by Vivien Vale
“Excuse me!” I yell at this random man who steps on my dress and hip-bumps me, pushing me backward.
I sway on my heels and swat him away. He doesn’t even realize what happened; he just continues talking about whatever the fuck.
Turning my attention back to the champagne, I take a step forward and reach my hand out to grab a glass.
Fuck! My heel gets stuck on the hem of my dress, and the next thing I know, I’m face up in the arms of King Edward, looking directly at that jaw.
His full lips smile down at me, and his gaze lingers over my body, and I find myself pulled into his raw sexual magnetism. A flutter of anticipation steadily grows in my chest, and my pussy throbs in tandem, making me ache for him. It’s all happening so quickly.
Oh, fuck.
I’ve never wanted anyone before.
But god, I want him.
Now.
I might’ve just found something better than champagne to help me through tonight, and it’s in the shape of a fucking hot-ass king.
Chapter 3
Edward
“Princess Gwen,” I say to the luscious, blonde-haired beauty as she falls into my arms. “You’ve grown up.”
Her emerald eyes sparkle and widen in shock when she notices it’s me.
“Edward,” she says breathlessly before grabbing onto my forearms, balancing herself on those long-ass legs of hers. “I always thought just one of you would be a lot to handle—now, I’m seeing three.”
“I think one of me will be more than enough for a woman like you, Princess.”
“We’ll see about that,” she says, coy.
Bastard that I am, I feint at dropping her, and she clings to me even harder in sudden fear.
“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you,” I assure her, making her fall look like an elegant dance move. “Even if you are a tipsy little tart.”
“Tart?” She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “I thought the damsel in distress thing was rather sweet.”
“It is.” I smile, charmingly. “Join me.”
Of course.
Her cheeks flush, and I can feel her body temperature rise.
Fuck. She’s breathtaking. I drink her in as slowly as possible. It’s all I can do not to bend her over right here on the ballroom floor, flip the skirts of her gown up over her waist, and taste her for myself.
Sweet or tart? I’ll be the judge of that.
Before she can push me away, I slide my hand around her waist and pull her against me. Luckily, she falls into step and follows my lead.
“I can’t tell if you’re being especially forward or if I’m just drunk.”
“From the looks of things, both.”
“I suppose you do have a reputation to uphold.”
My smile broadens. She knows exactly the kind of reputation I’ve upheld—all ten hard, thick, throbbing inches of it.
What can I say? The royal scepter is royally famous.
“And how are you and your reputation doing these days?” she asks.
She seems genuinely curious. It’s refreshing, considering I know half of these people don’t give a rat’s ass about what I’m doing or how I’ve been. All they care about is their free food and booze—and the possibility of shagging someone with a title.
Speaking of…where is Ignorma?
Ah, who the fuck cares. Just so long as this beauty is in my arms. It won’t be for long—I might as well enjoy this dance while it lasts.
We glide across the dance floor seamlessly. It’s like we’re floating on air. It’s ridiculous, I know, but when you have a woman this beautiful in your arms, that’s what it fucking feels like.
Like magic. Like heaven.
“Things have been good, considering,” I murmur. She cocks her eyebrow in confusion.
“But I’m much better now that you’re here. How are you, love?” I feel her body tense underneath mine as the pet name falls out of my mouth.
Funny. I guess we’re not on that level yet.
When we were younger, Princess Gwen had zero qualms about stripping down to nothing but her underwear around her older brother and me when she wanted to play—tag, rugby, or otherwise. She always knew exactly how to tackle and take me down.
I wonder if she still can. And in those heels…
“You look amazing, by the way,” I whisper in her ear, and she instinctively bends her head towards me. I feel goosebumps rise on her exposed skin underneath my hand. “But I’m sure you’re already well aware of that.”
“Thanks, love.” She teases me, and I love it. “Your little soiree sucks, by the way.”
My body stills for a moment, amazed by her brazen honesty, and I laugh. I’ve always loved how sassy she was, but damn, it’s fucking sexy now.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“I didn’t say that.” Her emerald eyes sparkle in a way that makes my cock throb.
“I see that you’re occupying yourself with the refreshments, at least. Do they live up to your standards?” I raise an eyebrow and tighten my hands on her waist, my touch burning against her.
She meets my eyes, and I see a glimmer in her eyes. “You can never go wrong with champagne. Did your fiancée order it?”
I laugh when I hear her say that. Ignorma hasn’t done anything in her whole damn life, let alone make sure there’s champagne on the menu.
I push her away, swinging her around in a circle. Her mouth widens in the most playful grin, and she giggles. The sound of her laugh, so pure and whole-hearted, has my cock even stiffer—and it’s been hard since the moment I saw her.
I pull her back to me, and her perky, full breasts squeeze between us. I feel her hard nipples press through our clothes and against my abs.
“Who taught you how to dance? Mr. Two-left Feet.” She laughs, looking so carefree.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Princess. I’ve changed a bit since the last time you saw me.”
Her gaze quickly fills with lust, and I’m stuck, my eyes glued to hers.
“I can see that. Too bad. I’m so used to the scrawny boy who I used to tackle, playing rugby. But I’m sure I can still beat you.” She winks and bites her lips suggestively.
I smirk. Goddamn, she’s fucking fantastic. These past five minutes, with her in my arms, have been better than any fucking second I’ve spent with…whoever my fiancée is.
Shit, I’m already forgetting her name.
“You? Beat me? You might be all grown up, gorgeous, but I doubt that tiny frame of yours could take me down.” I scroll over her body, spinning her around again and taking her into my arms quicker than the last time.
“Unless you ask nicely. I’d gladly let you tackle me,” I whisper in her ear, brushing my lips against her earlobe.
She moans slightly—but stops herself. I can feel her body contract against mine when she does, and I grin inside, knowing that I’m affecting her the exact same way she’s affecting me.
I know it’s not hard to see what her gorgeous self is doing to me. Her tight little body against mine and that sassy mouth of hers that drives me wild. She radiates sensuality.
Fuck. I need to marry this woman.
“I’m a bit rusty, I admit. I haven’t played in years, you know, since I…became a woman and such. Apparently, someone thought breasts don’t look good in rugby uniforms. As for a pussy…”
She knows exactly what game she’s playing because I immediately envision her tits and cunt, naked and inviting.
Whoever told her she wouldn’t look good in a rugby uniform was lying. But I have to admit…
She’d look better out of one.
The same goes for this dress she’s wearing, too.
“If you’re interested in a game, Princess, I’m sure I could arrange one.”
“I don’t play games, Your Majesty.” Grabbing onto the back of my head, her hand slides into my hair and gently tugs it. Her lips graze my ear, and she whispers, “But as for tackling…I wouldn’t mind a little refresher.”
<
br /> I keep her there, pinned to me. I want her to feel my voice vibrate through her. I want the heat of my breath to melt her panties right off of her tight, little royal cunt.
“In that dress?” I ask, my curiosity now peaked.
“Out of it, if you’d prefer.”
My nose touches the small strap holding her breasts up, and her aroma intoxicates me—more than I already am. It’s a warm vanilla scent that intermingles with a touch of spice, and it sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, my cock pulsating against her.
She shimmies her hips closer to me, angling my cock against her flat, slender stomach. She goes back up on tiptoe and moans in my ears as my hard shaft rubs against her pussy through her gown.
Damn, she knows exactly what she’s doing. I’m a bit surprised given how young she is, but I don’t care. I’m just fucking impressed.
If it wasn’t for this being my engagement party, I would fuck her right here and now. I’d push her against one of the columns and ravish her tight body until both our kingdoms have an heir.
“But if you’d prefer…I’m used to playing in dresses.” She whispers, her breath heavy, almost panting. “And I’d love to do it again.”
I move her away from me and eye her up and down, drinking in the red gown that’s stitched into her curves.
“Tell me, how do you play in that dress, love?” I twirl her around, and her full pouty lips curve up into a salacious smirk.
“Oh, love. I have my ways.” We glide across the dance floor, and I nod at her brother who’s staring at us, concern filling his expression.
“Enlighten me. I’m very interested in learning all your dirty little secrets.”
Who would’ve thought that the little princess I played with so many years ago would turn into this bombshell, making my cock hard as a fucking diamond while she teases me about fucking her? Hell, not me.
By the way he’s eyeing us, apparently, not her brother, either.
“It’s much better if I show you.” She squeezes my shoulders and slides her hand down my arms tightly. “Seeing is believing, isn’t it?”
“I think it’d be best if we got out of here. It looks like some people don’t like the kind of showing we’re doing.”
She looks at me, and I nod towards the direction of her brother. She turns her head to face him and sniffs indignantly.
“If he doesn’t want to see, he shouldn’t look.” She smiles and nods at him, then turns back to me, her eyes darkened and clouded with desire. “But I’d love to get out of here.”
I bend my head down to her, my lips inches away from her pink pouted lips. “If you let me in on your secrets, I’ll show every move I know, Princess. So…care to play?”
“Why don’t you show me your throne room first?” Her eyes narrow in delight, and I take her hand before we get pulled away.
I lead her to the throne room in the back of the room as quickly as possible.
“You’re too fast!” She giggles as she tries to keep up with me, dodging people left and right and ignoring the noisy cynics.
“I could say the same about you, Princess.”
I’m wasting no time here. I need to have this damn woman—under me, over me, and filled with me. I don’t care how; it just needs to happen before I explode in front of this whole fucking palace.
But I don’t just want to fuck her, I want to marry her.
Tonight, on the night of my engagement, it seems I’ve met my bride.
And while she’s not the one I’m supposed to be marrying…
She fucking will be.
Do you want to know what happened next with Edward and Gwen? The King’s Virgin Bride is available in Amazon now!
Spring Break Bride
By Vivien Vale
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
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 intended for adults only.
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Nicole
Holy shit.
I can’t believe we’re here.
“Allison, did you see that?”
Allison only rolls her eyes and nods.
Okay, so I’ve been saying “Did you see that?” for the last hour or so…actually, since we left home.
I mean this is the first time I’ve travelled to Europe—or anywhere, really.
Well, maybe not anywhere, but anywhere for pleasure.
So far, my life’s been one beauty pageant after another, and one long diet. Since we left home, I’ve already eaten more than I usually do in a month.
It feels great.
Goodbye and farewell forever, beauty pageants.
“Yes, Nicole, I did,” she says and gives me a playful slap on my shoulder. “And yes, I’ve seen that, and that, and that.”
“I still can’t believe we’re here, Ally. I mean Venice, the city of…”
I stop.
“Water canals, opera, and Carnevale de Venezia,” my best friend finishes for me.
I nod. I’m so excited, I think any second I might pee myself.
It’s a pity Ryan won’t arrive till tomorrow.
“And we’re staying at the Aman Grand Canal,” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’ve studied its website sooo closely, I could recite the description word for word if I had to.
The Aman is as exquisite as the city of Venice itself. It’s fair to say it embodies Venice.
The hotel is set in a sixteenth century palazzo on the Grand Canal of Venice. It’s home to museum quality treasures, including Tiepolo frescoes, gilded ceilings, and century-old leather wall coverings.
I clap my hands, excitement swooping through me.
“Did I mention the Clooneys got married there?”
Ally nods and takes a photo of me with her phone.
“Here,” she holds the little device toward me. “Take a look at yourself. If you’re not careful, that smile of yours will stay like that forever, and you know Ryan won’t approve since he doesn’t like you smiling too much.”
I frown. “When did he say that?”
“It’s not when—it’s how. He’s always telling you what not to do and what to do. I’m sure he’s told you not to smile so much. And if he hasn’t he would right now, trust me.”
Her words hurt. I know she doesn’t like Ryan, my husband to be, but I can’t understand why she insists on dragging him down like that every opportunity she gets.
“Come on, Ally. That’s not fair. Ryan’s paying for all this, including our stay at the most exclusive suites the Aman has to offer.”
Her comments leave me no choice but to defend my fiancé.
She rolls her eyes.
“So what? He’s a billionaire. That’s the least he should be doing. If it were any future husband of mine, he’d be doing a whole lot more.”
After I mull over her words, I need to ask the obvious.
“Like what?”
“Seriously Nic? For starters, he’d need to ask me what I want to do, and then do exactly what I tell him. I’d make sure I’d tell him about my passion for art, drawing, and paintings. Then, I’d tell him to get me to wherever it is I wanted to go by private jet and have me picked up in a red Ferrari.”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand and chuckle. “I didn’t know you were into art and drawing.”
“I’m not,” she interrupts me. “You are, and he doesn’t like you doing it. And don’t deny it.”
For a while, I say nothing.
“You ladies waiting for a gondola?” an incredibly good-looking Italian asks as he pulls up along the water where we’re waiting.
“Sure are,” Allison replies before I get a chance.
She hops in before me too.
“W
here two my lovely goddesses?”
I notice the eyes Ally makes at this man and chuckle inwardly.
“The Aman,” she purrs and sits close to him.
As if I’m any competition. In about two days’ time, I’m going to be walking down the aisle in this very city. What started as our spring vacation soon turned into a wedding trip after Ryan proposed out of the blue and insisted we marry straight away.
It was Allison who talked me out of agreeing to marry back home and tell my husband to be that if he wanted to marry me, it was in Venice or not all.
Well, I didn’t quite use those words. But in the end, I did convince Ryan to come to Venice and marry me here.
Secretly, I’m grateful to Allison for convincing me to get married here. From the little I’ve seen so far, I’m totally in love with the city. The water canals are just magnificent, and the houses lining them are so old and full of character.
The slumbering artist in me can’t wait to get my hands on a sketchpad and start drawing all these magnificent sights my eyes are currently feasting on. Cobblestone footpaths, ornate bridges, and tiny alleyways are just some of what takes my fancy.
There’s so much to look at I almost feel as if my senses are being over loaded. Suddenly, I understand why this city attracts the artists, the poets, and the writers. It speaks to us.
Deep down I’m an artist, and I understand the city.
“You know, it’s not too late.”
Allison’s words rouse me out of my reverie.
“What’s not too late?”
“Saying you don’t want to marry him.” She gives me a little slap on the shoulder. “Look at yourself. You’re having a ball. Why tie yourself to that dickhead?”
“Ally,” I shake my head. I don’t know what’s got into my best friend and maid of honor. She’s not usually like this at all.
“Ryan’s great. He’s…” I search for the right words.
“There you go, even you can’t say much good about him. He’s a selfish, slightly narcissistic individual who’s only marrying you for your looks. He wants a trophy wife.”
“No.”
