By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

My body burns up as I watch Kingston emerge from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets on his skin.

Fuck. This night just took a very enjoyable turn.

Dropping my eyes down his body, I shamelessly feast on him.

Tanned skin, hard muscles, a scattering of dark hair that directs me down to the towel and what is hiding beneath it.

“I thought you’d passed out,” he mutters, sounding nothing but pissed off with the current situation.

“You should be so lucky,” I sass back, making his expression harden.

“What’s wrong, KC? All work and no play makes the King all tense and angry?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tatum. I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

“Then why are you here?” I counter. “You could have left me in the club.” He scoffs, letting me know exactly what he thinks of that suggestion. “You could have left me here. I’m not going to die.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and I’m pretty sure it’s hope that maybe I would, to get him out of this bullshit arrangement.

“So?” I ask, pushing myself so I’m sitting and resting back on my palms. “What happens now? You’ve got me in your fancy hotel room. You’re all but naked and I’m…” I kick my heels off and lift my feet, placing them on the edge of the bed with my legs spread.

Shameless hussy, Tatum Warner.

I banish that little voice of reason in my head.

Who the fuck cares?

Kingston sure doesn’t. He and Miles make a hobby out of seeing how many women they can tap in one weekend; why shouldn’t it work the other way around?

Maybe I should make a play for all the Callahan brothers. That’s the sort of hat trick I can get on board with…

“Keep your fucking eyes and hands away from my brothers, Tatum,” Kingston warns, letting me know that that wasn’t an internal thought.

Damn tequila.

“Or what?” I taunt, dropping back to my elbows.

“Or fucking nothing.”

He moves closer and my heart rate kicks up a notch.

His eyes hold mine for a few seconds before he finally loses the fight with his self-control and they drop to my body, lingering for longer than polite on my lace-covered pussy.

“See something you like?” I tease, spreading my legs wider, and offering myself up to him.

“I’m not some sleaze you picked up in a club, Tatum.”

“I’m more than aware of that, husband,” I breathe, my voice raspy and full of need.

His jaw ticks and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

I run my eyes down the length of his body again and smirk when I find that he’s beginning to tent his towel.

My fingers twitch with my need to reach out and rip it from his body.

I gasp as he suddenly leans over me, and as his hands press to the mattress on either side of my head, my arms give out and I collapse back.

“Kingston,” I breathe, my eyes searching his, desperately trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

“You’re a bad, bad girl, Tatum.” He dips his head, his hot breath rushing over my skin, making my core flood with heat. Just his breath alone is intense; I can only imagine what his touch will do. “I think it’s time someone finally taught you a lesson.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper, desire coursing through my veins.

His knuckles brush against my hips before he grasps my dress and none too gently drags it up my body.

My skin burns as his eyes feast on me. Needing more, I reach for the front clasp of my bra and flick it open.

“Make me yours, King,” I moan, the room spinning around me.

“You’re fucking trouble, Brat. You’ve no idea what I want to do to you.”

“Do it. All of it. Please.”

I wake with a start, my heart racing and my entire body covered in a layer of sweat.

My core aches, my clit pounding.

“Kingston,” I whisper. “Please.” The words spill from my lips without instruction from my brain. My body has taken on a life of its own.

I need him. I need him to continue, to give me the release my body is so desperate for after his teasing.

It was bad enough dancing together and feeling his excitement pressed against my ass. But seeing him in that towel, feeling the heat of his body looming over me, his hot breath rushing over my skin…

“King?” I call a little louder when I get no response. “KC?”

Ripping my eyes open—a fucking challenge, seeing as my mascara has turned into superglue—I search the room around me for him.

“Shit,” I hiss, closing my eyes again and falling back onto the bed.

Grabbing a pillow from the other side of the bed, I pull it over my head and try to figure out what the fuck is going on.

He was here. I know he was.

There’s no way I made all of that up.

I wasn’t that drunk…

Was I?

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to make sense of what actually happened last night and what was a figment of my horny, overactive imagination.

I remember dancing, but that was with Cory. But I remember turning around and staring up into an angry pair of green eyes. Eyes that sent a shiver down to the tips of my toes.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

I remember getting in a car and taillights. Lots and lots of taillights.

I remember him.

Inches and inches of bare skin wet from the shower. I remember the scent of his aftershave filling my nose. Hell, I can still smell it. If I didn’t already know that I was in the room alone, I would be convinced he’s still here.

Pulling the pillow from my head, I look at the other side of the bed, trying to figure out if he slept here with me.

He was here with me. I know he was.

It wouldn’t be my first salacious dream about my brother’s best friend, and something tells me that it won’t be the last.

Throwing the pillow down, I groan, frustrated with myself for getting so drunk that I don’t remember details from the night before.

My need for the bathroom effectively pauses my pity party for one, and I reluctantly swing my legs out of the bed.

My toes sink into the thick, soft carpet and I groan.

I don’t need to look around to discover where I am.

It’s the confirmation I need to know I left with him.

I left the club with Kingston Callahan, and he was so ashamed that he dumped me at one of his hotels and took off. I knew I meant nothing to him. But being beneath his hookups is a whole new low. It stings.

He takes woman after woman back to his bed. They’re allowed in his inner sanctuary, even if it is for a few pleasure-filled hours. And here I am, about to marry the asshole, and I get dumped here like I’m some kind of hooker he’s trying to hide from the world.

I pad through to the bathroom, and it’s not until I’m sitting on the toilet that I look around.

It’s not the first time I’ve been inside a Callahan hotel, and something tells me that it’s far from being the last, but still, the mass of Callahan branding takes me by surprise. It really is impossible to forget where you’re staying.

I do my business before stumbling toward the sink to get a look at the state of myself.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter when the reality of the situation appears before me.

It’s no surprise he did a runner. No one wants to wake up to this mess.

It takes a few seconds for me to rip my eyes away from the disaster that is my hair and face, but when I do, my gaze drops to what I’m wearing.

A white shirt with the Callahan logo over my breast.

My bare breast…

The memory of me exposing myself to him reappears in my mind.

It was just a dream, right?

I didn’t actually…

My groan bounces off the shiny white tiles around me as mortification threatens to swallow me whole.

I showed him my tits and he still ran.

I’m not sure if that says more about me or him, if I’m being honest.

After attempting to clean up, I return to the room, my need for a caffeine hit the only thing spurring me on.

But when I get out into the bedroom, I discover my worst nightmare.

There is no coffee machine.

“How is this even possible?” I mutter to myself as I embark on checking all the cupboards. “There has to be a coffee machine in a Callahan hotel.”

But after searching through every single possibility, I still come up empty-handed.

“Fucking stupid hotel.” I scoff as I wake up the tablet beside the bed so I can order room service.

“Coffee, coffee, and more coffee,” I say to myself as I order the largest on offer. “Oh, and bacon. I need bacon.”

With nothing else to do but wait, I find my purse on the nightstand and pull my cell out.

My stomach knots when I find messages from Lori and Cory, both individually and in our group chat.

I open Lori’s first, knowing that it’s going to be safer.

She knows what’s going on. Hell, she’s all for me hooking up with Kingston.

And she only proves I’m right when I find a whole stream of messages first wishing me a fun night and then more from only an hour ago, demanding details.

Shaking my head, I come out of that conversation and hesitantly open Cory’s.

Cory: Lori said you left with Kingston Callahan. What the hell? I know he’s fucking loaded and all, but seriously? I thought you hated the guy.

Cory: I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. You can go with whomever you want.

Cory: Are you okay? Reply so I know he’s treating you right.

My heart aches reading his messages.

I hurt him last night.

I led him on to sate my own need for attention and then I dropped him just as fast.

I open up our group chat to find more of the same. Them freaking out that Kingston has fucked me into some kind of pleasure-induced death.

If fucking only.

I quickly reply, letting them know that while I might have woken up in some kind of hell, I’m pretty sure I am still alive. The hangover is evidence of that.

Dots start bouncing as one of them replies, but a knock at the door has me putting my cell down and racing over.

I glance down at myself a second before I pull the door open, questioning my state of dress, but the lure of coffee means I throw caution to the wind.

Ignoring the person holding the tray, I focus on the contents, excited to see my caffeine hit, but I don’t find it.

In its place is a glass of very familiar-looking green stuff.

My blood boils as fury wraps around me.

“Where’s my coffee?” I demand.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Your order was changed,” the poor guy standing before me explains.

“Well, change it back. I need coffee.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid we can’t do that. Please enjoy,” he says, thrusting the offensive drink toward me.

I have little choice but to take it, and the second I do, he hot-foots it down the hallway.

Pussy.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I look between the glass of gunk and my cell.

Kingston is going to pay for this.