by Lane Hart
SavageKing69 tells me he’s only thirty-four, which is surprising since I thought most rich guys on these sites were old and decrepit. It’s a huge plus that he’s not. And he says he lives in North Carolina!
“That’s perfect,” I type to him because it means I’ll still be close enough to drive home to see my mom and dad.
“Are you able to finalize everything by Friday?” I ask, afraid this guy is too good to be true and I’m getting my hopes up.
“Hell yeah. The sooner the better,” is his response.
“Great, then let’s talk about what each of us want included in the contract,” I type to him.
SavageKing69’s response is one word, “Sex.”
Of course. I figured the physical aspect would be brought up pretty fast since he wanted to see my breasts. I’m also aware of the fact that if a man pays that much money to marry me, he’s going to want to sleep with me.
And I’m going to need some time to prepare myself for getting naked with a stranger. Four days isn’t exactly long enough, though, so I’ll need to come around to the idea or this whole mail-order bride idea is pointless.
Blowing out a breath, I try to figure out how to respond while keeping his interest and also being completely honest.
Finally, I tell him, “I don’t know you, and have never met you, so I can’t promise that I’ll have sex with you whenever you want. Anyone who agrees to that would be lying, so I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s going to happen. But, I’m willing to give marriage a real shot, which includes intimacy, eventually.”
There. I left the door open to the possibility since it’s the truth and I have to give some shred of hope to get the money and fast.
“I can work with that,” SavageKing69 says which is a relief. Then he adds, “As long as I get to have you on our wedding night.”
Oh shit.
“You want me to sleep with you the first day we meet?” I ask in horror. I have no idea what he looks like, if I’ll be attracted to him, or repulsed!
“It’s a fucking tradition,” is his response.
I tell him, “That’s asking a lot.”
SavageKing69 says, “So is demanding a man pay half a million damn dollars to marry you.”
“Touché,” I type back with a smile on my face. Closing my eyes and scrubbing my palms over my face, I try to imagine the absolute worst man I can, then try to picture getting naked with him and letting him touch me.
It makes me feel incredibly nauseous.
But so does the image of my parents having to sell their house and work shitty jobs, or even worse, my father dead, murdered by the Russian assholes because he didn’t get the money they say he owes by Friday.
Still, if I’m going to have to put out to make this deal happen, I need something in return.
“If we have sex on our wedding night, you lose all rights to a refund,” I shoot back to SavageKing69.
“Half a refund,” he quickly counters. “I’m not paying two-hundred grand for a one-night stand.”
He makes a valid point. And my intention with this arranged marriage slash mail-order bride business wasn’t to whore myself out. With two hundred and fifty thousand and the three-hundred thousand from insurance, my dad can pay back the Russians, assuming the check comes from the insurance company in time.
Sleeping with a man who is going to be my husband is a small price to pay to ensure my parents have the money in time.
“Deal,” I agree. “What else?”
It feels like I have to wait half an hour for SavageKing69’s next response, which is too long when time is running out for my father. Finally, he says, “I want a guarantee that you won’t immediately back out and get a divorce. You don’t have to agree to be with me forever, but you can’t take my money and run.”
“Understood,” I reply because I’m not a complete bitch trying to screw the guy over.
“So, if you leave before a year is up, I get half my money back,” he tells me.
One year living with a strange man to make sure my parents will be okay? That doesn’t seem so bad. I can get through anything for one year. And this guy doesn’t seem old or hateful, just a little pervy and blunt.
“Deal,” I tell him.
“What do you want, Kira?” he asks, making my grin widen because he even bothered to ask and because he used my name.
“You can’t hurt me,” I type to him. “If you physically assault me, I’ll call the police. Our marriage will be over, and I get to keep all of the money.”
“Deal,” he agrees, which is a relief. “I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you either.”
Wow. That’s sort of sweet.
“Good, then that’s all for me. Anything else for you?” I reply.
“Do you want kids?”
I take a second to think that one over before I respond, not really sure why he wants to know. But I guess that, after people get married, they usually have kids. Some don’t ever want them, though. It’s probably a good thing to discuss before taking vows.
Did my parents ever imagine that they would have a happy marriage, including me when they made their arrangement? Probably not.
And I do want kids. Several would be nice because, growing up as an only child, I was lonely, even more so when there’s no other sibling around to help me deal with the current mess my parents are in.
What if SavageKing69 doesn’t want kids?
If I say yes, does it mean our deal is off?
I’m not going to lie, so eventually, I tell him, “Yes, someday, and more than one.”
“Good. That’s perfect,” he tells me, which is a relief.
“Great,” I agree. “I’ll have an attorney draft up the contract and send it to you tomorrow for you to sign. Will that work?”
“I’ll get the money ready,” he responds.
I’m getting ready to end the chat when I realize I don’t even know his first name. “I’ll need your full name for the contract. I’m guessing it’s not SavageKing69.”
“It’s Miles. Miles Taylor. You may want to start getting used to the last name.”
Miles. I like it.
And Kira Taylor isn’t all that bad either.
“Thanks, Miles,” I say to the man who may have just unknowingly saved my father’s life.
Chapter Five
Miles
I don’t know or understand but maybe half of the words in the goddamn marriage contract.
And while my cock is all for me agreeing and sending over half a million dollars to a beautiful woman I’ve never met with amazing tits, my head is concerned that this could be a huge mistake.
I need someone to read through all the legalese shit and tell me if I’m agreeing to my entire life savings or something first.
I guess I could ask Reece since he’s really fucking smart, but he’s still angry with me about the website hacking thing.
Sax is a brainiac too; but when I try to call him, his phone goes to voicemail.
Torin isn’t around, and I don’t really want Chase and Abe knowing my business and laughing it up.
Guess my next stop is the short walk over to Avalon to see Cooper. The former military man manages a club, so he’s sharp as a tack. I bet he even deals with contracts or whatever with the strippers. And the scenery doesn’t exactly hurt either. Seeing Coop means seeing tits, which is just fine with me.
“What’s up?” Cooper asks after a quick glance up at me before he goes back to whatever work he’s doing on the laptop on the desk in his office.
“Why don’t you sit in the main room and watch tits all day?” I ask him curiously.
“That shit gets old fast,” he says, but I refuse to believe such a thing is true. It’s the equivalent of saying a man can have too much sex. “And I actually have shit to do that requires peace and quiet. What do you need?”
“I, ah, I’ve got a contract I need someone to read before I sign it.”
“A contract for what?” he asks.
“Ugh, here, just read it,” I say, going over to toss the paperwork down in front of him.
He picks it up, and his eyes skim the first page for about ten seconds before he looks at me over the top. “You’re buying a woman?”
“A wife, yeah. And you can’t tell any fucking body!” I warn him.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
“No, man,” Coop says with a sigh. “Why the hell are you buying a woman?”
“Why not?” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.
“You got me there,” he responds with a shake of his head and a grin before he keeps reading. Finally done with all the pages, he offers the stack back to me and says, “Look, man, I don’t even know some of that legal jargon. You probably need an attorney to give you the okay.”
“An attorney? Yeah,” I agree. “You know any?”
“Ah, I know one, sure,” he responds and tugs at the collar of his dress shirt. Looking up at the clock on the wall, he says, “It’s lunchtime, so Liz is probably in her office if you want to try and stop by.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Elizabeth Townsend,” he replies. “She’s one of the MC’s criminal defense attorneys, but I think she would help you out with the contract as a favor to me.”
“Yeah, that sounds good, the sooner the better.”
“Okay,” he agrees, getting to his feet. Grabbing his Savage King cut from the back of his chair, he slips his arms into it and says, “Follow me. And try not to act a fool.”
“I’ll try my best,” I agree with a snicker.
The attorney’s office is over in Beaufort, on the mainland, so it’s a short drive over the bridge.
We park in the lot of a five-story building, one that’s fancy on the inside and has a list of about thirty names of businesses and people in the building.
“Liz is on the fifth floor,” Cooper says when he presses the button to call the elevator.
There’s Kenny G or some shit playing over the speakers in the elevator. The interior is made up entirely of mirrors; and even though we’re the only ones inside, the reflections keep startling me.
Cooper leads the way off the elevator down to the end of the hall where he opens a door and walks into a small waiting room that’s empty.
“Hey, Barb. Is Liz in?” Coop asks at the receptionist window.
Smiling up at Cooper like he’s a movie star, the blonde woman picks up the phone. “Mr. Cummings is here to see you,” she says before hanging up and telling Coop, “She said you can come on back.”
“Great, thanks,” he responds.
“Your last name is Cummings?” I exclaim followed by a chuckle. “How did I not know that?”
“Shut up,” Coop says as we go through another door and down a narrow hall to the office in the back-left corner. He raps his knuckles quickly on the door before turning the handle and walking on in.
Inside the office, a short, curvy blonde stands up from behind her enormous desk covered in accordion files and starts unbuttoning the top of her blue blouse, her eyes lowered to focus on her task. “We’ll have to make this quick. I have to be in court in an hour…” she starts and then finally looks up. “Oh, so I guess it’s not that kind of appointment. Unless you’re planning on having your friend join us?” she asks, head high and without missing a beat or even blushing.
“Hell no,” Cooper snaps at the same time I say, “Hell fucking yes.”
Coop shoots me a glare before he tells her, “We’re here on business. Can you look over a contract?”
If he says today is business, then I’m guessing Coop’s other visits must be strictly for pleasure. Now it makes sense why he calls her Liz like they’re good buddies. Fuck buddies, if I had to guess.
“Sure,” the small but fiercely confident woman agrees, reaching her hand out.
“This is my friend, Miles,” Cooper says. “Miles Taylor, this is Elizabeth Townsend.”
“One of your brother’s in arms apparently,” Elizabeth remarks as she looks between us and our identical leather cuts then stares at the skull tat that wraps around my throat.
I hand her the paperwork, and she puts on a pair of thin glasses, then leans over the desk to read while standing, giving me a peek at her heavy tits spilling out the top of her white lace bra. I barely get to enjoy it before Coop steps in front of me, blocking the view.
After a few seconds, she looks up and asks me around his body, “Have you met her?”
“Ah, sort of,” I respond. “I’ve seen her picture and we’ve talked online.”
“You’re paying to marry a woman without even meeting her first. That’s risky…”
“Can he even do that?” Coop asks the lawyer.
“Yes,” she agrees before she flips to the next page.
Since it’s going to take a while, I walk around the room, coming to a stop at the statue of a blind-folded woman holding scales in one hand and a sword in another. The scales even move when I put my finger on it.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Coop mutters from behind me. “What are you, five?”
“Plus or minus thirty years,” I joke.
“Well,” Elizabeth starts, “legally, as long as this contract lays out everything you both agreed to, then I don’t see any problems with it. Basically, it’s no different than a prenup. Do you need a prenup?”
“Nah, most of my money is in a fireproof safe that requires my fingerprint,” I tell her.
“All right then,” she says, handing the stack back to me. “Looks like you’re all set. Congrats, I guess.”
“Great,” I say in relief. “You got one of those canaries around for me to sign it and stamp it?” I ask her.
“Ah, sure,” Elizabeth replies with a grin. “Beth, our secretary, is a notary, so she can do that if you have a photo ID,” she says before pushing a button on the phone and asking the woman to come to her office with her notary stamp. Once that’s taken care of, she turns back to me and says, “You do know that even if you’re married, you’ll still need her consent to…whenever you want to…”
“To what?” I ask.
“Oh, Jesus,” Coop mutters, rubbing his fingers over his temples. “To fuck her, man, to fuck her! Marriage doesn’t mean you can hit it whenever you want.”
“Yeah, I know that,” I huff. Kira came right out and said she wouldn’t agree to screw me whenever I say the word. But she did agree to it the night we get married, and then to try and make this a real marriage after that.
And I mean, how hard could it be to convince a woman who lives with me and sleeps in my bed to spread her legs once in a while for me?
Oh fuck.
I can’t expect my wife to live in my shitty little apartment at the clubhouse. It smells like cigars, stale pizza and booze with a hint of sweat and cum. A woman as beautiful as Kira deserves better.
“Is there anything else I can help you gentlemen with today?” Elizabeth asks.
“Ah, yeah,” I answer. “Who do I need to talk to about buying a house?”
Chapter Six
Kira
“Mom, Dad, we need to talk,” I say to my parents after we finish dinner and are all still sitting at our dining table.
“What is it, маленький?” my father asks, still calling me “little one” even though I’m twenty-three.
“I have some news.”
“Have you finally decided on a college?” he asks, face brightening with a grin. Shit. He’s going to be so disappointed when I tell him what I plan to do, and he realizes I may never go to college like he always wanted for me.
“No, ah, not yet,” I say. “But I am leaving home soon.”
“What do you mean you’re leaving home?” my mother asks. “Where are you going if not to school?”
“I’m, uh, I’m getting married.”
My mother and father look at each other in confusion before my dad finally speaks again. “What?” he simply asks.
/> “I’m getting married. There’s a man in North Carolina, and I’ve agreed to meet him Friday at a little chapel by the sea.”
My father rapidly fires questions at me. “Who is this man? How do you know him? What is the rush, Kira?”
“Okay, so don’t freak out, but it’s sort of an arranged marriage, like yours. He’s going to give me some money, so you won’t have to sell the house. Think of it as an old school dowry.”
“Kira, honey, are you feeling okay?” my mother asks, and even reaches over to put her palm on my forehead as if checking my temperature.
“I’m fine and I’ve already made this decision so you can’t try to talk me out of it. The contract has been signed and the money will be wired into your bank account on Friday after the ceremony. I’m telling you now because I hope that you’ll come with me, that daddy will walk me down the aisle.”
“We’ve never met the man. Have you? This is absurd,” my father says. “Let me see this ridiculous contract!”
“Why is it so absurd? You and mom had an arranged marriage. Did you meet her father before the wedding? Before you two decided to get married and leave the country with her to live thousands of miles away?”
“No, but…” he starts.
“Then you don’t get to be angry at me for this!” I tell him. “I’m doing it because you and mom gave me everything growing up. It’s the least I can do for you.”
“No!” my father exclaims. “We don’t need you to take care of us. We’re the parents and you’re the child! We are supposed to take care of you, not the other way around,” he says before he gets to his feet and launches into various Russian curses.
“Kira,” my mom starts, reaching for my hand and covering it with hers. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sure you can tell them you changed your mind.”
“No, I’m not changing my mind. It’s done. So, are you going to help me pick out a wedding dress, or am I going to have to go do that on my own?” I ask.
Tears fill my mother’s tired, blue eyes as she stares silently at me. “I’ll go. Of course, I’ll go if you’re certain this is what you want.”