The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  But only with one hand. What’s the other one busying itself with? Pinching her nipples? Rubbing her clit between her legs?

  She answers my unspoken question when I feel some silk fabric wrap around the base of my cock.

  I did not expect some makeshift cock ring out of a six-hundred-dollar silk scarf, but it’s a nice surprise.

  Stella’s lips move over the head of my cock, sucking hard as if she were trying to pull my soul out from inside of me.

  And the way she’s sucking tells me she’s hell-bent on doing just that.

  But then she changes her game and is licking up and down my shaft. I’m also pretty certain that she’s drooling all over my cock, but I can’t be sure.

  All I know is that it feels so damn good that my toes are curling against the floor at the touch of my balls in her palm. She’s fondling and massaging them so good that I nearly forget for a second that she was a virgin up until I took her.

  “Where the hell did you learn to do this?”

  “Natural talent,” she says with far more confidence than I expected.

  She begins sliding the scarf up and down along my shaft. It’s an odd sensation, one that I’m surprised to find that I enjoy...especially when coupled with the way her lips move around the head of my throbbing dick.

  With every suck and lick, I get stiffer in her mouth. Each stroke of my spit-covered cock with the scarf has me moaning in a way I haven’t before.

  Somewhere in this whole damn clusterfuck, I realize...that I don’t want her to leave. That, as crazy as it sounds, I want her to stay.

  And it’s not just because she can suck my cock better than any girl I’ve seen in porn or because she can take my cock and still want more.

  It’s something else.

  I’m hesitant to say it, but I might actually be...fucking in love with Stella.

  This isn’t hyperbole. This is legitimate.

  I. Love. Stella.

  I pull the blindfold from my face and pull her up from her knees. I lift her right into my arms and crash my lips against hers.

  My cock is ready for round two. And I hope to squeeze in a round three before we no longer have the privacy.

  Of course, I could just buy the fucking place if I wanted.

  Now there’s a thought.

  That would likely make Stella permanently wet and horny.

  “Fuck me. I need you inside me,” she begs.

  I find the nearest hard surface, which turns out to be one of the white leather backless couches that dot the store.

  I lay Stella down on her back, and I slide into once more. She’s a tight fit, but it’s like she opens enough just to welcome me in—all of me.

  I thrust my cock into her hard. My hands grip her perky tits, and my thumbs run over her nipples.

  She grips the arm of the couch over her head and moans for more. Her hips move against mine in harmony so that each thrust has me filling her to the hilt.

  I can feel that rise to the peak building, and my own moans of pleasure become guttural growls of untamed, wild lust.

  She tells me, “Give it to me. Fucking fill me.”

  And I do.

  My body stiffens, and I feel as though I’ve stepped out of myself as I force my cock in her as deep as I can. Every spasm sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and my hips instinctively thrust a couple more times to shoot the last of my seed in her.

  I lean down to kiss her, but I stop short as I get lost her in blue eyes.

  “I love you Stella.” Fuck. There, I’ve said it.

  She blinks at me a few times.

  “Really? You...you actually mean that? No joke?”

  I shake my head. “No joke.”

  Then, she kisses me, hard and fast and with reckless abandon. And against my lips, I can feel her mumble the words back.

  “I love you, too.”

  12

  Stella

  The chocolate tart with cherry liquor sauce is totally to die for. I’ve eaten in some impressive restaurants, but this is really something else.

  Maybe I’ve gotten a new perspective, I don’t know. There’s warm glow in me that wasn’t there before. As I take another dainty bite with the charming little silver spoon, I flutter my eyelashes and take a glance at my lover.

  Oh my god. I have a lover now.

  No freaking way.

  He catches my eyes, even though I didn’t want him to. I blush a bit. It’s not the first glance I’ve shot him today, and it probably won’t be the last.

  He answers my blush with a little knowing grin that pulls at his lips until his teeth show but just a bit.

  Well...fuck. Now I’m getting wet right here at the table.

  It’s not just that grin that does it for me either. It’s the way that it lingers on his lips and turns feral—like he’s part-civilized man, part-savage. It’s the way his eyes slide knowingly down my body because he does know me, sometimes better than I know myself.

  It’s those icy blue eyes staring at my dress like he’s tearing it off me. The way he looks at me, I know he wants me naked. Right here, right now.

  Michael might look like the picture of class, but I can tell he sees my naked body in his mind’s eye.

  What’s worse is that I’m thinking the same thing about him.

  How is he not getting hard right now? Maybe he’s more experienced than me. Or maybe he still retains some modicum of self-control.

  But then, he licks the spoon of his affogato with more skill than necessary. I almost jump to the ceiling when I feel him touch my hand.

  Michael’s eyes light up, and he laughs. “Something bothering you, honey?”

  “Not at all,” I say with a strained smile, the taste of sweet cherry sauce still on my tongue.

  But even as I say it, I know my cheeks are flaming.

  I squirm just a bit, trying to relieve the pressure between my legs, but it only makes it worse. I never even knew I had a clit before I met this guy, and now the damn thing won’t behave! How do other women deal with this?

  Then I realize: maybe they don’t. Maybe this is just what being with Michael is like. Feeling insatiably horny and nothing else.

  I take a little glance around, and I see it firsthand. Other women aren’t dealing with this because they aren’t being ravished by a sex god with a massive dick and a brain to match.

  I was expecting a hard cock for sure, but I honestly didn’t think hard cocks went with the kind of fierce, cold control a doctor has.

  I can almost imagine it: the things he’s going to do to me when we get home. The way he stares into my eyes as he slides into me, telling me I can’t move yet, I can’t look away—

  “Stella,” Michael calls. “Where are you right now? Look at me.”

  I clear my throat a little and look up brightly. I know my grin is just a bit naughty. It can’t be helped.

  “I’m just thinking about you.”

  I wouldn’t have believed his grin could turn me on even more, but now he’s rubbing my hand slowly with his thumb, too. Shit, what is this doing to my brand new dress and designer panties? Next time the waiter pops by, I’ll ask for a bucket of ice.

  ‘Champagne, madam?’ he’ll enquire, and I’ll say, ‘No my good sir, it’s for my crotch.’

  “So, did you want to hit the theatre for a late show? I know we’ve done a lot today, but I think I’m starting to like spoiling you.” Michael dips his spoon in the creamy sauce and chases a bit of ice cream around the bottom of the dish. “It’d be even more fun if you weren’t spoiled rotten already, of course…”

  I squeeze his hand back firmly and smile. “You like me spoiled rotten.”

  I put everything I’m feeling right now into this smile. When we fucked this morning, I was a stunned virgin. Next time, I’m going to rock his fucking world.

  As it turns out, you don’t need experience—I’ve seen all the celebrity sex tapes. It’s not about the moves.

  It’s about owning yourself and your desires. I
t’s about being greedy, hungry, and doing anything your body tells you.

  That’s what I liked about it, I think. I’ve never felt so free.

  Last time, he fucked me. This time, I’m going to fuck him. I’m going to climb on top of that massive man stick, and I’m going to ride him home just like my old show pony, Monty.

  I’ve got the thighs for riding this man, and if I don’t exactly know how to use them yet, I’ll figure it out soon enough.

  “No,” I say, deciding on the spot. “I don’t want to see a show.”

  “No? Not a theatre girl?”

  “I want to go home and rip you out of those clothes.”

  His grin is even more feral now, and I know he’s thinking about what he wants to do to me. My own smile jumps up a notch, thinking about how I’m going to surprise him.

  Look at us—the two of us sitting here at dinner, grinning at each other like horny idiots.

  “I’ll pay the bill,” he says eagerly.

  He even gets up and heads for the maître de. And yeah, there’s a nice bulge in his pants while he does it. I’m totally into it, too.

  But gawking at Michael turns out to have its setbacks, too.

  As my gaze tracks him across the room, I see a young woman pulling an adorable little newborn from a designer pram. This is an upscale place to bring an infant, but seriously, when you’re loaded, people don’t give a fuck.

  The woman cuddles the baby close and talks to it gently. It’s really sweet…until I start thinking about it too much.

  Michael didn’t use a condom. I could be pregnant right now.

  I’ve never thought about having kids. Ever. I don’t know what to think.

  I know I feel, somehow, even more turned on by the idea that he has left something of himself inside me. It’s kind of cool, in a way. If I’m pregnant, then we’re forever connected.

  Except that if this relationship moves any faster, we’re going to start breaking speed limits. I don’t even know that we’re in a relationship yet—and here I am, already eyeing up designer baby labels.

  I feel Michael’s hand on my shoulder, and I look up at him. I get up, and he slides an arm around my waist, trailing his fingertips over my hip.

  “Watch it,” I whisper, even though I love his touch. “We should get out of here before we rip each other’s clothes off.”

  Michael is perfectly composed, nodding, smiling, and waving to people he must know there on the way out.

  But as he leads me out the door, he leans in and whispers, “I’m not going to rip them off you this time.”

  “No? Not the ripping type?”

  “This time, I’m going to strip you slowly. One piece at a time. And I’m going to enjoy every single inch of that gorgeous skin while I do it.”

  We step out on to the street, and Michael’s face darkens.

  “Car should be here already,” he says with a frown.

  The car isn’t here, and it’s raining.

  Gross.

  He steps over to me, cradles my cheek with his big warm hand.

  “What’s wrong, princess? Don’t like getting wet?”

  Before I can answer, he leans in and gives me one deep, amazing kiss that I can feel from my lips all the way to my pussy.

  The horn toots behind us, and we dash to the car, sliding in across the smooth seats. I wipe my face instinctively and a smear of white, black and red comes off.

  “Oh, no!” I exclaim before I can think, “My makeup!”

  I’ve never been without makeup before. My heart is hammering. It’s like being naked on the street.

  Michael gently takes my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face.

  “Let me see.”

  Lip trembling, desperately wanting to cover my face, I look up. I know I must look like a mess. Smeared makeup, dripping hair.

  He just looks at me, icy blue eyes flashing, as we pass beneath street lights and signs. He rubs my lower lip with his thumb.

  “You’re prissy, Stella. And you really are spoiled rotten,” he says, looking at me intently. “But I think you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right fucking now.”

  He leans in and presses his hot lips on mine. It’s more than sensual. My heart is opening for him…and so are my legs.

  This could be an interesting ride.

  13

  Michael

  The first time I hear the buzzing, I don’t know what the fuck it is.

  But I catch on quick. That’s what I do, after all.

  Phone. My fucking phone is ringing. It’s not even light out yet.

  I carefully ease my arm out from around Stella and check the screen.

  Emergency. Now.

  If I don’t call back in few minutes they’ll just keep calling. I sit on the edge of the bed and look at what I’m leaving behind.

  I know beautiful women. I’ve had them every which way before. But right now, looking at Stella, I can feel a deep rising heat in my cock, and it’s not like it used to be.

  With her, I get harder than I thought was possible. She’s so damn ballsy but somehow also sweet and demure at the same time.

  She’s fire. She’s ice. She’s everything.

  It’s a contradiction that’s getting me so fucking twisted I can hardly bring myself to leave her.

  When she started off with talking back to me, all I wanted to do was fuck that attitude right out of her.

  Now...I’ve seen her gasp as I come inside her. I’ve seen her writhe like a cat and beg me for more.

  I wanted a virgin, it’s true. But I didn’t know how it would affect me, seeing a woman come into her desire.

  I have to turn my eyes away or else I just won’t leave.

  Someone at the hospital is dying. They wouldn’t be calling me at—fuck—three in the fucking morning otherwise.

  I chose my life, and I can’t abandon it now.

  I hurry to the bathroom and throw on some decent clothes that are still comfortable. I want to rush right out the door, but, instead, I stop and look at Stella again.

  Her naked body under the sheet is mesmerizing. She breathes softly and turns to her side.

  It’s a good thing she sleeps like a log. She won’t have to be woken up by my phone five times a night. If she stays, anyway.

  I haven’t forgotten about the plane I’m supposed to put her on in a few weeks.

  I realize I can’t just walk out. It comes as a surprise to me, but I don’t want her to be sad or wonder where I am.

  I jog to the kitchen and write a quick note. Sorry, Stella. Work calls. Be home soon.

  It fucking bothers me that I have to do this. Love and leave. It reminds me of the same thing it always does: I’m too much for the women I’ve known.

  Sexual appetite too strong. Too intense and driven. Passion can be frightening.

  Not to mention the massive cock.

  It’s left more than a few ladies begging me to do it just a bit slower and to ‘Grab the lube while you’re at it.’

  I think about the way Stella can take me, and it makes me smile. Good memories.

  There are terrible ones, too. Those same women telling me all I want to do is fuck and argue.

  I say, ‘So let’s fuck then’ and they say they can’t, they’ve had enough.

  They need time.

  Or for me to find a woman with the sexual appetite to match mine.

  I had wanted to tease and flirt and pull them into something passionate and compelling, but they just wanted to talk about what happened on Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

  So, I find a woman that can handle that and tell her what exactly? I’m only going to be around when the living and the dead will let me? That I could miss the birth of my child or our anniversary dinner because I’m at the hospital?

  And now I have found her. I’ve found a woman who can stand up to me, bite back, and bare her teeth at me.

  One who can fuck like a goddess every day and then some. One who has an opinion on everything an
d who has the prettiest fucking mouth with which to tell me every last one of those opinions.

  How can I ask her to just demurely wait around for me?

  And that’s the problem. I want to her to wait for me.

  But I can’t ask her to do it.

  Right now, the note will have to be enough.

  In the car, I call the hospital back and find out it’s a pile up. Casualties are flooding the ER.

  I curse softly as I take in the details. My driver knows this is not the time to worry about tickets. He flies through every intersection.

  When we arrive at the hospital, I don’t even wait for the car to stop moving before I leap out.

  “Dr. Kirkwood!” a nurse calls out near the door. She’s got a cap and gloves ready and waiting for me.

  I tear into the department. Stretchers are everywhere, with moaning people on them. Most are covered in blood.

  I head for the quietest gurneys—the most injured. I push through the people, finally coming on a stretcher at the very back of the room.

  There’s a little girl on it. Two scratched-up and bloodstained people—the parents?—stand sobbing nearby.

  “Why is no one treating this patient?” I bark at the nearest doctor.

  The ER head looks up and shifts towards me a little but doesn’t leave his patient.

  “She’s going to coma ward, Dr. Kirkwood,” he says in a patronizing tone.

  I don’t even know this one’s name yet, and I don’t give a fuck.

  “Why?” I ask, trying to hold in my rage as I pull back the child’s eyelids and take her base readings.

  She’s beautiful. Maybe six years old. Very pale and splattered with blood.

  Light blonde hair and fine features. Could be Stella’s little sister.

  Or her daughter.

  Our daughter.

  I shake the idea from my head.

  “Her brain activity is down, and she’s not improving. We had to put her on a monitor. Coma ward is the best place for her.”

  I lift the sheet and expose her side, which is still covered in blood-soaked fabric from whatever she was wearing in the crash. It’s not a pretty sight, but I’ve seen worse.