SEALed Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Includes bonus novel Jerked!)

by Hamel, B. B.

  I took a deep breath, excitement and desire rushing through my body. “Maybe you can get that from Melissa,” I said, and turned and walked away.

  I heard him laughing as I rushed away from the set, heading toward our hotel room. I was thankful we had done the interview right in the hotel’s media room.

  As I walked, my anger started to slowly ebb. Nash had the ability to simultaneously piss me off and make me soaking wet with that cocky smile and his strong arms. He was such a dick, and yet I kept thinking about what he’d done to me last night, the way he’d made me feel.

  I had no clue what I was doing.

  But I knew I had a flight coming up, and so I headed back to the room to pack, my mind a stormy mess.

  Chapter Eighteen: Nash

  Selena was in a foul mood, which wasn’t a big shock.

  I didn’t bother trying to get her to talk as we drove from the hotel to the airport. We sat there in silence together, Selena trying to pretend like I was dead or something. At least Livy wasn’t around to witness this lovely display of newlywed happiness.

  But then again, Selena had done well during the interview. There were a few strange moments, but overall she’d held up well. And I couldn’t believe that Livy hadn’t briefed her about it being a live interview; that seemed like total madness. I knew I had to have a conversation with her about that, even though I didn’t feel like it.

  Finally, the car pulled up outside the airport, and I spotted a few paparazzi lingering around, trying to look inconspicuous. To my trained eye, though, they stood out like assholes.

  “Ready?” I asked Selena.

  “For what?”

  “Pictures.”

  She frowned. “Whatever.”

  The car pulled over and I stepped out without another word. If she didn’t feel like talking, well, I wasn’t going to fucking make her.

  I walked around to the back of the car and popped the trunk, which only made the poor driver anxious.

  “Relax,” I said to him, handing him a twenty. “I got it.”

  He smiled and nodded. I unloaded the bags and handed Selena her suitcase. We headed toward the terminal.

  That was when they pounced.

  “Selena! Do you really love him?”

  “Selena! Are you in this for his money?”

  “Nash! Why her? Are you cheating already?”

  Selena walked fast, her head down, trying to ignore the flashes. I just smiled at them, trying to ignore it, but really I was just amused by their blatant attempts to rile us up.

  “Selena! How big is his dick?”

  I had to laugh a little bit at that one.

  “Wanna see?” I called to the guy.

  He nodded. “Hell yeah!”

  I laughed and followed Selena inside. The photographers were stopped by airport security, and so we were safe for the time being.

  “Why are you joking with them?” Selena asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Bored, I guess.”

  “Well stop,” she said. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “What do you care?” I asked, smirking at her.

  “Just don’t.” She turned and headed toward the security line.

  I sighed, shaking my head. Damn girl was going to be the death of me, I was sure of it.

  Her mood didn’t improve on the plane, and I had no idea why. As soon as we were seated, her headphones were on and she was ignoring me. She still didn’t have her own stuff yet, though Livy had sent for it and promised it would arrived when we got to Brown. So everything Selena had, she had because I was generous. And I sure as hell had given her some of the best sex of her damn life. So why was she so damn cranky?

  I settled into my first-class chair and ordered a whisky from the stewardess. She brought it and I sipped, leafing idly through SkyMall, thinking about all the stupid shit people spent their money on.

  Selena didn’t look at me and I didn’t bother trying to engage her. It was a miserable flight, and all I wanted was for the stupid anger to go away. Plus, we were supposed to be married. It was clear that we weren’t getting along, and what if there was a journalist on the plane?

  I was mulling that over for a bit when Selena decided to get up and go to the bathroom. I let her out and watched her fine ass stroll down between the seats.

  I knocked back my whisky and followed her a second later, not thinking about it. The stewardesses were busy talking to other passengers, and so when she went to leave the bathroom, I pushed her right back in there.

  “Hey! What the hell?” she said. I closed and locked the door. “What are you doing?” she asked again.

  “Listen to me,” I growled at her. “I don’t know why you’re so pissed, but we’re married now. So cut it out and smile.”

  She stared at me. “You really don’t know?”

  “No. You’re just in a bad mood.”

  She sighed, annoyed. “No, asshole. Because you didn’t defend me to the paparazzi.”

  “What?”

  “The dick thing. It was lewd and disrespectful, and you played into it.”

  I looked at her for a second. “Fine. You’re right.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “What can I say? You’re fucking right. But you were pissed before that.”

  “You were an asshole this morning,” she said.

  “Hardly. You were being awkward and I didn’t feel like dealing with that shit.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I am awkward. This is supposed to be a business thing.”

  I pressed my body up against hers. We were crammed into that tiny airplane bathroom with nowhere else to go. I could feel her breathing get faster, and my cock was rock hard. I kept thinking about that night, about how fucking nice it would feel to sink my cock in her to the hilt.

  “I don’t give a shit about that,” I said. “We fucked and that’s it. You want to be about business? Fine, but I want to feel how soaked you are right now.”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  I pressed my palm against her stomach and she bit her lip, staring into my eyes. I stared back and slowly pressed my hand down underneath the waistband of her jeans, pressing against her underwear.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.

  “I’m sure as fuck you’re soaked,” I said, finding her pussy.

  I was right: she was soaking wet. She took a deep breath as I touched her, softly rubbing her.

  “Asshole,” she said. “We can’t do this.”

  “No?” I whispered in her ear, slipping my hand under her panties and finding her clit. “You don’t think so?”

  “We’re going to get caught.”

  “You’re going to come,” I said. “Because you’re fucking begging for it, aren’t you?”

  She was breathing deeply, clearly trying not to moan as I began to rub her clit, rough circles on her swollen sex. She was loving it. I could feel her body responding as her hands gripped my arms.

  “You love when I rub this clit,” I whispered. “You want me to fuck you rough and hard, but I’m not going to. I’m going to make you come just like this.”

  “Nash,” she whispered, “we’re going to get caught.”

  “Who fucking cares?” I asked. “The only thing I want is to watch your face while you come on my fingers twenty thousand feet in the air.”

  “Fuck,” she gasped as I slipped my fingers deep inside her. “Oh shit, Nash. Fuck. We’re going to get caught. We should stop.”

  “We should, but we’re not going to,” I said. “I love this fucking pussy. I love how fucking wet you are. Shit, girl, you’re dripping on my fingers. You want to get off as bad as I want you to.”

  I began to fuck her pussy with my fingers, not wasting any time. I wanted to push her over the edge fast and hard, make her come on my fingers.

  “Shit,” she said, gasping. “I’m being too loud.”

  “You can’t help yourself,” I said. “You can’t be quiet when I’m around. I make you wet an
d fuck your pussy right.”

  She bit down on my shoulder and I grunted. It hurt, but it also made me fucking harder. She kept her mouth against me, stifling the noises she was making. I could tell she wanted to get off so badly, and she was moaning through her clenched jaw. I kept fucking her pussy, rubbing her clit, fucking her pussy, back and forth, pushing her closer and closer.

  “Come for me, girl,” I whispered. “You love having this pussy fingered and fucked. You’re such a dirty girl getting off in an airplane like this.”

  I continued to work her pussy, my fingers pumping in and out of her. She was absolutely soaked, her pussy dripping, and I imagined how amazing it would be to sink my cock deep into her slick spot. Instead, I wanted to get her off, make her come, make her fucking mine.

  “That’s right. Come for me, Selena,” I whispered. “Come for me twenty thousand feet in the air. You dirty girl, letting me fuck your pussy with my fingers like this. Come nice and hard for me.”

  Her jaw clenched harder and her whole body stiffened, her hands holding on to my arms. I fucked her harder, faster, with my fingers, and I knew I had her. She bit down harder, pain lancing through my shoulder, but I didn’t give a fuck, didn’t slow down.

  I kept going as she came, her body twitching, spasming, pleasure rolling through her. I loved watching her come; it was like fucking fire in my veins and made my cock rock hard.

  Slowly she finished, the orgasm passing over her. I slipped my fingers from her panties and pushed them into my mouth, licking my fingers clean.

  She shook her head at me, panting. “Oh my god, Nash. You’re so dirty.”

  I smiled. “You taste fucking good,” I said.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said.

  “You go first. I’ll follow soon.”

  She turned her back to me and tried to fix herself in the mirror the best she could. A minute later she glanced at me, a look filled with pleasure and lust, and then quickly left the bathroom.

  I sat down on the toilet, trying to will my fucking erection down enough to walk back to my seat. The girl was incredible, drove me fucking wild. I knew I was crossing all sorts of lines, making all the wrong decisions with her, but I couldn’t help it. She drove me completely insane with that sexy-as-hell look and that incredible body.

  A minutes or two later, my cock soft enough to not stand out like a fucking tent, I stood up and slipped out of the bathroom.

  Nothing seemed strange. The stewardess gave me a look, but I couldn’t tell if it was because I had taken so long in there or because she knew what we’d done. Either way, it didn’t fucking matter to me.

  I got back to my seat. Selena looked at me. “They definitely know,” she giggled into my ear softly.

  “Good,” I whispered back. “I want them to know.”

  She shook her head. “Business, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That was all business.”

  She smiled in spite of herself and then slipped her headphones back on. She returned to ignoring me, which was fine with me, but she had a smile on her face.

  Damn right she did. Not many girls got an orgasm from Nash Bell at twenty thousand feet.

  I ordered another whisky the first chance I got, leaned back in my chair, and enjoyed the rest of the fucking flight.

  Chapter Nineteen: Selena

  What the heck was wrong with me?

  I was so pissed at him. He was so selfish, such an asshole, and yet the second he got close to me, I completely lost my mind.

  True, it had felt amazing in the bathroom with him. I’d kept worrying about getting caught, but that had only made it so much hotter. I hadn’t gotten off just from a guy’s hands before like that, and yet he’d managed to push me over the edge like it was no big deal.

  I guessed I was a part of the mile-high club. Or at least close enough.

  Once the plane landed, we hustled through the terminal and right outside. Fortunately there weren’t any paparazzi this time, and so the drive out to Providence from the airport was pretty uneventful.

  I was still annoyed with Nash, but that anger’s edge was pretty blunted from the way he’d handled me. We weren’t exactly chatting it up, but I was trying not to actively ignore him anymore.

  The hotel was just off campus, and we arrived around five in the afternoon. Liv was there when we got out of the car. I had no clue how she managed to arrive before we did, or even how she got there at all. It was actually pretty creepy.

  “Okay, you two,” she said, “signing is in two hours. Will you be ready?”

  “Signing?” Nash grunted.

  “Yes. You have a book signing at the campus bookstore at seven.”

  “Shit,” he said. “No rest for the wicked.”

  “Nope. There’s also a special dinner and cocktail hour for Department of Defense donors afterward.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to that?” I asked.

  “Nash is the face of the department these days,” Liv said.

  “I have to shake hands and pretend like I give a fuck what some old people say,” he grunted, annoyed.

  “Go get ready,” Livy said. “I want you both there.”

  She turned and walked off. I looked at Nash. “How did she beat us here?” I asked him.

  He grinned at me. “I have no clue. I think she can fly.”

  “Maybe she owns a jetpack.”

  “Teleportation.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Has to be.”

  We laughed and walked into the hotel together.

  A couple hours and a nice, hot shower later and I was sitting at a table in the campus bookstore next to Nash.

  The line stretched out the door, just like the line I had stood in only a few days ago. That was a strange thought. Only a few days ago I had been just another faceless undergrad in a line, and now I was somehow married to Nash Bell, my face plastered all over gossip magazines.

  Lying to America wasn’t so hard. All I needed to do was pretend like I was in love with the biggest asshole I knew. He could be charming sometimes, especially when we were doing a publicity event, which made it a lot easier. Still, day-to-day, he was just a crude, arrogant jerk.

  “Okay,” Nash said. “Unleash the hordes.”

  Livy nodded to the security guard, who opened up the small rope gate and started to let people through.

  “Oh my god,” the first girl in line said. “Nash, I’m such a big fan. I love your book. And I love your interviews.”

  “Thanks, darlin’,” he said. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “Tracy. Oh my god. I love you.”

  “Love you too, girl.” He signed the book as she squealed with delight.

  He glanced back at me and I made a face at him. “Are they all like that?” I asked as the girl left.

  “Pretty much,” he said, grinning.

  Young, attractive girl after girl came up to Nash asking for signatures. There were a few men mixed into the crowd, but just like back at my school, you could tell exactly what the target audience was.

  Nash was a freaking sex symbol. I didn’t know how or why that had happened, since he wrote a memoir about the military, but it had happened. Probably because he was very charming during interviews, and since he was so damn attractive.

  Ten minutes slipped by that way. Person after endless person came up to him, smiling stupidly, some saying inappropriate things, some just staring at him.

  “Nash, can I just, can I touch your arm?” one girl asked.

  He laughed. “Sorry, can’t do that. Guards will flip shit.”

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe I asked.” She paused as he signed his book. “Please?”

  He laughed again and flexed. The girl practically screamed as she touched his flexed muscle and didn’t even spare a glance for me.

  “You love this,” I said to him.

  He rolled his eyes at me and turned to the next willing and eager young girl.

  Girl after girl approached him. Some wanted pictures,
some wanted to touch him, and one girl even offered him a blowjob in no uncertain terms.

  It was like I was invisible.

  Some strange feeling was growing in my chest the whole time. I didn’t really understand it, but I was getting jealous. No, maybe that wasn’t the right word. Nash was free to do whatever he wanted since he wasn’t my real husband. No, I felt disrespected.

  Didn’t those girls know he was married? He kept telling them that, over and over again, whenever they suggested something that crossed a line. Not to mention I was sitting right there next to him, smiling at these girls like I cared about them, like they weren’t hitting on my husband right in front of me.

  It was completely bizarre. To his credit, Nash never broke character. He wasn’t a jerk to his fans, but he gently reminded each girl that he was married and couldn’t follow her back to her dorm to pile drive her all night long.

  It was totally gross, but I was starting to understand why Nash had been sleeping around and drinking so much before we got married. These girls were literally throwing themselves at him, and I bet it was probably pretty hard to say no after a while.

  Not that any of it excused his behavior. He was still a player and an asshole; there was no changing that. But at least I understood where it all came from and how he could let it get so bad.

  Two hours slipped by like that, and the line seemed like it was never ending. We were nearly finished for the night when a pretty young girl, maybe a freshman, stood in front of the table.

  “Hey there,” Nash said. “Want me to sign?”

  She nodded shyly. “Can your wife sign, too?”

  I was taken aback. All night I had been ignored by every single person in there, and now suddenly someone wanted me to sign a book. Frankly, I was flattered.

  “Well?” Nash asked, looking at me with a grin.

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course.”

  Nash signed and then passed the book to me. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “Jessie,” she said.

  Jessie, stay cool, I wrote.

  Stay cool? What the hell was I thinking?

  Before I could fix it, Jessie snatched her book back and scampered off.