By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

The rest of the day is a blur of disbelief, graciously accepting everyone’s congratulations and well wishes for the future, and being teased within an inch of my life.

I thought I was needy for Kingston when Lori interrupted our heated make-out session in one of the hotel’s offices, but that was nothing. Since the moment we were announced as husband and wife, Kingston seems to have made it his sole mission to have my entire body vibrating with desire.

All the way through having our wedding photos taken, he was whispering filthy things in my ear, ensuring his seemingly innocent and romantic touches drove me to the brink of insanity. Any second we’ve managed to steal for ourselves, he’s pushed me against a wall or a desk or anything he can find and kissed the living daylights out of me, all the while telling me how incredible I look, but also muttering about how much better my wedding dress will look on the floor of our suite.

By the time we’re instructed to take to the stage for our first dance as a married couple, I’m about ready to claw my own skin off with my need for his touch.

With all eyes on us once again, Kingston leads me toward the dance floor. My entire body trembles as we take our places. If anyone can see it, they probably assume it’s nerves. Well, anyone but Lori and Cory. They have both delighted in teasing me relentlessly all day. They know me well enough to know why I’m so antsy, and it is not helping the situation.

Kingston’s hand grips mine tightly while the other slips innocently around my waist, tugging me harshly against his body.

“Been waiting all day for this,” he whispers the second his cheek presses against mine.

“Really?” I deadpan as the music wraps around us.

While I’m in his arms, protected by this enigma of a man, it’s easy to think it’s just the two of us, that the rest of the world ceases to exist around us.

“What? Did you think there was something else I’ve spent all week fantasizing about other than dancing with my wife?” he mocks.

“Dancing, sure.”

“I was just picturing it without clothes and definitely with a few fewer eyes on us,” he confesses as we move together as if we’ve been doing it all our lives. Dancing with him is effortless in a way that I’m not sure life with him is going to be.

We might find this calm moment where we can just be, like the weekend at the cabin. But they’re only the calm in the storm. The rest of the time, we’re bickering and driving each other crazy with our stubbornness and unwillingness to bend.

With his lips against my ear so that no one can hear or even lip-read, he continues. “I’m going to undo each of these little buttons running down your back,” he explains as his fingers bounce over them. “And then watch as your dress sinks to the floor around you.”

Oh my god.

“Your breasts are already heavy with need. I can tell without having to remove your clothes, and I already know how fucking incredible they’ll look with your nipples hard and begging for my mouth.”

My thighs clench and my eyelids lower as I imagine him wrapping those lips around me.

Desire floods my core, ensuring that my already ruined panties are damp again.

Damn this man.

He shouldn’t have this potent effect on my body with just a few words and an innocent touch.

“Then, when you can barely catch your breath, I’m going to wrap my hands around your waist, lift you from your dress, and throw you onto the bed, watching as you bounce.”

“You need to stop,” I beg, already breathless.

“Never,” he whispers. “I’m not stopping until neither of us can take any more. You’re my wife, Tatum. I’m your husband. It never⁠—”

“For a year, King. I’m your wife for a year.” I’ve no idea why I feel the need to remind him of that right now, but the words tumble free regardless. The second he hears, his entire body stills and he pulls back, his eyes locking on mine.

Something crackles loudly as a bolt of electricity shoots down my spine, rocking my foundation.

“I don’t give a shit about our expiration date, Tatum. Right now, you’re mine. And I have every intention of treating you the way every wife should be.”

It’s all I can do to nod in agreement as he continues to stare at me. With nothing but a powerful look, he renders me useless and strips me bare.

“When this song is over, we’re getting out of here,” he explains, leaving no room for argument.

I swallow thickly, thinking about how it’ll look to our guests if we walk out of our own wedding reception.

Real…it looks real.

My heart flutters and my stomach somersaults.

Right here, right now, it feels real.

Too fucking real.

As if someone hits fast forward on the clock, the song changes and other couples flood the dance floor.

“I need you naked now, Tatum. Are you going to be a good girl and give your husband what he wants, or are you going to be a little brat?”

The need to defy him, to demand that we enjoy the rest of our wedding burns through me, although I don’t think for a second that he’d ever agree, no matter how much I argue.

“Which option do you think is more fun?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

He smirks, happily playing along as his hand brushes up the side of my body until he can grip my chin.

I’m sure there are plenty of guests who are watching, judging even, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

“I know which I prefer,” he finally says, his face set in determination.

He moves faster than I can compute and a shriek rips from my lips as my feet lift from the floor.

I land over his shoulder with his arm wrapped around my thighs—not that he can get anywhere close with the size of my dress.

“Oh my god, Kingston. You can’t do this. Everyone is watching,” I cry as he begins marching across the dance floor.

I don’t look up, but I don’t need to, to know that more and more people are turning to look at us.

My face burns bright red, and it’s not just because all the blood in my upper body is racing toward it.

Every single person in this room knows exactly what he’s carrying me away to do.

Fisting my hands, I rain them down on his solid ass, surely hurting myself more than I am him.

His steps don’t so much as falter as we finally leave the room we’ve spent most of the afternoon and evening inside with our friends and family.

A door closes behind us, and the music we were just dancing to fades away.

My ears ring and my face continues to burn.

“Was that necessary?” I bark.

“Shouldn’t have taunted me then, should you, brat?”

I fume over his shoulder.

“You can put me down now,” I spit the second he steps into the elevator.

The doors close behind us and we immediately begin climbing through the building toward the top floor. At some point today, the small bag I packed on Friday morning was moved from the suite I stayed in with Lori last night to the one I’m going to be spending tonight in with my new husband.

Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach, but his grip on my legs never loosens.

“Kingston,” I warn.

“If I put you down, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

His words echo through the air, the meaning behind them making it hard to suck in my next breath.

Thankfully, only minutes later, the elevator chimes and the doors open on our floor.

“Thank fuck,” he mutters under his breath before marching out and then down the hallway to our suite like his ass is on fire.

Excitement tingles wildly inside me, the anticipation of being with him after brushing off all his attempts for days.

I was meant to be punishing him, but I’m more than aware that I’ve been punishing myself right alongside him. I can’t help but wonder if it was all because I wanted tonight to be special. I don’t believe in the whole no-sex-before-marriage thing—obviously—but there is something special about this moment, this “I must have you now and nothing else matters” moment. It’s a serious rush. And if it’s the result of withholding for almost two weeks, then I’m down.

We fly through the door the second King has it unlocked, and then he blows through the suite with me still hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes in a very pretty dress.

But the moment we step into the bedroom, he finally lowers me to the ground, and much to my surprise, he takes a huge step back and just…watches me.

“King,” I breathe with my heart in my throat.

“Fuck, Tatum. Do you have any idea how incredible you look?”

I swallow thickly as my eyes drop down his body.

He’s wearing a navy-blue suit to match our ivory and navy color theme, and he looks edible.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

His hair is no longer styled how he wanted it this morning, but messy, like he’s spent the whole day dragging his fingers through it. His eyes are dark and hungry, his lips full, his jaw has the perfect amount of scruff on it, and the suit…well, it looks like it has been tailored to fit his body to perfection, and I can’t wait to peel it off and discover what’s waiting for me beneath.

“Please,” I whimper, unable to say anything more eloquent in this moment.

I love my dress, it’s beautiful, but it’s also restrictive as hell. I’m ready for it to hit the floor. I’m ready to embark on the next part of our big day.

He steps forward and his face immediately tucks into the crook of my neck, kissing, licking, and nipping, driving me to the brink of insanity while we’re both fully dressed.

He knows what he’s doing; he’s the master at it.

“Turn around,” he finally whispers, sending a new wave of tingles shooting down my spine.

Slowly, I do as I’m told and give him my back. His kisses don’t stop, leaving my body craving more. More of his touch, more of him, more of everything.

As he described downstairs, his fingers reach for the small satin button between my shoulder blades.

It took forever to get me fully into the thing. I dread to think how long it’s going to⁠—

“Oh,” I gasp, as the unforgiving fabric begins to release around me, allowing me to breathe properly for the first time in a lot of hours.

Kingston’s lips follow his progress, kissing down my spine until he gets to the final button, allowing the dress to descend. The skirt is so massive, it stands up all by itself. I look a little like the weird toilet roll cozy thing my aunt had in the cottage. It always baffled me, but she seemed to love the ugly thing all the same.

I stand there with my dress covering my legs still, and only wearing a small ivory lace pair of panties and a garter. There were just some traditions I couldn’t ignore, and watching King remove this from my body was one of them.

As he drags his knuckles up my sides, I groan in desperation, my nipples puckering even tighter.

“Beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, making me shudder. “Now turn around. Let me see my wife.”

My stomach knots.

His wife.

Fuck. Why does that make me want to drop to my knees like a good girl who does very, very bad things?