By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

My dare hangs heavy in the air as I wait for how he’s going to respond.

My heart thumps in my chest, but it’s got nothing on the pounding in my clit.

I want to stay it started at the same time he decided to give me a foot massage, but I’d be lying.Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

It started way, way before that.

It’s wrong. My body shouldn’t be as in tune with his as it is.

I should be turned off by him.

I am turned off by him…but also…

As gently as I can, I grind my ass back again.

A filthy groan rumbles deep in his throat and his fingers twitch against my stomach, threatening, teasing.

I know what he’s capable of. There isn’t a female out there who hasn’t happily shared her pleasurable experiences with this man as wide as she can in the hope of fame and fortune.

Unlucky for them, they never got a callback.

And lucky for me…I’m here, hoping to reap the benefits of all his practice.

I should be disgusted by his manwhore ways. I always chastised Miles for the way he treated women, and Kingston hasn’t been any better.

But right now, I don’t care about the past, about who we’ve been with before or how many of them there were.

It’s about us.

Just me and him and this burning chemistry between us.

It’s been building since we signed that paperwork, and it doesn’t seem to be diminishing.

Maybe we need to do this.

Maybe if we give in, it’ll put the flames out and we can then focus on what’s important. Surviving the next year together.

My brain misfires, forgetting everything I was just thinking about when Kingston exhales, sending a rush of warm breath over my neck and chest before his hand slides downward.

Oh my god.

Heat rushes to my core, the pulsating between my thighs becoming almost unbearable.

I stop breathing. All I can think about is his hand moving lower.

Then it does. Slowly. So fucking slowly.

I don’t know if it’s because he’s testing me, giving me a chance to stop him, or if he’s just teasing me.

I’m never going to find out, because I’m not asking him. Now isn’t the time for words.

I need actions.

I need them so fucking badly I could cry.

Today has been…a lot.

The alcohol has worked to a point, but I need more. I need a bigger distraction—one that will turn my body to goo and send me off into a blissful sleep.

And then he’s there, his fingertips dancing along the edge of my panties.

How I don’t moan or beg for him to continue I don’t know.

My body burns up and I shift, brushing my ass against his length again.

He’s big. I knew that from the gossip. But seeing the way he tented his boxers earlier, feeling his thickness beneath my foot…it’s more than I imagined.

He pushes beneath my panties and I bite down on the inside of my lips to stop me from crying out in delight.

“Fuck,” he groans, his lips pressed against my shoulder again when he discovers how wet I am. “You need me, don’t you, baby?”

I don’t respond. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

The way he circles my clit with the perfect pressure, at the perfect speed, I forget words even exist.

Shamelessly, I part my legs, giving him the access he needs to do the job properly.

“Dirty girl,” he muses darkly, although he immediately takes advantage of the situation and pushes two fingers inside me.

Finally, a moan spills from my lips.

It’s too good. His thumb is on my clit and his fingers are inside me.

My body is strung so tight that all I can do is ride the waves and wait to be washed up on shore, exhausted and satisfied.

“Oh god,” I moan, rolling my hips in time with his thrusts.

“That’s it. Be a good girl for me and let me feel you coming on my fingers.”

Oh shit.

He has a dirty mouth.

Of fucking course he does.

“King,” I moan, unable to stop myself. Thankfully, I’m too far gone to care.

Pleasure builds. I feel myself climbing higher and higher. My toes curl against the sheets and lights begin to flash behind my eyes.

I’m vaguely aware of the fact that it shouldn’t be this good just from someone’s fingers, but it’s too late.

One more graze of that magic spot inside me and I go flying off the edge.

I cry out his name again as he curses behind me.

His dick is painfully hard against my ass as he moves with me, but at no point does he get it out.

He finger-fucks me through every second of my release, and it’s not until I’m relaxed, my breathing heavy and erratic, that he finally pulls his fingers free.

I watch with wide eyes as he lifts his hand. For a second, I think he’s going to demand I clean them, but then he diverts them from my line of sight, over my shoulder.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see. I know what he’s doing. And it’s only confirmed when he moans wantonly.

“So fucking sweet for such a brat,” he muses before wrapping his arm around me again and pressing his palm flat against my stomach.

“King, what⁠—”

“Sleep, baby. You need to rest.”

He relaxes against me, his head falling to the pillow.

I want to argue. I want to demand he roll over and repay him.

But also…I’m exhausted.

Only seconds after thinking of all the things I could do to him in return, I drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say the next morning when I join Kingston in the kitchen.

He’s already dressed and ready for work. I, however, have just rolled out of bed. My hair is a bird’s nest on top of my head, my eyes are puffy, and I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a pillow crease in my cheek.

What I need is one very strong coffee.

And yet, there doesn’t seem to be any in sight.

“You actually make this shit?” I snarl as I start rooting through the cupboard for the coffee machine.

Surely, he has one. This is America. A coffee machine is as guaranteed as bacon in the refrigerator.

Oh my god, tell me he has bacon.

I pull the heavy refrigerator door open and study the shelves.

“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement filling his voice.

“Seeing how much of a freak you really are.”

He laughs. “It’s too late now, anyway.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, my head still stuck inside.

“You already agreed to marry me.”

“Ow,” I cry, banging my head on a shelf.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asks, abandoning his blender in favor of getting a closer look at my fridge inspection.

“Looking for bacon.”

“Bacon?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah. I need to know if you have any⁠—”

His hand moves over my shoulder and he grabs something from a pile.

“Happy?” he asks, showing me the packet.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Now your coffee machine?” I ask hopefully.

“You don’t need coffee, Tatum,” he states, going back to put the lid on his health drink concoction.

“And this is where we disagree.”

“You need vitamins, minerals, potassium, magnesium, antioxi⁠—”

I cut him off. “No, I need caffeine.”

“Give me two weeks,” he says before turning the blender on and transforming his mixture of random shit into the green goop I know and hate.

“No,” I state, placing my hand on my hips and glaring as hard as I can for this early in the morning with no coffee in my system.

“Two weeks, and I promise you’ll feel better than you ever have.”

I can’t lie. Feeling better within myself does sound appealing. But then he removes the jug from the blender, and I change my mind.

He pours the juice into two glasses before passing one over.

Immediately, he lifts his to his lips and takes a big gulp.

I cringe.

How is he not gagging?

Cautiously, I lift it to my nose and sniff.

Yep, same as all the previous days.

“Have you even tried any of the ones I’ve delivered to you?” he asks, lifting a brow in question.

“Uh…”

“You’ve got to give it a chance, Tatum.” I stare at him, wondering if he’s talking about the juice or this whole situation. “Just try it. I promise you, it’s not that bad.”

I refuse for another few seconds before I reluctantly lift the glass to my lips and take a tentative sip.

I’m fully expecting it to taste like I’m drinking dirty toilet water. But the second it hits my tongue, I discover I’m wrong, and sadly, he’s right.

Not that I’m going to tell him that. His ego is already inflated enough.

I pull the glass away and curl my lips in disgust. “It’s vile,” I lie.

“Well, it’s that or water. Your choice.”

“Or…I order takeout like a normal person.”

He shakes his head before finishing his drink.

“I’ve got an early meeting,” he says, placing the empty glass in the dishwasher. “But Lewis will come back and take you to work.”

“That’s not necess—” His glare ensures I cut myself off. There are some arguments I might stand a chance of winning. Like hopefully the addition of a coffee machine in his fancy kitchen. But getting myself to work isn’t going to be one of them. “Okay, thank you. I start at⁠—”

“Eight-thirty and finish at five. I know, Tatum. I’ve got meetings all afternoon, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to pick you up. Thought we could go out to dinner, celebrate you moving in.”

My eyes widen.

“Have I moved in, though? None of my stuff seems to be here.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I have it all under control.” His cell buzzes on the counter and he snatches it up and pockets it. “I’ve got to go,” he says in a rush, stepping closer and dropping a kiss on my cheek. “Have a good day, baby. Try not to miss me too much.”

He’s gone before I get a chance to register the kiss or his words, but as the door slams behind him, I find that I’m clutching my cheek like a sap.

“Yeah,” I muse. “I’m sure I’ll cope.”

Despite his words, the first thing I do once I’m alone is have a thorough search for a coffee machine.

It’s pointless, though. He really doesn’t have one.

What kind of man have I agreed to marry exactly?