The King's Virgin Bride: A Royal Wedding Novella (Royal Weddings Book 1) Page 16

  “Skinny dipping,” Becky purrs in a mischievous little voice.

  …not what I was expecting, to tell you the truth. What I was expecting was something more along the lines of, Gosh, Liam, spank my ass and call me Queen Lizzie.

  “Love,” I level with her. “I’m not sure—”

  “Skinny dipping!” Becky yells in my ear, and her sexy little belligerent drunken arse shoves me off of her in an instant.

  I’m left picking myself up off the tiled veranda and chasing after her while she struggles to work her wedding dress up over her head.

  I catch her with the skirt up, holding her from behind, mere inches away from the water. With one hand, I capture one of her slender wrists. With the other, I stroke her long, slender throat.

  “Darling,” I purr into her ear. “I hate to break it to you, but I believe there’s a shark in the pool.”

  “That’s stupid,” Becky says authoritatively.

  Generally, I would tend to agree.

  But while Becky continues to lift her skirt, flashing her sweet little cunt at the entirety of Las Vegas’ skyline, I can’t help but notice the dorsal fin currently making laps around the suite’s saltwater swimming pool. It makes me wonder what that other bird—Sammi—might have had in that ice box she’s been wheeling around all night.

  “Skinny dipping,” Becky insists, struggling against me.

  Now, I know my woman. I know that she’s headstrong and stubborn. I know that when she sets her mind to something, there’s very little in this world that can prevent her from accomplishing it.

  My fingers dart between her legs, pushing between her pussy lips and pinching her wet, swollen clit.

  “I don’t think you heard me, love.” I squeeze her throat and nibble at her ear while I roll her clit between the pads of my finger and my thumb.

  Becky whimpers. Sweetest sound in the goddamn bloody world.

  “Now,” I growl. “You’ll keep that skirt pulled up nice and high for me, won’t you?”

  She nods, but it’s her hips that really say yes. Just as quickly as she decided she was ready to dive naked into shark-infested waters, she’s given up the idea for grinding her greedy little clit against my hand.

  I know my woman, and I know there’s nothing like an orgasm to take her mind off of whatever silly, self-destructive idea she’s gotten into her head.

  You see, this is the difference between Dan and me. My step-brother sought to control this woman. To shame her for what she is, deny her her pleasures, and repeatedly tell her no under the guise of keeping her safe from herself.

  Dan wanted to shape her into a well-behaved little housewife. To her credit, Becky tried her best. I’ll give her that.

  But Becky isn’t well-behaved, and she’s far from a housewife. I think that much is obvious, judging by the way she’s about to cream right here on my hand while she flashes her cunt at the entirety of the City of Sin.

  In her fucking wedding dress, no less.

  The wind picks up as Becky whimpers for me. She moans beautifully—especially when she’s a little tipsy like this. Normally, I wouldn’t be fingering a woman who’s tossed a few drinks back—bad idea. Dubious consent has never been my cup of tea. But considering the prior events of tonight…

  She wants me. I can tell from every moan, every tremor of her body, as I hold her against me. The way she tilts her head back, raises her face to the moonlight, and closes her eyes in ecstasy.

  And then, of course, there’s the way that she’s gasping for me.

  “More,” she coos. “P-please. More.”

  I give it to her. She might not realize it yet. She might not even remember who I am in the morning, with the way Sammi and Percy and the other one tipped all that tequila down her throat.

  But she’ll feel it. When she wakes up in the morning, once she works herself past the banging headache and the nausea of her hangover, I’ll make damn sure she feels it.

  And when she feels it, she’ll know.

  Liam Black made her orgasm more times in one fucking night than Dan the Man made her orgasm in a year.

  When she come, she thrashes, her lips curled in the most beautiful fucking smile I’ve ever known.

  “Say my name, love,” I urge in her ear.

  And Becky Brooks—being Becky Brooks—opens her mouth to shout to the heavens:

  “ELVIS! FUCK YES, ELVIS! ELVIS! ELVIS!”

  Uh…not exactly.

  But she’s so damn cute, and she’s having fun, and her voice makes me smile like a bloody fucking bastard. So I suppose for now, it will do.

  Becky

  4:51 AM THURSDAY

  I think I’m, like, in love with Elvis.

  Not his music, necessarily. I mean, his music is alright, but that’s not what I mean.

  I mean him. Sexy Elvis. Elvis with his giant fucking cock and his sexy fucking arms.

  I have flashes of Elvis carrying me. He’s kissing me. He’s murmuring sweet nothings into my ear. He might even be fucking singing, in a not very good Elvis voice.

  “Now let’s find somewhere more comfortable.”

  I don’t want him to put me down. If he could just carry me like this for the rest of my fucking life, I’d be ecstatic.

  “Mmm, Elvis,” I murmur into his ear.

  I feel his hands around my back, and I’ve never felt so secure in my entire life.

  Part of me wants to ask him where he’s taking me, but the other part, the one that wants to just be carried by him, doesn’t really care.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  My eyes take in a curvy, naked blonde on the bed with a cigar between her teeth and a bedazzled vibrator between her legs. For some reason, I feel like that vibrator must belong to Celine Dion.

  “Occupied!” Percy bellows, and Celine Dion’s vibrator goes, “Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!”

  Elvis laughs, and I giggle. We turn around and leave to find somewhere more private, less buzzy.

  He takes me to the lounge room and lays me on the couch. I watch him grab some logs and start a fire in the fireplace.

  My eyes stare into the flames, and I’m transported to another universe.

  Elvis returns, and he’s smiling at me. Fuck, he looks gorgeous. Those eyes, I can drown in those eyes. Blue, flecked with gold. They caress me, they undress me, they suck me right in.

  “Elvis,” I whisper and watch his head come toward me. “Can you take my clothes off?”

  He grins.

  Long, gentle, artistic fingers unzip my dress. As the tips caress the skin on my back, a fire ignites within me. It flickers in my abdomen and quickly spreads through me.

  I writhe on the couch, snake-like, to help Elvis get my dress off.

  For some reason, my slip’s missing already.

  I turn my head and take a look at his muscular, lean body. Did Elvis really look like this? I push the thought aside.

  Who gives a fuck what the real Elvis looked like? This impersonator is the real fucking deal.

  His mouth comes toward me, and I arch my lower back to meet him. Instead of coming down on my lips, he aims for my tits. His right hand—or maybe it’s the left one, I’m not fucking sure, and I don’t fucking care—pinches one of my nipples. He tugs, pulls, and squeezes. Pleasure and pain rip through me.

  His tongue is licking my other nipple, and I moan. My fingers tousle his hair, and I fucking want more.

  Sensing my desire, Elvis moves off my tits and straddles me. He takes my hands and lifts them up over my head.

  “Getting a little fucking impatient are we, love?”

  I grin. My hips wiggle from side to side, and I try and wrestle my hands free. I want to fucking touch him, and I want him to fucking touch me. The anticipation is killing me.

  No amount of struggling has any effect. On the contrary, it produces the opposite of what I’m trying to do.

  Elvis grabs me harder. His mouth comes toward me, and he bites me on the neck. Ouch.

  “If you don’t fucking wait, I’ll need to fu
cking teach you a lesson.” His voice is just a whisper, and his hot breath on my neck unleashes molten lava. It spreads through me slowly and deliberately, filling every nook and cranny of my being.

  If something doesn’t happen any fucking time soon, I think my body will either just melt or explode.

  I notice Elvis still has his clothes on, and I wish I could help him take them off.

  “So, my little fucking slut, are going to behave, or do I need to punish you?”

  His voice is still so soft I struggle to hear him. Was he threatening to punish me? If so, I wonder what he’s fucking got in mind.

  I grin, aroused by the prospect of some real fucking fun about to start.

  “But Elvis…I’m always so well behaved.” As I speak, I try and push my hips upward. Elvis must not have anticipated the movement, because he unbalances a little.

  “Not tonight you haven’t been.” Now he sounds positively menacing. “You don’t seem to want it any other fucking way.”

  There’s a scowl in his eyes, and now I feel a little anxious. Had I pushed my luck a little too far?

  Before I know exactly what’s going on, he’s rolled me onto my stomach. He brings my arms toward my back and does not let them go.

  My heart’s beating a million fucking miles an hour, and I’m burning up with desire. I love the way he rough handles me.

  A knee is pushed into my back, pinning my arms there. I turn my head to the side to catch a glimpse of what the fuck he’s doing now, and I see him rip his own clothes off.

  In less than thirty seconds, Elvis is naked and straddling my back.

  I try and push my ass up to meet him. My fucking pussy is so hot and wet, and I need his fucking huge cock inside of me now, or I fear I might die of fucking desire.

  “Come on, Elvis,” I grunt. “Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

  Instead of a fucking cock entering my pussy and relieving it of its desire, I feel his bare hand connect with my ass. It’s a short hard slap. I wail in pain.

  “Fuck…Elvis,” I groan and lift my head to catch his eye.

  “I told you, slut. Impatience needs to be punished.” Then, almost as an afterthought— “And stop calling me bloody fucking Elvis.”

  Before I can respond, his hand comes down on my ass again, hard and fast.

  Nonsensical words tumble from lips. Fuck. My ass cheeks are burning and my juices are flowing.

  I look into the fire and feel it inside of me. Flames flicker in bright orange, yellow, and red. The heat from the flames reaches out to me and envelopes me.

  My ass cheeks feel the heat the most.

  Just as suddenly as the spanking started, it finishes.

  With my ass cheeks burning, I crave for more.

  “Now, have you learned your lesson my little tart?”

  I nod. “Yes, I promise. Please, Elvis, give it to me! Fuck me.”

  As a response, I feel him spread my legs. His finger finds my wet opening, and I quiver when he pushes them into me.

  Now I raise my ass up to meet his fingers.

  He pulls them out, and just as I’m about to fucking complain again, I feel the tip of his fucking cock near my pussy.

  Instead of entering me though, he teases me. He pushes in the tip, just a little, before pulling out again.

  His hands grab my hips, and I feel his fingers dig into me. He pulls me up toward him, pushing the tip of his dick into me again. This time a little farther.

  “Oh fuck Elvis, pleeeease,” I beg and try and push myself right onto him. He resists and pulls out again. Then he rubs the tip of his slightly dripping fucking cock onto my stinging ass cheek.

  “Pleeeeease, Elvis fuck me. Pleeeeease.” My voice is high-pitched, and I’m shivering with anticipation.

  And then Elvis plunges deep into me. His massive fucking cock stretches me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had such a big fucking cock in me. It feels as if he’s about to come out through my abdomen.

  He starts to thrust in and out of me. At first, it’s slow and gentle, but soon, his speed increases, and all I can hear is the sound of his balls slapping against my skin.

  I groan and push myself up on my elbows. He moves with me, and now my tits are hanging freely, swaying from side to side.

  One of his hands abandons its position and finds my breast. He cups it and squeezes it. There’s nothing gentle about it, either. Hard and fast, he massages and kneads.

  My insides are now ablaze, and fireworks explode in my head and travel to my abdomen, where they increase in size and intensity.

  I feel my muscles contract, and I know I’m close to coming.

  And then he pulls out of me.

  Fear grips me.

  Ice fingers rake over my heat.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Did I do something wrong?

  Just as I’m about to ask him, I feel him turn me over.

  “I want to see you when you come.”

  Lying on my back now, he spreads my legs and enters me. His massive cock pistons in and out of me faster than anyone’s ever fucked me before. My breathing is fast and shallow.

  Now both his hands are cupping my breasts, playing with my nipples. His eyes are fixed on mine. I see flames flicker in them.

  I feel him grow inside of me, and the walls of my pussy grab onto him. It is as if I don’t ever want him to leave my pussy again.

  With each thrust, I hear him groan. I can see from his facial expression that he’s about to come, too.

  My orgasm builds somewhere deep within me, near the back of my belly button. It grows and rips through me like an explosion.

  At the same time, I feel the build-up in Elvis. I watch his muscles tighten, and then he unleashes his huge load of cream-colored cum into my hungry pussy.

  Feeling his cum inside me takes me over the edge.

  “Fuuuuck!” I whimper. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

  His strong hands holding me in my place minimize my thrashing, but they do nothing to stop me from shaking and moaning and scratching at whatever part of him I can reach.

  “Ohmygodfuck,” I breathe. “That w-was…that was…”

  He collapses on top of me, and I melt into him.

  “What was it, love?” I feel his chest move as he asks.

  “Mmmmm.”

  Chuckling, he pulls up from me and pulls me into a cuddle. As we lie there, arm in arm on the leather, I snuggle my head into him and listen to his heart beat in his chest.

  “In case I forget what happened tonight,” I whisper into his ear. “Remember I love you, Elvis.”

  Before I close my eyes and am swept away into the land of dreams, I feel him kiss me ever so lightly on the tip of my nose.

  “Becky, you silly bird, I love you, too…but that’s still not my fucking name.”

  And I know, I do love him.

  Whoever he is.

  I love him a lot.

  Liam

  12:05 PM THURSDAY

  I walk into the club, sticking to the darkness so I’m not seen. It pays to check on things without being seen. I know the dark won’t hide me for a long, but for the little while it does, I fucking take advantage of it.

  There are a few buzzing women mingling about, and some of my male employees are chatting among the patrons. For a Thursday lunch, it’s pretty standard business—not dead quiet, but not packed, either. The real crowds will come a little later.

  James has got the music playing a little softer right now than he does at night. It allows for conversation. At night, we play it full blast. I mean, let’s face it—if you come to a fucking male stripper club at night, you’re not here to chit chat.

  Bruce behind the bar is as professional as ever and is engaging in small talk. He’s got a bunch of girls eating out of the palm of his hands.

  Literally. He’s got them diving for peanuts and licking the salt off of his palms.

  I shake my head.

  I’ve tried to entice Bruce to become one of our strippers eve
r since he knocked on my door a couple of years ago. Back then, he was down on his luck. The minute I spoke to him, I realized he was the real deal. Instantly, he was hired.

  And I’ve never ever regretted my decision since.

  He’d make us both so much money, we wouldn’t know what to do with all of it. But every time I ask him if he’s changed his mind, he shakes his head and grins.

  “I’m not much of a dancing man, boss. I’ll stick with what I know.”

  And boy, does he fucking know his business.

  He can mix the most complicated of cocktails in record time. His Shirley Temple is to die for. And boy, does he know how to keep the broads buying.

  The wave from Bruce lets me know I’ve been spotted. Another tick of his. I know no one else will have seen me but Bruce. Bruce is always alert and on the ball.

  I think he practices some form of martial arts. According to his principles, you never let your fucking guard down. You need to have a roaming eye. And his roaming eye has found me.

  For a few more minutes, I ponder Bruce and his missed career move as one of my male strippers. Even I, as another bloke, think he’s fucking attractive. The girls practically drool when he flexes his bicep to pour a drink.

  If he performed his form—that’s his martial art fundamental training technique—he would rake in the dollars. I’ve seen him do it, clothed and naked.

  Someone walks up to me.

  “Hey, Liam,” she purrs, and I smile. It’s business time.

  “How are you today, Dolly?”

  The blonde wraps her arm around my waist and bites into my ear lobe.

  For the first time in my life, this behavior disgusts me. In the past, it’s never bothered me, but today, for some inexplicable reason, I feel bile rise in the back of my throat.

  “What about one of your special solo dances?”

  I can feel her breath on my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine. Dolly reeks of alcohol. They call me a bad boy, but as a rule, I don’t prey on drunken women.

  And now, after Becky Brookes came crashing into my life…I don’t know that I have much interest in sober women, either.

  “Not today, I’m afraid,” I say firmly and untangle myself from her embrace.

  She pouts. “I’d make it worth your while.”