I feel him.

  My hands tighten on the bench as his gargantuan cock begins to slide into me. Inch by throbbing inch.

  I cry out louder than ever, pain and pleasure once again mixing inside of me until I can’t tell one from the other. And he isn’t done yet.

  I feel him press further. I hear him groaning behind me. I look to the mirror, meeting his eyes the moment he’s fully inside of me.

  His expression is of both shock and amazement. I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Then, he starts to move.

  All trace of laughter dies in my throat, replaced immediately with a moan so intense, it surprises even me.

  HOLY FUCK.

  I’ve imagined this moment since the first time I laid eyes on him. Fantasized. Wished.

  I’ve fucking longed for this.

  But nothing—and I mean nothing—could’ve prepared me for the way it feels now that it’s real.

  My entire body feels like one big, throbbing, ultra-sensitive nerve. Each powerful thrust sends waves of euphoria rushing through me.

  Words die in my throat, and thoughts shrivel up and turn to dust in my brain.

  In this moment, there’s nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but him.

  Sounds I can’t begin to describe rush from my mouth, primal and dark. I watch the mirror in fascination. Part of me feels like I’m existing outside of my body right now.

  Another part of me feels more in-tune with my physical form than I’ve ever been.

  My tits bounce in time with his movements, and he reaches around to grasp one firmly in his large hand. I see him watching, too, and the thought of him seeing me this way adds another level to my already indescribable pleasure.

  I come again. And again. Each orgasm is more intense than the one before.

  My legs shake. He makes my fucking head spin. Still, I can’t get enough of him.

  As I feel his speed increase, my entire body tenses around him. I can feel him getting close. I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want him to come inside of me.

  He releases my breast and reaches up to grasp me by the hair instead.

  Pulling back, he turns my face so that I meet his eyes dead on, no longer seeing him through the glass of the mirror.

  I watch in fascination as he comes, my own orgasm rising up to meet his.

  Together, we scream, grinding ourselves hard against each other.

  He thrusts even deeper into me, once, twice, three times, before his movements still.

  We stand that way, still locked together, for what seems like ages, our breathing the only sound.

  “Fuck!” I finally choke out.

  I feel him laugh against my neck.

  “You know,” I say, “you’re gonna have to pay for that dress.”

  11

  Michael

  Pay for the dress? Who cares about that fucking dress?

  Only thing on my mind when I tore it off her was how damn amazing Stella would feel. Now, I’m still reeling from the way she was able to take every last bit of me as if it wasn’t a big deal at all.

  I’m starting to think that whole fucking mail-order thing wasn’t as big of a scam as it seemed. Never before has there been a woman who could do what she did.

  Fuck, I might actually be in love.

  “Do you really think I give a damn about one of your fancy outfits?” I growl.

  “Excuse you. That was Gucci I’ll have you know.”
r />   I don’t think I could give any less of a fuck.

  And I’m hoping that she doesn’t ruin this fucking moment with the ‘Return of the Brat’.

  I grab the red number she wore earlier from the hanger and hold it up at her. “And this?”

  “Versace.” She gives me a look as if I should know.

  I rip the dress like it was made of paper and watch her eyes widen in surprise. For a moment, I think she might shed a tear over the dress as if it was some lifelong friend. To my surprise, she ends up smiling and laughing instead.

  Maybe there’s hope for her yet.

  “You know, we still have this place to ourselves for a bit longer. Be a shame not to take advantage of it,” she says, twirling a lock of her pretty blonde hair around an elegant finger.

  Well, holy fucking shit.

  Not only can she take me—all of me—but she wants more.

  She’s like a fucking godsend—if a godsend costs a million dollars anyway.

  But despite her beauty queen attitude and designer dress fetish, she’s worth every fucking penny. And then some. Easily the best million dollars I ever spent.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes as she drags me out to the store. I let her lead me, if only because I’m curious to see what it is that she’s thinking.

  She takes me to a rack of scarves and throws one at me. It looks and feels expensive, just like everything else in the store, but, again, I say and do nothing out of curiosity.

  “Put it over your eyes.”

  I laugh at her.

  She pouts and bats her eyelashes at me.

  Fuck it. Not like she’s going to run off on me or something...

  I tie the silk floral around my eyes.

  Her palms and nails slide down my body. Feeling her touch me, while I’m effectively blind makes it all more visceral than before.

  I don’t know if it’s because I’m blindfolded or if I’m still incredibly fucking horny.

  Likely a mix of both. Not that it matters.

  What does matter is how much I want that blonde goddess before me.

  Her hands reach the base of my cock, and she gives it a squeeze that makes me groan. Then, she starts stroking me.