The F King: A Bad Boy Romance (Still a Bad Boy Book 3)

by Ada Scott

  I felt his knee push between my legs and roughly shove them to either side, which brought me down from the tips of my toes, and I felt my rear end slide a couple of inches down the wall as our lips parted. With his spare hand, Austin reached under my skirt, and I felt his fingers trailing up my inner thighs, towards the most carefully guarded treasure I had.

  A sudden flash of, not quite shame, but definitely self-doubt struck me. If he touched me through those panties, I might or might not explode, but he would definitely feel how wet I was, and my last veil of deniability would be gone.

  Weakly, I reached down and tried to push his hand away, but I might as well have been trying to stop the tide coming in. Only a few seconds later, he was cupping my sex through my sopping wet panties with a look of smug triumph on his face.

  “You are so fucking hot for me, I’m surprised you’re not begging for my cock yet.”

  I shut my eyes at the mention of his manhood, so he couldn’t read my wild desire for it in them. That only served to make it easier for my imagination run wild, and for a moment I saw with crystal clarity my virgin pussy stretched around his thick rod, and heard my screams of ecstasy.

  “So go on,” he continued. “Fucking beg for it. Make me believe it and I might just put you out of your misery.”

  “I… I… please…”

  A knock followed by the sound of the door opening snapped me back to reality, but I was still powerless to move. I stared into Austin’s eyes as somebody said words in what I thought must have been English.

  “Austin? Skylar? We’re ready for you, could you hurry up plea… oh. Sorry. Um… just come on out… uh… please.”

  The door shut again in a hurry, and Austin looked like he was weighing up some options.

  “Saved by the bell, eh?” He moved his lips close to my ear. “You are a sexy little fuck waiting to happen. Mark my words, you will beg for my cock before this is through.”

  With that, he let me go and headed towards the door as I swayed a little to keep my balance. He closed it behind him, leaving me alone in the room again where either it or my head was definitely spinning.

  I stumbled to the table, to my handbag, feeling like I’d just jumped off the railway tracks before the train came through, and pulled out a handkerchief. Pausing to make sure the empty room was really empty, as if there was anywhere that anybody could hide, I quickly stroked it up the inside of my left thigh, where a single trickle of my natural lubricants was cutting a tickly trail towards my knee.

  This was crazy. I should stop this right now before his prophecy came true. He was going to make me do everything I’d been trying to avoid my whole life if he had his way. And if things kept on going like this… I was going to beg him to do it.

  Austin

  Holy matrimony blah, blah, blah, cherish forever fucking yadda-yadda-yadda. The second I got Skylar alone in that honeymoon suite, that’s when the real celebrations would begin.

  How she managed to avoid me enough to keep that precious virginity intact this long, I was still trying to fathom. The worst part of it was that I couldn’t fuck around with other women in the meantime.

  If the press got wind of me going balls-deep in Ariana, for example, well, that would blow my new nice guy image right out of the water, and there went the title shot with it. Tonight though, in that honeymoon suite, I was going to fucking erupt. It was going to be like Mount Cum-more in there.

  I hoped Skylar survived until morning, because fucking my virgin bride to death would probably be contrary to the image Robbie Johnson was trying to foster too. Damned if I was going to hold back, though.

  I’d never gone for this long without fucking ever since I started, and it was driving me crazy. It wasn’t helping my predicament that Skylar looked like sex on legs.

  When I saw her walking down the aisle, a couple of things struck me. First, it was strange that she didn’t have anybody walking with her, giving her away.

  Second, I was glad I’d called Robbie a cheap fuck and chipped in some of my own cash so Skylar could get a wedding dress from a different designer than the one who had made her Tier-2 Sports Therapy uniform.

  Perhaps it was for the best that she walked down the aisle by herself. She was so fucking hot that anybody walking with her might have withered away like a vampire in the sunshine.

  She was so shy that she didn’t meet anybody’s eyes as she walked except mine, and even that was only the most fleeting of glances. It made me rock-hard knowing that under that form-fitting, pristine-white dress was a tight little virgin pussy that I was going to have all to myself after weeks of waiting.

  For her part, Skylar looked like she was slowly, agonizingly, letting herself get swept away in the fantasy of it all. When people told her how beautiful she was, she tentatively thanked them, but it seemed like she was always waiting for a backhanded insult to follow the compliments.

  That cloud that crossed her face whenever she might be in danger of feeling good gradually cleared, and this smile that could end empires took a hold. I’d never seen anything like that kind of joy before.

  The guest list consisted of a few friends of mine, a bunch of people organized by Robbie and the NHBFC, like fighters from other weight divisions that I’d never get to fuck up, and their families, and some star-struck girls from Skylar’s college. Some of those girls were going to be living out some fantasies tonight if I was reading the situation right, and I was.

  I gave Skylar her first dance for the mandatory photo opportunities, and then hung back because fuck that shit. Skylar cut some shapes out there on the dancefloor with her friends, but came over to me if another guy danced too close for her comfort, as if for some reassurance about something.

  To my surprise, whatever distance was too close for Skylar’s comfort was actually further than mine. Heel-face turn or not, I’d have snapped anybody’s neck if they had the audacity to try and pull anything at my motherfucking wedding, even if it was a fake marriage.

  As early as was humanly possible, I bundled Skylar off to the limo and climbed in after her. At last, after I put up the privacy window between us and the driver, I had her alone again.

  I saw her wringing her hands in front of her, her purity ring now gone and replaced by my ring. She was wearing that little piece of jewelry that proclaimed to the whole world she was mine, and all that was left to do was for me to claim her.

  I shifted closer to her and she shrank a little, her body language betraying all her nerves, but those eyes of hers still begged me to fuck her. That wish was going to be granted.

  “You were the sexiest woman ever to walk down the aisle today,” I said.

  “Oh. Th-thanks. I got kind of lost in the moment there. Forgot myself. I’ve never had a day anything like that before.”

  I reached up and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. That white gold and diamond bridal tiara of hers caught a few glints of light, but it wasn’t as bright as her smile had been.

  Curling my fingers behind her neck, I took control of her like I had in that spare room at the New Ashby Event Center. I could feel her shaking with that same fear and excitement; she was positively humming under my touch.

  “Um… so, you’re sleeping in your room, I’m sleeping in mine?” she asked.

  One corner of my mouth raised in a smile, and I had a single humorless chuckle as I reached up under her wedding dress. Those wholesome pecks for the TV spot, and the family-friendly kiss after we were proclaimed man and wife, were nowhere near enough.

  I wanted to pick up right where I’d left off, with my hand on her soaking wet little pussy as I kissed her so hard her head spun. Because now it was my pussy. All fucking mine.

  “You know what I’d rather do?” I asked.

  Skylar’s resistance was as token and ineffective as it had been the last time. Wriggle around though she did, grasp at my wrist though she tried, she actually opened her legs further to give me easier access. Her bluff was called.

  “You�
�� you want to have sex with me,” she said.

  “No.”

  The look on her face told me that was the last answer she’d been expecting, and she went still. Her hands halted their resistance in confusion as I closed the distance to the tight opening I was going to fuck bareback as soon as possible.

  “You… don’t?”

  “No. I want to fuck you until you scream my name, until you scream it so loud that you know you’re mine as much as I do.”

  My hand touched the crotch of her panties and I could feel her virgin slit through the thin material, so wet, radiating sexual heat. Mine.

  Skylar gasped and I kissed her, hard.

  Skylar

  We arrived at our hotel just as I thought I was about to lose consciousness from the intensity of Austin’s kisses. He pulled away, and I panted for air as he opened the rear door. We stepped out to be met with paparazzi taking pictures with strobe-light speed.

  It seemed that Robbie’s plan to drum up interest was working, but that was little consolation as a surge of fear hit me. My panties were halfway down my thighs, as Austin had just roughly yanked them down when the limo pulled up to the curb.

  With all those cameras taking pictures in the rear of the vehicle, I had no option to pull them back up. I smoothed my dress down and shuffled over to the door, where Austin scooped me up as if he was going to carry me all the way over the threshold from the curb. I offered silent thanks for the length of the gown, and for the fact that I wouldn’t have to do some strange duck-waddle through the media to the hotel entrance.

  Austin carried me so easily, it felt like the muscular fighter could have spun me on one finger like a basketball. A pair of girls in the elevator looked so jealous behind their congratulatory smiles.

  He did carry me all the way to the door of his room, the honeymoon suite, only taking one hand away from me briefly to drag a key card out of his pocket and swipe it to open the door. Slamming it shut with a backwards kick, he crossed the room and threw me on the bed, where I bounced a couple of times before finding my balance. I sat up with my hands bracing myself on the mattress behind me and my feet facing towards Austin.

  My husband shrugged off his jacket. It dropped to the ground before he literally ripped his shirt apart as if it was paper, and I could hear buttons rolling and skittering along the floor as he discarded the shreds of material. He kicked his shoes off. For the first time since that night in the dressing room, I was exposed to that glorious torso of his, the inked skin and masculine lines.

  Just as inside the ring, his every movement was artwork. Muscles flexed and rippled as he mounted the bed and walked himself forward on his knees, distorting his tattoos one after the other.

  My mind was racing with thoughts running too fast to properly comprehend. I was on a bed. With a man. And he said he was going to fuck me until I screamed.

  That combination of facts had my heart thundering in my ears. I tried to tell myself that it was my wedding night, but the answer always came back, yeah, but it’s fake.

  If I’d been willing to give up my chance at escaping my past, I could have put a stop to this. I could have given back the money, lost my job, dropped out of college, and gone home.

  The terror, playing a cruel game of tug-o-war with lust in my mind, was telling me maybe that would have been a better idea. Yet, Austin’s washboard abs were right in front of me now, and I seemed to have to drag my eyes up across an endless expanse of masculine perfection before I was looking at his face again, fueling the lust side of the battle.

  I’d let my hair down figuratively and literally during the wedding reception, and Austin reached down to take a firm fistful of it at the back of my head. He gave me a short, sharp, shake before stroking my cheek and pushing one finger into my mouth, using the tip to draw a little circle on my tongue.

  “You are mine. In this bed, in any bed, you do exactly what I say.”

  There was no question, no review of my understanding, just his unbendable will and a few statements of fact. My libido was kicking the hell out of its little cage, telling me to suck that finger like a hard dick and then lean forward and lick those abs, wanting me to give the very core of my being to the bad boy of MMA.

  All this pure, unapologetic, man in front of me, I wanted it all. I couldn’t possibly handle it, but I wanted it all.

  My skin was tingling in chaotic excitement. Every shift of the bed under me, every movement of my wedding dress, and most importantly the pull of my hair against my scalp and the shallow penetration of his finger in my hot wet mouth, sparked electric shivers that bounced around and fed off one another.

  With my panties still halfway down my thighs, there was nothing at all stopping an errant trickle of my slippery juices from tormenting me. I could feel a single droplet slowly making the short journey downwards. With Austin straddling me and the wedding dress in the way, there was no escape from it, from him, from the tiny torturous pleasures.

  I breathed in excited little pants around his finger, and pushed my thighs together as much as possible, desperate to scratch that itch. Looking up, I could see Austin watching me, drinking my inexperienced sexual desperation up like the elixir of youth.

  He took his finger from my mouth and reached for my arm, pulling it until he could grasp my wrist again, taking control of what I touched as he had in the dressing room. This time though, instead of a tour of impeccable muscular structure, he placed my hand on his inner thigh

  With a start, I tried to yank it back as if I’d been bitten, but Austin wouldn’t let me. Under my palm, then in my hand as he made my fingers curl around it, was his most intimidating muscle yet.

  I let out a slow, shuddering, breath, and I swore the muscles in my pussy fluttered. He made my hand stroke up and down so I could feel its slowly increasing size and the hint of the ridge near the tip.

  “Good girl.”

  When Austin gave me that simple praise, I felt a surge of relief that competed with my excitement for a few seconds. To be in a situation like this, to become a… sexual being, for the first time. To not only avoid the terror and shame I was used to my whole life, but to have a man like Austin appreciate that side of me, was nothing short of magical.

  My brow furrowed. There it was again. My pussy muscles fluttered, then once more. One by one, my other muscles clenched as that notion of an itch being scratched grew and grew until it was beyond any comparison.

  A flush rose on my chest, up my neck, and made my cheeks warm with the rush of blood. I heard myself moaning and whimpering, louder with each hitched breath, before all sounds were drowned out by the thundering of my heart in my ears.

  In a panic, I realized I was having a full-on orgasm without having even been touched. I tried to part my legs, to stop any stimulation of my clit, but it was too late. A lifetime of sexual repression burst the dam and I came right in front of my new husband.

  I tried to snatch my hand back, but Austin held it firm and his manhood only swelled quicker, forcing my premature climax to even greater heights. I covered my face with my free hand, using it as the most ineffective hiding place in the world, as vocal bursts of pure pleasure squeezed out from between clenched teeth.

  Pulses of humming ecstasy radiated from my clit, making my toes curl until I thought I was going to get cramps in my feet, and leaving me with quivering legs as it faded away.

  A cold chill went down my spine as I comprehended what had just happened. Austin was used to pin-up girls, models, his pick of the groupies. Girls who were good at sex.

  What would he think of me now? I knew he saw my purity ring before but did he, in his wildest dreams, realize just how inexperienced I was?

  So much for ‘the sexual being’ I’d labelled myself only a few minutes before. When I raised my eyes to look at him, he’d be disappointed, I was sure of it.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered. That didn’t seem to cut it.

  “What? That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You fuckin’ worship that c
ock, little girl.”

  If he was lying, he was good at it. My embarrassment gave way to a fresh uprising of hope and anticipation as I basked in the glow of Austin’s undiminished sexual hunger.

  He twisted his grip on my hair, making me suck a breath in through my teeth, when a jolt of excitement in my chest flashed in response to the sting on my scalp. Austin was seemingly in charge of my every movement, in this case tilting my ear up to him.

  “Time for you to show me that sweet little pussy you thought you were saving for somebody else,” he whispered harshly.

  Under my hand I could still feel the object of my worship, harder than ever, trapped down his pants leg as it strained against the material. He shuffled backwards and I thought he was going to free it from its prison, but instead he kept going until he was off the bed.

  Austin grabbed my ankles and unceremoniously dragged me towards him until my ass was on the edge of the bed, with him between my legs. I propped myself up on my elbows, feeling my legs shaking from the vulnerability of my position, as well as the trailing edges of my orgasm.

  My husband may have been fake, but there was no denying the reality of my arousal, as he reached up under my dress and continued what he’d started in the car when he pulled my panties down. He took his time, but there was a fire burning in his eyes that hinted at a raw passion held in check by sheer force of willpower.

  I had to point my toes in the air so he could take my underwear off completely. He cast them aside, just one more pair of panties he’d melted in his life. He caught my legs and draped them over his shoulders.

  With slow inevitability, he pushed my dress up, exposing inch after inch of my upper legs to his eyes. I watched his face for the moment, the moment, when a man saw my completely inexperienced, but eager, sex for the first time.

  Would he compare it against others he’d seen? Would he like the Brazilian that the beautician had given me, after insisting that it was part of the standard bridal package? A million questions and doubts raced through my mind.