by Nikki Wild
The priest closed his book. I could hear the smile in his words as he said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
We collided, the world melting away in that moment as our lips made their first contact as husband and wife. Everything around us was simply a farce. The fairy tale wedding, the dress and the church and the pretty faces—none of it mattered. The only real thing was this, our love and passion. Nathaniel Hale belonged to me, and I to him, and as our kiss stretched on and on, I was in no hurry to return to reality.
Everything else could have gone to shit. The church could have burned down around us, for all I cared. This was perfection, and nothing could ever compare.
“I love you, Sandra,” Nathan said, his lips finally parting from mine.
“I love you too,” I whispered in reply, smiling as I stared into his glittering eyes. “Now, can we get out of here before these cameras see things unfit for broadcast?”
“What about everybody else?” Nathan said, glancing past me at the crowd as if he hadn’t noticed them before.
“We’re in Paris,” I replied, laughing. “Let them eat wedding cake.”
Everyone in the room erupted into cheers as Nathan lifted me from the floor, my billowing white dress pouring over his strong arms as he carried me to the doors at the side of the cathedral.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Nathan shouted over the noise. “Grab some champagne and enjoy the party!”
The room cheered again as we burst through the doors and into a short hallway leading to a sunlit path. Cold wind bit into me again, now infiltrating from beneath my dress as Nathan carried me outside the church. I shivered in his arms, but quickly found myself thrust into the backseat of a long, black limousine that was waiting for us. The heated seats immediately brought relief to the chills sweeping through me.
Nathan just stood there at the door, letting the cold in as he stared at me, my legs awkwardly kicked up over the seat. I leaned forward, grabbing at his tie and pulling him in through the door, laughing as the chauffeur closed it behind us. Nathan tried valiantly to get the blacked-out divider up as the amused driver looked on. The window was closing too slowly as I ripped at Nathan’s belt, straddling him in my dress and lowering myself around his raging erection.
“Slow down,” he chuckled. “We have all night and if you’re not careful, we’ll have a baby with French citizenship...” He gripped me and moaned, shuddering as our bodies once again came together, though this time felt like it meant so much more than the last.
“You didn’t marry a slow girl,” I playfully replied, rocking my hips and driving him deep within my yearning body. He grunted softly, his hands gliding up my back to pull at the laces holding my bodice in place. “Besides, a marriage isn’t official until you consummate it.”
“What is this, the sixteenth century?” Nathan said, laughing even as I drew myself against him and worked his throbbing shaft with every ounce of my being. The sensation of his cock slipping inside drove me wild. The fire between us only flared brighter as we explored our newly formed marital bonds.
“Just make love to me, Nathan,” I told him, placing my hand gingerly on his cheek. “No witty comments. No stupid grins that you can hide behind. Take me like it’s the very first time. Make me yours all over again.”
We reveled in each other’s passion, basking in the knowledge that we would be together forever. A love like this didn’t come to an end. Though I didn’t say it out loud, I knew in my heart that not even death could separate us.
I moved on top of him, steady and slow, gasping as he finally freed my breasts from their fabric prison. He buried his face between the swollen mounds, carefully kissing and touching, gingerly lapping at my sensitive nipples until they hardened under his tongue. For once he was letting me have control. It was how I knew that I really had him. He had finally surrendered to me as much as I had to him.
He tugged dress up and off my body, revealing my pregnant nakedness. He moaned, watching me ride him ever so slowly. I dug my nails into his shoulders and pressed my forehead against his, on the verge of collapsing as my new husband drove me to the brink of orgasm.
“I love you,” I breathed, shivering as a telltale current jolted through me, heralding my impending orgasm. I bit my lip, looking lustfully into his eyes. “I don’t think I can hold back, Nathan…”
“Don’t,” he commanded me, “You don’t ever have to hold back with me, Sandra. I love you. And that’s never, ever going to change.”
I let myself go, staring out the window at the streets of Paris as our bodies blended into one. I knew this wasn’t the end.
This was only the beginning.
I wanted to say thank you to all my lovely readers for all of your wonderful comments, reviews, and e-mails. Don’t stop yet, there’s still one more sexy bonus novels included - turn the page!
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Novels by Nikki Wild
Bad Boy Bikers:
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
British Bad Boys:
Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Bad Boy Rockstars:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Bad Boy Stepbrothers:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Bad Boy Billionaires:
Protect And Serve (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)
Part IV
Bonus Novel: Illicit Behavior
A BAD BOY ROCKSTAR ROMANCE
Copyright 2016, Nikki wild
All Rights Reserved
My entire catalog is FREE TO READ for anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription! You can check out all of my sexy bad boy novels by clicking RIGHT HERE!
Do you want new release notification, a chance to be an ARC reader, special limited time discounts, and FREE EXCLUSIVE Nikki Wild content? Click here to sign up for my WILD mailing list today! Signup is easy and I will NEVER send you spam or share your e-mail address with anyone.
Trent
“Dude! These groupies are totally ready to go!” My dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian guitarist laughed, splashing his bottle of beer in an arc.
The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky, angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.
Despite my lack of interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.
“You go on ahead, man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”
No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.
In fact, my bassist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.
“Serious?” Waylon asked drunkenly.
His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.
Almost.
>
“You sure you don’t want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go around. I’m not greedy.”
The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.
They looked cute.
Cute, and too young to be acting like this.
“Think I’m just gonna relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”
“If you say so!”
“And ladies,” I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow.”
They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”
They chuckled with big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.
Joke’s on them, I thought to myself. Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.
Truth of the matter was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.
A constant stream of the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.
And why shouldn’t they?
We weren’t just anybody.
We were Trent Masters and the Whiplash, the hottest fucking rock band in America.
On national radiowaves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.
Something harder.
Something real.
Something apparently sorely missed.
Our latest album, Twelve Machines, was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.
I was on top of the fucking world.
Or I should have felt like I was.
But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.
It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old spit-shine.
It just didn’t feel right.
But… I couldn’t tell what I wanted instead.
What I needed.
I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this badass music festival called the RipFest, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.
They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.
It’s not like I wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.
The constant attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even closer to scandal in this day and age.
Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl’s iPhone.
It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.
I’d paid my dues.
No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.
Despite the bullshit, the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.
But as the light grew brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.
The world is a filthy place.
And I am the reigning king of the filth.
Angel
Summoning every drop of charisma that I could find, I smiled and plunked down the glasses at the four-top bar table for the graying, slovenly bikers. I rattled off the orders as I sloshed the drinks in front of them in turn, each of them smiling grotesquely.
“Four drafts: Bud, Bud, Miller Lite, and Abita. And four shots of Fireball, because why not,” I added mirthlessly.
“Thanks, darlin’,” the closest biker chuckled, lifting his shot and suddenly grabbing a nice handful of my ass.
I flinched and drew back from him, preserving my pride – and my job – by not responding poorly to the harassment.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
It was less a question, and more a growl.
“One other thing.”
He dropped his menu on the ground, and looked at me expectantly.
“Step onto that.”
I was used to this by now, and I suppressed a heavy sigh and a filthy look. Instead, I stepped meaningfully onto the discarded menu.
“We’ll take one of you,” he grinned.
“You can’t have one of me.”
“But darlin’, you’re on the menu!”
They broke into riotous laughter, as if this was the cleverest fucking joke ever.
It was pretty funny the first time someone did it to me. Months ago… People are less original than they think. I heard this one twice a week.
“Looks like we’re fresh out,” I responded, scooping the menu off the floor and strolling away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their laughter die down, and they were looking at me with annoyance for not playing along.
To hell with ‘em.
To hell with everything about this stupid goddamn job.
I hated working this ancient, decrepit dive bar. The money was just good enough to keep myself afloat, and bartending was fun enough, but not somewhere like this.
If it wasn’t bikers, it was rednecks.
If it wasn’t rednecks, it was thugs.
If it wasn’t thugs…
A shiver went up my spine. I didn’t like to think about that.
Old Greg owned this place, and he was a friendly enough guy. Hell, he’d been a godsend. A lifelong resident of this backwater little town, he was old enough to be my grandfather. His best patron was our sheriff – someone who turned a blind eye when I was brought onboard to tend bar at sixteen.
At least that was no longer a problem. I’d turned eighteen pouring drinks.
When it was slow and I was cleaning glasses or wiping surfaces, I dreamed of exactly what you’d think a bright, young girl who dream about in a place like this:
Getting the hell out of Riverton.
That was the name of this place. The town, not the bar. Well, the bar too, technically.
Riverton Bar, in Riverton… On Riverton Avenue.
Remember when I said people aren’t original?
That applies to the friendly ones, too.
Dropping the drink tray off at the stack, I passed back around the counter and checked on my other patrons – several working-class stragglers, downing cheap beer specials, an older fellow nursing a whiskey neat, and a few older crones sipping heavy martinis.
Satisfied, I began taking stock of my liquors. I was gonna have to pop open a bottle of Crown soon, and we were still out of half our rum…
While I checked things off on my clipboard, I noticed someone approaching the bar. I didn’t think much of it, and I continued my work for a moment. I was busy, and the shadow could see that.
Whoever it was, he could wait a minute.
Ticking a couple of more checks, I finally turned around to see the same biker from before – the jester of the group.
Well, more like the leader, from the way the other bikers regarded him. He was leering at me for some reason, a
nd I felt a pit deep in my stomach.
“You forgot something,” he grumbled.
“Sorry,” I answered, letting my tone demonstrate how unapologetic I really was. “My memory’s a bit fuzzy. What was it?”
He sat an empty shot glass on the counter.
I glanced at it, then back up to him.
“I wasn’t kidding. I really don’t remember. What was it again?”
His eye twitched, but he backed off a little.
“Crown.”
“Oh, right,” I nodded, reaching for the liquor bottle. “Fireball shots for everyone, and another Crown for you.” If he’d have been any less of a total creep, I would have snuck him a second one, just to make up for it.
It wasn’t becoming for a bartender to have to scribble down the drink orders, but I’d been managing pretty well all night. On crazy nights, I took the excuse to do it, which made things run way less stressful for me.
Of course, it was on a simple shot for the most intimidating and questionable guy all night that I’d lose my train of focus.
“Here you go,” I placed it back down on the counter for him.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, walking away.
But he was still watching me out of the corner of his eye. I didn’t like it.
I sighed inwardly, turning to my other patrons. They’d been trying to ignore the raucous bikers, but even they could sense the unsettling tension in the room that had developed around the group.
And there was the way they looked at me…
Maybe I’d get lucky and they’d lose interest before closing time. Risking a quick look, I caught the big biker staring, a crooked smile growing across his unshaven face.
I’d never been a very lucky girl…
Trent
After ditching the shitty after-party, it was a small matter to figure out where to go. I still felt like drinking, but if I’d stepped into any old bar here in the city I’d be recognized and ambushed for autographs and selfies.