The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  With one simple thrust, he’s in me again, stretching me as wide as only he can do. I moan and scream, the sound of it blending into something almost inhuman. My voice caresses my eardrums and then claws at it, all while a firestorm rages inside of me, threatening to consume everything that I am.

  Maybe I’ll die of pleasure now; maybe my final orgasm will be so intense that I’ll stop breathing, my heart will stop beating, and then my brain will shut down. My soul will float away into the afterlife and, if all this happens, I’m sure that I’ll be going with a grin on my face. I mean, to go out with Palmer’s thick cock ravaging me wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it?

  No… no, it wouldn’t.

  When I finally come, there’s no screaming or moaning; I throw my head back against the couch and just hiss like a rattlesnake, my throat too ruined to carry on. I almost think that Palmer’s done, but when he pulls his cock out of my pussy he keeps its tip pressed against my inner lips.

  Oh, sweet God… I think I’m really going to OD on pleasure.

  “Do it… Do it…” I beg him, and he starts to push his cock back inside me. It moves in at a slow pace, but it goes steadily all the same. Even though my throat has given up on me, I force myself to scream one more time, the pressure of Palmer’s cock on my insides too good for me to remain in silence.

  “Hard… I want it hard,” I continue, and he doesn’t need any further instructions; he starts to thrust as if his life depended on it, ravaging me like he never did before.

  He buries his cock so deep inside me that I have to scream again. At the same time, he slides one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit with two fingers, immediately stroking it at a furious and almost too violent pace.

  It doesn’t take long for me to come undone — one more thrust of his cock and my mind snaps, my soul shattering into a thousand little pieces with it.

  I thrust back, forcing him to push his cock deep into me, and then I hold that position as a violent convulsion takes over me. My muscles are burning, my skin is boiling, and both my heart and lungs are working overtime to keep me alive. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t passed out… I feel exhausted enough to fall unconscious, but I refuse to do it as pleasure still courses through my veins.

  Even though Palmer and I have a lifetime ahead of us, I don’t want to waste one single second of what I’m experiencing now.

  “I want you to come,” I find myself telling him, my brain seemingly having no say about what words leave my lips. As if my voice has a magical effect on his body, his cock starts to spasm and, half a heartbeat after that, it throbs violently and I feel the warmness of his seed filling me.

  Instead of gushing all his load inside of me, Palmer pulls his cock out and, still on his knees, starts to stroke himself. I feel his thick ropes of cum cover my lower back, beads of it sprinkling my skin.

  By the time he’s done, all I can do is roll around so that I’m lying on my back. I take a few deep breaths, and then I sit up. He’s sitting up as well, his head thrown back against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.

  Slowly, I run my fingertips down his forearm and take them to his hand. I tangle my fingers on his, and then lean into him and press my lips on his face.

  “I love you,” I whisper again, somehow knowing that I’ll never grow tired of these three words. As silly as it might sound, I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth.

  “I love you too,” he whispers back at me, his fingers tightening around my own. My body grows cold suddenly, and perhaps feeling it, Palmer reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor and makes me wear it. He dresses me as one would do to a small child, and I keep my eyes on his as he does it, just enjoying the delicate way he’s handling me.

  For a man capable of such dominance and raw power, I can’t help but be surprised at how kind he truly is. I can’t believe I used to see him as someone cold and heartless, a total asshole even.

  To say that I was wrong doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  Standing up, his large shirt covering most of my body, I make my way toward the large windows of his living room.

  “Where are you going?” He asks me, picking his boxer briefs from the floor and getting inside them. He goes up to his feet and then joins me by the window, his arm laced around my waist.

  “The city… it looks so beautiful from up here,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m saying. At ground level, from the windows of the Old Tale, the city is nothing but a blend of smog and dirty concrete. But from up here, there’s a certain magic about it all.

  The streets have an orange glow at night, and the tall spires of office and apartment buildings rise up in the air like Christmas trees. And though I know that no one really sleeps in a big city, right now it feels so… calm.

  It’s almost relaxing.

  “It does,” Palmer agrees with me, and then he’s the one brushing his lips against my cheek. “But only because you’re here with me.”

  I look into his eyes, but this time I don’t say anything.

  Sometimes, words just get in the way.

  Smiling, I go up on tiptoes and kiss him, closing my eyes as I let the memory of this moment be forever imprinted on my mind.

  Love—sometimes it’s even better than what we imagine it to be.

  Hard & Fast

  A Hard Thrusting Racing Heart Billionaire Romance

  Vivien Vale & Natalie Knight

  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

  Braden

  My name is Braden Masterson and I'm a fucking legend.

  As the head of an elite underground racing circuit in the most exciting city in the world, I’m the man that everyone wants to know, and the man that very few do.

  Basically, I'm the most exclusive man in town and I like to keep my life and my affairs private. I'm the VIP that you just can't get access to.

  I make it happen. I'm where the excitement begins and I'm the fucking life of every party. If you don't know me, you've likely heard whispers of me, tales of the legend.

  I can’t keep a low profile, though, because of the operation I run. High-profile underground racing is no easy feat to accomplish unless you have power. In this industry, money is power. Lucky for me, I have more fucking money than I know what to do with.

  The cops themselves shut down the streets of Manhattan just to make my dreams possible. Of course, it means I offer sizable donations to fund their retirement accounts but it's a small price to pay for the freedom of going fast.

  Fast is how we roll. We’re collectively known as The Billionaires Club. The authorities allow it because we have so much damn money and all of us have one-of-a-kind, custom-made, souped-up race cars.

  Hell, some of the cops even attend our races. It's an honor to be invited and it's such an underground scene that it's got that whole element of intrigue that attracts people. The cops close down certain roads within the city for construction—then the fun begins.

  I'm part of the club, but most people consider me to be the best of the best. There's a reason for that. I have an edge. I almost always win because I have access to some of the best engine technology in the industry. My cars have the most high-performing engines, ones I developed myself.

  Is all of this boring you? Well, it doesn't bore me. You see, engine performance equals winning, which means raking in a metric fuck-ton of money. The tiniest details matter because every second gained or lost is equivalent to about $10 million.

  Now that you understand the social
status of this club, maybe you can appreciate the level I'm at.

  All this power I have in my hands automatically makes me the hottest bachelor in the city. To some, I'm a ghost, a phantom that they've only heard about but can’t get their hands on. But to others who have the privilege of knowing me, I'm a fucking god. I have women lining the streets just to get one taste of my cock.

  In fact, right now, one begging to wrap her lips around my cock and give me a blowjob. She's a leggy brunette with fake tits and fake lips. She looks like a goddamn blow up doll. She's also the hottest girl I've seen tonight and that's why she's here.

  "Hey baby, it's time," I say as I lean against the hood of my latest creation, a beautiful race car that I've named Desire.

  I don't know this girl's name, but I definitely know her type. She's wearing an expensive dress and everything about her screams high-maintenance. Not uncommon around our racing unit.

  She's probably been with a couple of billionaires already, maybe even tonight, and she gets off on the money and the power. Who wouldn't?

  It’s obvious she really wants to please me, so she bends over the hood and starts sucking my cock really hard. She immediately starts to deep-throat it, and that's the kind of woman I like.

  "That's it, baby, take it deeper," I say.

  My tone drips with seduction. All I can think about is having her take in more and more of me.

  She takes a pause so that she can use her hand to encircle my now slippery cock. Her strokes speed up as she works her way up and down my thick length. I'm not really in this for a hand job, though, so I try to force her head back down on my shaft.

  But she's got other plans in mind. She bends down low and starts to tease and suck my balls. It's so fucking hot, and I can feel myself tensing up from the feeling of her lips around me.

  Once I've had enough, I grab her head and force it onto my cock once again. I need those lips around me. She deep-throats me once again like it's her mission in life to please.

  The entire length is stuffed down her throat and she can't get enough. She's moaning and crying, and I feel the vibrations all around my shaft. Her head bobs up and down, and I think this is fucking glorious.

  I look up at the array of stars and think what a perfect fucking moment this is. I've got a girl sucking my cock as I lay down on the hood of my newly equipped race car under a vast, enormous sky. What more can a man ask for?

  I'm one with nature and the race and everything beyond. But one thing I’m fucking sure of—I'm not one with is this girl. She's just one in a thousand that I've been with. Nothing about her tells me it's gonna last.

  I'm weary of being with so many women that mean shit to me. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna seize the opportunity to have my cock sucked whenever I want.

  I love the enthusiasm of this one. She simply can't get enough. And I don't blame her.

  I fist my fingers in her hair and hold her head steady as I pump my hot cum down her throat. She sucks up every last drop and continues to suck me even after I'm done, drawing out my pleasure.

  She pulls off my cock with a pop and says, "Braden, mmm, you taste so good. You want to go back to your place?"

  Fuck no. If this girl thinks she's gonna see me outside of this moment, she's got another thing coming. She should know I don't stick around. It's my well-established reputation. Besides, I've got other things to do. I let her down as gently as possible.

  "No honey, I gotta run. But hey, maybe I'll see you at the next race."

  I leave her with at least a shred of hope. Besides, who says it won't happen again? If I need to get off quickly, I can always count on her. And I know she'll be at every race she's invited to, looking for me and hoping that I pay her one ounce of respect and attention.

  She wipes the sticky cum from her lips, and I take my keys and get in the car, giving her the signal that it’s time for her to leave.

  She's not coming with me. I have a gala to attend. I rev my engine and leave her in a trail of dust to find her own ride home. I mean, fucking come on. Surely, she knows how these things work.

  There’s a gala after every major race. It's going to be a hell of a party, one that only billionaires know how to throw.

  I'm anxious to get there and away from this girl now I've had my fill.

  I take my car to the city streets where everything is legal. Back to fucking reality.

  2

  Jenna

  This gala is awesome but I have to admit I'm a little bored. It's just the same old thing after every race. I’ve been to a lot of these, and frankly, it’s not that impressive anymore.

  Yes, I'm in a prime position of power that a lot of people would love to be in. I'm the head of development for a racing company—make that an underground racing company. Obviously, I oversee much of the research that goes into creating the fastest cars in the world.

  I'm a storehouse of insanely valuable information, and most of these billionaire racers and the people that work under them would love to have me on their side.

  What can I say? I'm a fucking genius. And I take pride in that. I think of myself as slightly above all these people, even though they have money to spare—more than I do. But I'm used to being smarter than everyone, and maybe that gives me a bit of an ego. So what if it does?

  It takes a lot for something to spark my interest. I like to live a fast-paced lifestyle, and I guess that's why am attracted to racing. This underground club is just my scene.

  Technically, nobody in my life knows what I do. I haven't exactly filled my family in on the fact that I work for billionaires to race illegally down closed-off New York City streets. But hey, I don't have to explain myself to anybody.

  I'm happy with my life and I'm more than happy with my job. There's only one thing I'm not happy with—my love life. Or lack thereof.

  I guess you could say I have high standards. But I consider that to be a good thing. The downside is I'm always alone. Rarely does a man reach my level of sophistication.

  There's only one man in town that does a thing for me. And I'm basically here to scope him out to see if he arrives.

  Braden fucking Masterson.

  He's the hottest guy in town and the hottest guy in the racing circuit. I've had my eye on him for a long time. But, I figure I'm one of many. He always has a different girl on his arm every...single...night.

  He doesn't have to work for women and I don't blame him. He's a genius himself, developing cutting-edge technology that I'd love to get my hands on.

  I've been attracted to this man since the first moment I saw him. I don't think he knows I exist, but that's okay. At least I can watch him at these galas that are otherwise super boring.

  I get hit on by a lot of billionaire racers, but never him. I find it to be a compliment that men want to date me, but I never take them up on their offers because, to me, that would be a fucking huge conflict of interest. I’m nothing if not professional.

  And then I see him. Braden saunters in looking sexy as hell.

  Now that he's here, there's a certain level of excitement permeating the air. He always brings this charisma to every party. He's an amazing storyteller and he just has this natural ability to charm a crowd and be the center of attention.

  He’s so unlike me, and maybe that's why I've always been attracted to him. I like to stay on the outskirts of the party and to go relatively unnoticed.

  Don't get me wrong, I’m not some wallflower. I have a banging hot body that men can’t resist checking out. And tonight, I'm wearing a black velvet dress that hugs my curves in all the right ways.

  My deep brown hair is so dark that it's almost black. It's long enough to hit the center my back. I always get compliments on my green eyes that are so dark they match the deep greens in a well-shaded forest.

  I know myself and I know my worth. I know I deserve the best, and for me that only amounts to one person.

  Braden.

  Sure, we've technically never met. Come to think of it, I'm like a
ll the other women that can't stop staring at him. But my simple crush has turned into an obsession. He's on my mind...like, a lot. More than I’d like him to be.

  I watch him now as he makes his way across the room. Everyone's congratulating him because he won tonight.

  I like him because he's fucking gorgeous, for one thing. He's a six-foot-five wall of pure muscle, icy blue eyes, and a rugged demeanor. And I've heard amazing things about him in bed. Trust me, women talk.

  I move through the crowd and try to mingle while keeping steady eyes on Braden. His hair looks a little bit rumpled tonight like he's just rolled out of bed, and I realize with a sinking feeling that this means he must have been freshly fucked by some girl.

  Just the thought of this makes me sick to my stomach. I'm burning up with jealousy and I can’t help but wonder why. I have no attachment to this man. He doesn't even know I exist. But here I am, feeling jealous and envious that another woman probably sucked his cock.

  The very thought makes me enraged.

  I'm talking to some billionaire's wife—I think her name is Sophia Hughes.

  "So, the race tonight was pretty great, wasn't it?" I say casually, trying not to let on how angry I am.

  "Jenna, to me they're all the same. At this point, they run all together in my mind. I just don't understand these men and their fast cars."

  She's fixing her hair and looking around the room for famous faces to mingle with.

  I don't agree with her. For me, life in the fast lane is everything. It's the ultimate turn on to be part of the racing scene. That's why I do what I do, even though it's illegal.

  Sometimes, it's hard to have small talk with these wives and girlfriends. They’re less about the racing and more about the men, or should I say the manhood of the men?