The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  I start to thrust a little faster, and that’s it—I blow hard, the tightness and throbbing of my cock triggering yet another orgasm for Stella.

  I stay still for just a moment as she begins to relax, knowing that if I pull out too fast, it will hurt.

  Instead, I gently slide away and lie down beside her. I wrap one arm around her and pull her against my chest, breathing into her hair.

  “I love you, Stella,” I whisper, overcome.

  “I love you, too, Michael,” she whispers, but she sounds sad.

  “I gotta tell you something, baby,” I say now. She tries to speak, but I talk over her. “No, no, you gotta let me say this. Stella. I love you. I want you to marry me. I don’t want you to sit in my apartment and wait for me; I want to share my whole world with you. I want you with me at all times…what do you think? You up for it?”

  She sits up, and it looks like she’s crying.

  Shit! What did I do?

  I sit up, too, trying to turn her towards me. She pushes me off, crying, but doesn’t pull away.

  “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” I’ve never been in so much pain all my life.

  She turns to me. “Michael. I think I might be pregnant.”

  For a moment, I can’t speak. I look at this beautiful woman. The smell of her is all over me. She is delicate and strong and smart and a total badass.

  And she’s going to be the mother of my child.

  “Stella…babe. Marry me, then. Make an honest man out of me. I’ll take care of you…Christ, you’re gonna look so fucking good carrying my child.”

  She wipes away her tears. “You’re not mad? I thought a baby would get in the way of your career.”

  I grasp her shoulders lightly, looking deep into her eyes. “Babe, a minute ago I couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than just you. Now you say you’re having my baby…” I shake my head, emotion catching in my throat. “Marry me, you sassy bitch. Be my wife, and let’s raise a whole troop of super smart, genius, awesome gorgeous kids.”

  Laughing, Stella throws her arms around my neck.

  “Yes, Michael! Of course, yes!”

  I feel like it’s the first time she hasn’t fucking fought me on something since she tumbled out of that box and grabbed me by the nuts.

  Somehow, I doubt I’ll have to get used to it.

  22

  Stella

  The sunset here still takes my breath away.

  A million shades of pink and gold light up the sky, shining brilliantly over the dusky brown savanna.

  It’s funny to think that, before coming here, I only ever felt this way about clothes.

  Well, okay. And Michael, of course.

  A soft breeze tugs at the hem of my dress.

  It’s a simple garment, really. Ankle-length ivory that flows in the wind. No lace, no diamonds or gems. It’s certainly not the kind of thing I ever imagined getting married in.

  Still, it’s perfect.

  Just like him.

  He stands across from me, looking like his usual gorgeous self. His slacks are some of the only nice clothes he brought, along with his white button-down.

  He’s never looked better to me than he does right now.

  My husband.

  I guess I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

  My soon-to-be-husband. Very soon.

  He smiles at me, hair stirring slightly in the breeze.

  He does that nearly all the time now. The smiling. And I’m always right there, smiling back at him.

  I was nervous when he suggested we come here. I’ve been to a lot of places, and Africa never seemed like where I’d end up.

  When he asked me, I almost refused.

  Girls like me don’t go to Africa. We don’t, y’know. Belong here.

  Certainly not out on the savanna doing humanitarian work.

  There was something in his eyes, though. Call it hope. When the man you love looks at you like that, there’s really no option of refusing.

  It meant so much to him.

  I figured I might as well tag along. I could tolerate a little wilderness for him. He did save my life, after all.

  I never expected what I would find once we got here.

  The happiness, the simplicity, the joy of actually doing something good.

  I’m a changed woman, alright? And I owe it all to him.

  The crazy thing is, most days, I don’t even miss our old life.

  I hardly ever even think about clothes, and I’ve given up on makeup entirely.

  Things like that don’t matter out here. People do. It’s an amazing way to live.

  On the rare days when I start to feel homesick, Michael is there to comfort me. He reminds me that what we’re doing here really counts. That we’re saving lives.

  I took to assisting him right away. It’s one thing to know that the man you love is a hero, another entirely to see it in person.

  He’s amazing. The way he cares for people, the way he takes care of people. I found myself jumping in immediately.

  Sometimes I even act as his nurse. It’s a far cry from surgeon, but who knows, maybe I’ll get there one day.

  He moves a step closer to me, the setting sun glowing gold where it touches his skin.

  I have to fight the urge to kiss him. We’re not at that part yet.

  His blue eyes travel down me, stopping like they so often do on my stomach.

  I’ve grown substantially since coming here, and I don’t even mind.

  I feel the baby kick as he reaches out, placing a hand on my swollen belly.

  Our baby.

  I really am the luckiest woman alive.

  “I do,” he says, eyes rising to meet mine.

  I echo his words—the easiest decision I’ve ever made.

  Just like that, he really is my husband.

  Not soon-to-be, not a fantasy, and for damn sure not my owner.

  My husband.

  He pulls me toward him, dipping me slightly at the waist.

  It’s one of my all-time favorite kisses, tied for first with every other kiss we’ve shared.

  Our few guests, mostly locals we’ve befriended, cheer in delight.

  They’ve been calling us married since we arrived. It’s about time we made it official.

  The smile on his face when he pulls back from me brings tears to my eyes.

  I can’t believe I’m the one who put it there.

  I smile back, fighting away the tears.

  I’ve never been happier in my life.

  The reception is simple, like everything in our lives now. It’s not anything like I would have planned before, but there’s music and food, good people, and strong drinks. Or so I’m told.

  I won’t lie—wine is one thing I do miss.

  After the party dies down, we sit together by the fire.

  Above us, billions of stars shine in the night sky.

  When we first arrived, I think it was the stars that surprised me the most.

  I was born and raised in cities, I traveled to other cities…I really never knew there were so many stars. Countless, limitless, stretched as far as the eye can see.

  Even now, I’m amazed.

  Michael squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to him.

  “Can’t get used to it, can you?”

  I laugh. “Why would I wanna do that?”

  He nods in understanding.

  “One of the mid-wives told me she thinks it’s a boy,” he says, looking again at my stomach.

  My hand goes to the bump there instinctively.

  “Really? I don’t know, feels like a girl.”

  “You just want it to be.” he replies, laughing.

  “No, I don’t care which it is, as long as it’s healthy…and it’s ours.”

  “Well, it’s definitely ours. You’ve felt how it kicks.”

  “Damn right. I blame you for it, though.”

  “Me?!”

  “Uh, yeah. You just had to go throwing thos
e strong, sexy genes around!”

  His laughter echoes in the silence.

  “Well, I don’t care who they take after… as long as they don’t get your attitude.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh.

  He scoots closer to me, and I rest my head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart feeling like home.

  “I love you, Michael.” I say, almost a whisper.

  “I love you, too.” he replies.

  We sit there for a long time, stars beaming, wind rusting the grass around us.

  It feels like the future is incredibly bright.

  Probably because it is.

  I feel our baby kick inside me as Michael holds me tight.

  I guess good things really do come in big packages…

  And little ones, too.

  Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad

  A Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

  Natalie Knight & Daphne Dawn

  Copyright 2017 by Crimson Vixens

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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  1

  Aaron

  My laptop is my fucking life.

  No, but seriously. It’s how I keep my business at the top of the industry. It’s how I stay ahead in the game.

  My laptop is key to who Aaron Bennett is.

  And I, Aaron Bennett, am the fucking king of the internet.

  Self-proclaimed, of course, but my opinion goes a long way if you ask the people closest to me. And I don’t even have to pay them to say it.

  It’s early morning, and I’m leaning over my marbled white granite kitchen counter, my laptop screen casting a white glow over my face.

  What’s a billionaire doing, slaving over his laptop while the sun is barely up, you ask?

  Well, let me tell you. Billionaires don’t become fucking billionaires for nothing. Not unless they’re born and bred in the back pockets of their filthy rich parents, learning to read balance sheets before they’ve begun reciting the alphabet.

  No. The reason I’m a fucking pro at my job, the reason I’m drowning in more cash than anyone needs in one lifetime, is because I work my ass off.

  I guess you can say I like micromanaging my own business. But that’s how I roll. I employ the very best to do their very best―but I still dip in the waters, treading to make sure there isn’t any trash in my sea of people.

  My self-assigned job is to catfish unsuspecting, pussy-whipped billionaires. I know, I know. Can’t imagine a fucking CEO doing the dirty work, can you?

  Well, you haven’t met me. And I’ll be the first to tell you, if you did, you’d have the same reaction to me all the women do. You know, ready to drop to your knees at the snap of my fingers. Anyway, back to my job.

  I fucking love it, even though I’m a dude.

  Think of it as being an actor, only I’m behind the scenes. I talk to high-rolling losers who are both new and regular clients of my website, making sure they’re not treating any of my female clients like shit or taking advantage of my employees.

  That’s the kind of fucking CEO I am.

  I’m here to make sure Thebadboys.net stays afloat, with the competition trailing far behind. Preferably drowning and close to death.

  I also have a standard to uphold. Thebadboys.net isn’t the premier billionaire dating site in the world by mistake. No, I make sure we only host the best of the best clients. Which is why I’ve developed my online persona to lure them in. It’s quality assurance, plain and simple.

  Yes, I’m both the owner and a “client” of Thebadboys.net. And yes, it’s exactly like it fucking sounds: dirty shit in the sexiest ways possible.

  Besides, it’s good for the brain. So much better than Sudoku. It helps let my creative juices flow in the cover-up name I’ve built from the ground up: Ms. Winters.

  She’s a seductress, a temptress, and a sexy ass bitch―but she’s one-hundred percent made up.

  If I’m being honest, that’s part of the thrill of the job, getting a kick out of cat fishing these assholes and making sure they keep throwing money at my feet. Well, Ms. Winters’ feet, at least.

  I’ve just finished checking my e-mails and making sure I’m not missing anything. It’s a free day―the rare, once-in-a-year day that I don’t have any fucking meetings. Usually, I’m being whisked away in my limousine from one restaurant to another, meeting investors and advertisers and other big money men in black suits, looking to make bigger money so they can buy more black suits.

  But today, I’m off. So I decide I can stop being Aaron Bennett early and start my day as Ms. Winters. I log onto the site as soon as I close my e-mail window.

  My morning routine is the same ritualistic bullshit that probably mirrors ninety percent of executives out there in the workforce.

  I yawn sleepily and scratch the scruff on my face. I guess I need to shave pretty soon.

  I glance at my reflection through the screen, at my dark straight hair tousled almost artfully. It’s a little chilly in the room, the cold air touching my abs and making me shiver. I sleep naked, since that’s always how my bedroom guests want me, anyway…

  What do you expect from a workaholic CEO with washboard abs and enough money to buy any-fucking-thing I want? Of course women come knocking at my door all the time.

  Wait, that’s not accurate. They schedule appointments with my executive assistant first.

  But since there’s no pretty mouth waiting to wake me up with a morning blow today, I settle with how the rest of the country usually starts their day.

  That means I’m waiting for my saving grace, my life-link.

  The reason I keep on going.

  My coffee.

  Yes, it’s caffeine and not blood that runs through my veins. It’s my drug, the way I get supercharged and pumped for another exciting day at the office.

  I’m right in the middle of entering my site password when my fancy-ass coffee machine beeps, music to my fucking ears.

  My coffee is ready, and as I pour myself a refreshing mug, I relish in the smell of that French roast filling my nostrils like fucking perfection.

  I take a moment to space out and savor the first few sips of the sustenance that gives me life before I chain myself back to my desk, ready to belt out some work in my new supercharged state of mind.

  That’s when my mind drifts to Ben—my son. I miss the little guy like crazy, but he’s in the best place he can be right now. At the premier boarding school in the country. Ever since my wife died three years ago, we both really had a hard time. I work too fucking hard to be both a mother and a father to him, so after a lot of consideration, I decided to send him to the same prestigious school I attended.

  One day—maybe—I’ll be ready to settle down again for real. But only once I find the woman who can handle the two of us. However, that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. No woman has been able to hold up to my standards so far. I need someone who can keep up with me in every way. Ambitious, brilliant, sexy as hell—and a good mom. Yeah, you can see why my short list has yet to even have a name on it.

  I sigh, and down the rest of my coffee, then fill my mug up again. No time to get lost in these depressing thoughts today. Time to get back to work.

  The jolt of caffeine hits me just in time. I’m ready to get started.

  I’m not going to lie―Ms. Winters is the shit. I’m talking the real deal. Yes, I’m fucking damn proud of the alter ego that stemmed straight from my imagination.

  She’s elusive and sought after, my pride and joy. I continuously develop her character and charming poise, which is why I think it keeps the big
money dudes coming—and cumming. Those filthy rich men just want to witness what other outlandish amazing shit I can root up from my good ole’ noggin.

  Not to brag, but Ms. Winters brings in the most revenue out of any other alter ego on the site, and I’m fucking proud of that fact.

  I’m untouchable. Watch anybody try to get on my level, and they’ll undoubtedly fail to reach my potential.

  The other billionaires of the world are her fresh and prime target, and you better fucking believe I shoot those darts with the aim to hit the bull’s eye every fucking time.

  Because, seriously, who could ever be better at knowing how to bring a billionaire to his knees than another alpha billionaire?

  That’s fucking right. No one.

  Let me guess…you want to know all about Ms. Winters, don’t you?

  Well, let me appease you by giving you a slice of heaven on a platter.

  Ms. Winters is cool and sexy, fun and adventurous. She’s got long, golden blonde hair and huge, beautiful blue eyes the color of the Caribbean waters. Yep, her eyes are a token trademark.

  She’s tan and slender, but muscular at the same time, with perfect legs that guys want wrapped around their waists.

  Ms. Winters doesn’t buy into hype or bullshit, but if you’re ready to get naughty and play the game, you bet your ass she’s going to be there front and center playing her cards right.

  She’s the kind of girl who will let you cry on her shoulder (if you need that), but she’s also fun-loving enough that if you decide to go to Vegas on a whim, she’ll meet you at the airport with a bag she’s already pre-packed.

  That’s what makes her so appealing to the men who get lured in. She’s up for anything, scared of nothing. Challenge is child’s play to her.

  I take another sip of my delicious coffee and squint at the screen, ready to dive right in to an engaging conversation with another idiot with an overstuffed wallet.

  Except there’s another name that catches my eyes.