Spring Break Bride: A Virgin For The Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance

by Vivien Vale

  I squeal as he smacks my ass with a loud clap, and I can hear him laughing behind me.

  “I wanted to try that at least once.”

  Incorrigible man.

  He picks up the pace, driving relentlessly into me, before pulling me down on his lap in a reverse cowgirl position.

  “Your turn.”

  “Quitter,” I giggle.

  I put my hands on his thighs and start to move.

  One hand on my waist keeps me steady, while the other gropes my tit.

  “God, Nicole…” he groans against my back, “you’re so fucking incredible.”

  I can feel the burn in my thighs as I move faster, riding him as though he’s a bucking bronco and I’m trying to hold on for dear life. There’s no way I can tame this wild horse. All I can do is go along for the ride.

  His cock reaches all the way inside me, making me moan over and over. My voice is so thick and lusty that I don’t even recognize it.

  He stands up to push in deeper, pushing me flat against the door to the room. Hooking one of my legs over his arm, he thrusts up roughly.

  “So good…” he whispers in my ear, “so fucking good. I’m gonna come soon.”

  “Me, too.”

  He’s growing thicker inside me now, holding my hips tight to his pelvis.

  “Uhhhhh…” I hear him moan before he bites down on my back. The quick burst of pain quickly gives way to pleasure as my orgasm builds.

  As the song finishes, so do we.

  Our bodies melt into one another for a big finale.

  We are one.

  I wish we could stay like this forever.

  He finally pulls out of me and tucks his cock back into his pants. The bulge in his pants tells me he wants more, and I marvel at his stamina.

  I smooth out his tuxedo jacket and fix my dress so that it looks presentable. My hair is probably a lost cause, but I try to tuck in stray bits as best as I can without a mirror.

  He collapses in one of the chairs, pulling me in for a kiss.

  I cradle his face in my hands, pecking him on the nose.

  I really do love this man.

  “So…” he smirks, “how was your first opera experience?”

  I can’t help but burst out laughing. Does he really have to ask?

  I didn’t get to see one complete act, but I don’t really care. There’ll be plenty of times in the future for us to go to the opera together.

  “Incredible. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  After all, now that I’ve had a taste, I’ll definitely need to do it again.

  He stands up and holds out his arm. I take it.

  The afterglow is so strong tonight I take barely any notice of the magnificent architecture of the building. I decide we’ll definitely have to do this again sometime, but with more focus on the Opera.

  “Shall we go, my wife?”

  The pride in his voice is unmistakable. My heart flutters at his words. He opens the curtain so we can exit our private balcony.

  “Where to, my husband?”

  I try and sound obedient and subservient with a mischievous smile around my lips.

  “Wherever you want to go.”

  My brow furrows, and I shoot him a sideways glance as I pretend to consider my options.

  “How about back to the hotel?”

  “Back to the hotel it is, my love,” he kisses my hand as we walk out into the cool night air.

  The flame in my belly is still burning brightly.

  Who knows—maybe we’ll go for round three back at the bridal suite.

  Chapter 40

  Nicole

  Carefully, I pick my exit strategy.

  My right foot finds land, and I shift my weight. While I want to recreate our trip from twelve months ago, there are aspects of it I don’t care to repeat. Falling into the canal as I step out at the landing pier of the Aman Hotel is one of those things I don’t need to do again.

  “Let me help you, my lady,” a deep melodic voice says from behind.

  Two hands push me gently forward.

  “Well thank you,” I turn around and smile.

  Pigeons fly off the ground as Dante joins me on land. He turns to pay for our fare and grab our luggage.

  “Do you think we’ll see Luciano?” I stare wistfully at the pigeons coming and going.

  Dante laughs.

  It’s a warm heartfelt laugh.

  I know he’s not laughing at me for being silly. Dante would never do that. Dante loves me.

  “You never know, my love,” he puts one arm around my waist and draws me toward him.

  I feel his lips on the tip of my nose.

  “I hope he’s happy,” I whisper and stroke my husband’s dark hair.

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Before his mouth comes down on mine, I already open mine to meet him.

  For a moment, there’s only Dante, our kiss, and me.

  It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how many times we kiss, I never tire of it. His kisses still manage to evoke feelings in me I didn’t know existed.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Dante Walsh, to check in?”

  I feel myself choke up, and I nod.

  Was it really only twelve months since I fell into the canal and was fished out of the water by my now husband?

  Sometimes, it seems an entire lifetime ago.

  So much has happened.

  Arm in arm, we make our way to the reception area.

  My eyes drink in our surrounds as if someone had just served me an expensive glass of wine. It still holds the same fascination as it did a year ago.

  All too vividly, I recall how Allison and I arrived in this magnificent city. How my eyes were out on stalks, and my best friend wondered when I’d finally shut up.

  Good old Allison was back home, immersed in her high-powered job. She was bright and hard working and making inroads in the company she started her internship with.

  One day, she’d rule the world, I was sure of it.

  I pull out my phone and take a quick photo of the hotel. Then I find her number and send her quick a message.

  “Planning your escape route already?” Dante jokes, and I give him a light slap on the shoulder.

  “As if. Are you hoping?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Touché.”

  “I’m sending Ally a quick message. Make her jealous.”

  Dante checks us in, and before I know it, we’re in the bridal suite of the exclusive hotel.

  It’s exactly as I remember.

  On the small table in the living room area is a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. Two crystal glasses and a box of chocolates are on either side. There’s also a bowl of fresh fruit.

  But all of this pales into insignificance when I spot the two other items resting on the lounge.

  “You didn’t,” I turn to Dante, both my hands covering my mouth.

  He just smiles.

  Tentatively, I approach the couch. My hand shakes a little as I pick up the mask.

  It’s nearly identical to the one I wore at our wedding.

  There’s a tiny difference. In the white velvet on the right side is a faint outline of a pigeon. And there are a few feathers sticking out from it.

  “Are they Luciano’s?” I whisper, not trusting my voice.

  Dante nods, and I feel his arms wrap around me.

  “I kept them, planning to do something with them. When you told me you wanted to come back for our first wedding anniversary, I thought I’d see if they could be incorporated into a mask.”

  The first tear rolls down my cheek.

  My hormones are all over the place.

  “I…” I mutter, but I’m stopped from saying any more with Dante kissing me.

  There goes my insides again, burning brightly with desire. My knees threaten to give way already.

  “And guess what?”

  Dante pulls away from me, and I feel an aching need to pull him back onto me.


  “What?”

  He holds up the t-shirt lying next to the mask on the couch, the t-shirt with a large picture of Luciano perched on the edge of a coffee cup seemingly sipping espresso on the front of it.

  “I’ve got one too.”

  And sure enough, what I thought was one t-shirt is actually two, one a lot larger than the other one.

  “I didn’t get you anything nearly as good as this,” I tell him, holding out the mask and pointing to the t-shirt.

  “These aren’t your wedding anniversary present, love. These are just the ‘Welcome to Venice’ gifts.”

  I wrap my arms around him.

  Of course I’ve got an anniversary present for him, I just hope he’ll like it.

  “I thought we’ll retrace our steps?”

  I nod.

  “Except…” I start and stop again. A shiver runs down my spine. “I don’t think I’ll need to visit the Colosseum on my own this time.”

  The memory of what might have been still vivid in my mind. If Dante hadn’t come to my rescue…I push those thoughts aside. From time to time, I still wake up in the middle of the night, fear gripping at my heart. Every time it happens, Dante comforts me.

  “Definitely not,” Dante agrees.

  We spend the rest of the day in each other’s company, and I can’t wait ‘til tomorrow, ‘til I can give him my present.

  The next morning, I’m woken by the smell of coffee and something else.

  At first, I refuse to accept that it’s morning already, instead grabbing the soft sheets and wrapping them closer around my body.

  “Morning, sleepy head,” Dante’s voice is right by my ear. He kisses me. “You’re not going to spend all of our first wedding anniversary in bed are you?”

  Wedding anniversary.

  The words make me open my eyes. Excitement floods through me. I’ll get to give my husband, Dante, his present.

  “Happy anniversary.”

  I feel his lips on mine, and his hands roam over my body.

  Thoughts of coffee and breakfast go out the window as his thumb and index finger start to play with my nipples.

  It’s amazing how he knows what buttons to push.

  But then, I remember I’ve got a surprise for him, a surprise I want to tell him over lunch.

  And so I push him off me.

  “And your plan is to spend the day in bed having sex?”

  I grab my coffee and savor the taste.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  His eyes sparkle, and his hands are all over me again.

  Instead of a reply, I take my coffee and leave the room.

  “Let’s get ready for lunch,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  An hour or so later, we sit in one of the many eateries by the water.

  Dante is holding my hand and looking me in the eyes. The waiter comes, and I let Dante order for me. I can’t believe I once thought this was a problem.

  The days are long gone where I think a simple gesture like ordering for me is Dante trying to control me. I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff.

  When the champagne arrives, I pick up my glass.

  “A toast to us,” I say, and we clink our glasses, but I don’t drink any of it.

  “To the most beautiful wife imaginable.”

  “And to art,” I say, my smile widening a little. And again, I don’t actually take a sip.

  I watch Dante closely.

  “To art?”

  Dante furrows his brow a little, and he watches as I pull out a letter from my purse.

  I put it in front of him.

  “Happy anniversary, darling.”

  I watch him read the letter.

  By now, I know its contents off by heart. I’ve read it so many times. When I first opened it, I was so excited that I wanted to run and tell Dante straight away—but then I decided I would wait ‘til we were in Venice.

  “Wow. Congratulations. That’s fucking awesome.”

  Dante leans over the table to kiss me.

  “Your very first art exhibition and here in Venice. Amazing.”

  I nod. I couldn’t believe it at first.

  A few months ago, I came across a website that asked for submissions of artwork for an exhibition in Venice. Immediately, I entered some of my drawings.

  I didn’t tell Dante. When the letter arrived accepting my artwork and wanting more for a full exhibition, I nearly fainted on the spot.

  “But wait—there’s more,” I say to Dante and watch him closely.

  “You’re exhibiting in Paris as well?”

  I shake my head. “We’re pregnant.”

  Delight, joy and amazement; I see those and other emotions on Dante’s face.

  He takes my champagne from me.

  “No alcohol for you, my dear. And what fucking amazing, wonderful news.”

  This time, he gets up from his chair and takes me in his arms. I don’t point out that I hadn’t taken a sip of the alcohol anyway and melt into him.

  “Happy?” I ask to be sure.

  Dante smiles and leans toward me.

  “The happiest man alive.”

  We kiss, and I count my lucky stars.

  There really was a happily ever after in real life.

  I was living it.

  Baby Bargain

  A Billionaire Baby Contract Romance

  By Vivien Vale

  Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.

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  Daniel

  If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely fucking am—I think my secretary is wearing a ball gag as a necklace today.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” she says, as that big red rubber ball jiggles against her throat.

  She’s tightened the leather straps up enough that it could reasonably be mistaken for a choker, but I’m not some uninitiated fuck—I didn’t exactly get my first erection yesterday.

  “Make it quick.” I don’t have time to question my secretary’s more-than-questionable fashion choices. If I don’t figure out why the columns on this report aren’t adding up by the end of the day, I won’t know which incompetent jackass in accounting to fire tomorrow morning.

  “It’s just, uh, your mother is here,” she informs me.

  And then, right on cue, my mother flounces in. Doesn’t even give me time to feel sorry for myself.

  “Danny, darling!” my mother coos, trotting into my office on a pair of peep-toe heels the color of cotton candy vomit. “How’s my favorite businessman? Give mommy a little smooch, that’s a good dear.”

  I roll my eyes—but I do as I’m bid. My mother is as vapid and air-headed as they come, but she’s still the woman who gave birth to me, and for that, she can have as many cheek-kisses as she wants. I just wish she’d stop fucking calling them smooches—and I wish she would have left Muffins the Purse Dog at home for once.

  “Missed you too, Mom,” I relent, keeping an eye on Muffins. His fluffy, feral little head pops up out of my mother’s Chanel purse just as I’m enveloped by the scent of No. 5—her favorite perfume.

  To his credit, Muffins doesn’t fucking growl at me on sight anymore—but he does look like he’s ready to take a jealousy shit in my mother’s handbag any minute now.

  “Maybe you should let my secretary take Muffins on a walk, Mom,” I suggest. I’d hate for Mom’s latest husband—whoever he is—to have to replace a sold-out handbag—plus, if my secretary really is wearing a ball gag, I’m sure she knows her way around a leash.

  “Nonsense, honey,” Mom says, sitting on my desk like she thinks she’s still
a teenager or something.

  That’s my mother for you. Mentally, she hasn’t aged a day since 18. Physically, her plastic surgeon does what he can.

  “Muffins and I are here as a team, darling. We’re on a mission today, you see.”

  I shake my head and take the bait. “And what might that be?”

  “We have a date for you, honey.” She says it like I’m supposed to be excited—or surprised. I’m not. “Muffins picked her out special, just for you! Didn’t you, schnuckums?”

  While my mother feeds her purse dog a doggie treat, I’m just trying to suppress a groan.

  “Oh, dear, don’t look like that,” my mother reprimands. “This one, Danny—she’s a keeper. Nice, wide, childbearing hips—and, I only think she’s had three nose jobs, so you know she’s got good genes for Dr. Scalpel to work with.”

  Dr. fucking Scalpel. My mother knows that I have no intentions of settling down any time soon, and she’s already planning my children’s first elective surgeries.

  “That’s sweet of you, Mom,” I say cordially, “but I think I’ll pass.”

  “You’re not getting any younger, Danny.”

  “Not without Dr. Scalpel’s help, I’m not.”

  “And you know how I’ve always wanted grandchildren…”

  “You have grandchildren,” I remind her. “Fendi has four kids, Mom. Chanel has two. Prada just had twins last week, for fuck’s sake—and she’s barely even sixteen.”

  “Ruff!” Muffins barks aggressively. Briefly, I consider tipping over the purse—but then he might shit on my carpet, so I think better of it.

  “Yes,” my mother agrees. “And I’m sure that for as long as your half-sisters can find YouTube stars to have unprotected sex with, they’ll give me plenty more. But I haven’t done everything I’ve done for them, Danny honey. I did it for you. For us. You need to start thinking about your legacy, sweetheart.”

  I have to hand it to my mother: she knows exactly where to twist the knife.

  I never knew my father, but from my mother’s stories about him, I’m better off this way. She had me when she was the same age as Prada is now, and he left her without even bothering to stick around for my birth.