The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity – but when he finally stops coming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost sad that it’s over.

  “Blake,” I say his name almost as if I wanted to hear the sound of my voice, eager to prove that this isn’t a dream. We sit on the touch together, my head resting on his chest, and I close my eyes as I try to catch my breath.

  Softly, he rests one hand on top of my head and laces his free arm on my waist. Holding me close, he keeps me pressed against his naked body as we both enjoy the silence, our bodies still exhausted.

  There’s no use denying it…I’m falling for Blake, and I’m falling hard.

  I’m trying to tell myself that’s not the case, but deep down I might be lying to myself. The way I feel right now – this closeness, this security –, it all points to something deeper than just physical attraction.

  Oh, it’s even silly to be talking about physical attraction now…that’s already a given. But knowing the way Blake sees me, looking through his eyes…that goes beyond the physical.

  Maybe I should run.

  After Dale, I can’t give my heart to anyone. Even if it’s to a man like Blake, a man that sees the real me. I just can’t do it. Sure, there’s this connection we have, but that makes this all the more dangerous. When Dale cheated on me, he left a vacant spot in my life. But if I surrender to Blake and he leaves…there’ll be a hole in my heart that no one will ever mend.

  But now’s not the time to think of that.

  Now I just want to…feel close to him.

  Blake

  Nothing can dampen my mood today, not even the rain I hear belting against my windows. The wind is grabbing the shutters and rattling them, threatening them, but they don’t give in.

  Storms have been raging all day.

  Nothing wrong with a good storm, storms in my opinion leave the world washed and refreshed. The air has a clean smell to it and world does look washed. Except for my windows. Rain tends to leave them looking a little streaked.

  I make a mental note to organize a window cleaner in the next few days, along with getting a new cleaner.

  Much to my disappointment, my cleaning lady informed me yesterday that she’s leaving.

  Camilla’s great. And I introduced Camilla to Katherine because I know the two will get along really well and most important of all, Katherine would not be jealous of Camilla.

  It’s not that my housekeeper wasn’t attractive. She is, and probably more so back in her day. At fifty-four, she’s still a stunner, just not someone I would be getting involved with. But now, she’s leaving. She’d said something about her daughter needing her to babysit.

  I put domestic thoughts aside. Camilla will still be here for another month. Maybe she’ll be able to help me get a replacement.

  I stroll into my studio to look at my collection of new paintings and I smile. I like them, no, I love them. They are better than anything I have created before. Ever.

  Part of me wants to call Katherine and get her to come and look at them. I really would want her to be the first person to see them, but that would go against my plan.

  I’ve come up with a special way to thank her. I owe her a lot, after all. I know she would not agree and she probably does not even realize how huge a role she’s been playing in my creative genius coming back to life.

  Before I make the call, I grab a pen and paper to make a list. I walk from painting to painting, jotting down possible titles, background notes and random twirls and doodles.

  Sometimes I think well in pictures and not so well in words.

  Words. It strikes me as almost an omen how right we are for each other. Katherine, a writer and me, an artist. We are meant to be together.

  After I’ve completed my list, I gather the works of art carefully and gingerly. I handle my pictures the way a mother cradles her baby. In a way, they are my babies.

  I need to make sure Katherine does not see these next time she comes over.

  It’s a great feeling knowing Katherine can just come and go as she pleases since I gave her a key to my place the other day.

  Her face was priceless, a mixture between overwrought, disbelief and pride.

  It is a big thing for me too. I’ve never given anyone else a key to my apartment.

  And not just the key, I made sure to select a special key ring to go with it. I wanted her to think of me each and every time the key was within her sight.

  It took an enormous amount of time. Silly really, but when I get an idea into my head I need to see it through.

  When I didn’t find anything close enough to what I had in mind at the local shops, I consulted the mighty World Wide Web. I wanted a painter palette and canvass. Eventually, several hours later, I found one in sterling silver.

  I ordered it instantly. I didn’t even flinch when the order form confirmed I had just paid two hundred and eighty five dollars for a key ring.

  And of course I had been rewarded several times over when i gave it to her.

  Not only was she totally touched by the gesture of the key, when she spotted the key ring, I swear a little tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  The kiss I got, and the sex, more than made up for the money spent on it.

  It takes me a few minutes to drape the stained cotton throw over the paintings. Maybe I better make it a little more difficult to get here by placing an easel in front of it.

  When I’m done I pick up the phone. Time to call my agent.

  “Hey Mateo, how are things?”

  I can’t hear a response. I stare at the screen. The clock is ticking so I know I’m connected.

  “Mateo, you there?”

  “Blake. Blake. My man, what’s happenin?” Mateo’s voice booms through the phone and I move the mobile a little further off my ear.

  “Mateo, I’ve been painting.”’ Maybe I should have invited him to come over instead of a phone call?

  There’s loud laughter. “You’re a painter Blake. What else would you have been doing?”

  Good old Mateo, always straight to the point.

  “No Mateo, this time it’s different. I’ve really been painting. I’ve been creating and…well, the paintings are good. Really fucking good.”

  “You never were modest, my friend.” Mateo replies dryly.

  I chuckle.

  “True. But wait till you see what I’ve been creating.”

  “Let me guess, nudes. How many of them have you been fucking this time? I hate to think of all the broken hearts.”

  “Mateo, they’re not nudes and I haven’t been fucking them as you say. I’ve met this woman. Katherine. She’s amazing. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy.”

  “And she’s a good root,” completes Mateo.

  “It’s different with her. I haven’t had another woman since I’ve met her. I can only think of her. I even dream of her. I want her all the time. She’s doing things with me no other woman has ever done before.”

  “She a witch?”

  Another chuckle from me.

  “Stop it, man. Anyway I want you to organize an exhibition. It’s going to be bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. I want you to spare no money. Invite anyone and everyone that matters. Alcohol, good food…wait, get the chefs from the Old Pearl to cater, they know what they are doing. Spare nothing. Go all out. And Mate…?”

  “Yes my friend?”

  “I don’t want Katherine to find out. She can’t know. Under any circumstances.”

  “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

  A noise makes me turn around. I see Katherine, her eyes looking hurt and confused.

  Katherine

  I love how I can just walk into the studio without an invitation. It’s got that feel of trust between us. I love that I can hear the sound of his voice anytime I want to; I could listen to him all day. I wonder who…oh, he’s talking on the phone.

  Did he just say – ? I stop to listen.

  I catch only those last
words.

  “…Katherine’s not to know. Promise me. OK?”

  I am not to know what? Is this a red flag? Is this the time to back out? Had Dale been right all along? The fear that’s always just below the surface threatens to overwhelm me.

  Move, I tell myself. Part of me wonders if this is the time to turn and run. But where will I run to? I take a deep breath.

  “Hey Blake, I heard you talking to someone just now. What am I not supposed to know?”

  “Hey baby.”

  I study his face carefully. There’s not a hint of guilt in it.

  “It’s a surprise. My lips are sealed.” As if to underline his point he points to his lips, which he has pulled into a thin line.

  “Look Blake,” I hesitate. “I’m not that big on surprises. I find they are highly overrated.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want to make too much of this. But I really don’t like surprises.

  Surprises are great when you’re a kid, like you got your first bicycle, or when the man in the red suit brought you your favorite Barbie doll. But grown up girls don’t always take to guy surprises, particularly if they are in the form of the ex-boyfriend in bed with another woman.

  “Hey,” he says and comes toward me.

  He’s looking right at me with a hungry expression, like he really wants me, like he’s almost begging me. I can see right into his eyes. If there was anything hidden surely I would see it there.

  “Hey, c’mon,” he repeats and strokes my cheek. “How can I surprise you if you already know what I’m talking about?”

  He advances on me like something wild. How does he do that? I’m just frozen as this wild hunk approaches me like some lethal tiger. That pleading voice and that soft dangerous stride toward me make me melt.

  “The thing about surprises is, they are a surprise.”

  He runs his finger down my nose, slowly over my lip and down my chin, his touch light as a whisper. I try not to shudder as he traces his finger along my shoulder and down

  I feel my skin tingling. I want this touch. I want him to go lower. I feel tight and loose all at once. His finger dances around my hips and I feel his hand stop at my waist.

  His other hand goes under my chin and to lift it. He dips in closer and I wait for his kiss. His lip brushes on mine ever so softly.

  Now I feel the slight pressure of his hand on my back and I fall in against him. I want more of him. I want his mouth open. I want the feel of his tongue. I want his hand lower.

  I run my hands around his back and feel the taut pillar of his body. He feels firm and warm, smooth and round and I want to let my hands go down to his buttocks and to pull him in tighter to me.

  I can feel myself melting; all of my worries are slipping away. I want nothing more than for him to takes his hands lower.

  His upper hand leaves my chin. He runs it slowly luxuriously, over my neck and collarbone until he finds my breasts. He slides it under my arm and drops it suddenly. Both of his hands are now spread over my butt and he draws me in.

  This is out of control. I’m frantic with desire.

  We have to stop.

  “As I recall,”’ I start but his lips shut me up. This time his tongue finds mine instantly.

  His hands leave their position and make their back up toward my breasts.

  “I thought we were going to do some work.” I manage to say but my own voice is lacking conviction. Sure, I came in here to pose for him so that he finishes the painting, but now…

  “I am working,” he mutters.

  I throw my head back, giggling.

  “There’s a distinct lack of paint brush.” I point out.

  Blake stops. He moves his hands off my breasts.

  My body aches for his touch. Please don’t stop I want to beg but I don’t. If this painting is to be finished Blake needs to keep painting.

  “I thought the painting was of a nude.”

  I know Blake plays havoc with my thoughts but I’m not following.

  Registering the confusion on my face Blake starts kissing my face and neck, his mouth moving down to my breasts.

  “I’m just helping you undress and get into the mood.” He says between bites.

  It is difficult to form any coherent thought.

  ‘“I don’t think this is going to work.” I make another attempt at getting Blake to focus on his painting. As much as I want this, I know he wants to finish this artwork too. And I’d very much like to see the finished painting.

  Blake stops again. My skin burns with desire where his lips had been.

  I feel him look at me.

  “I know your body so well, Katherine; I don’t need you to pose. I can finish the painting from the memory. Each and every part of your body is etched into my mind forever.”

  He kisses me again and his hands resume their wandering.

  Before I give in I try one last time to be the sensible one.

  “So you’re not going to paint me today?”

  His lips are near my ear, nibbling on my ear lobe.

  “Right now I’ve got more important things to do. Right now, I just want to be inside you.”

  Katherine

  My lips become his, and his lips become mine. Our mouth and tongues become one, and I close my eyes and surrender to desire.

  He grabs harshly on my skirt, tugs on the fabric and pushes it down. I sway my hips from side to side, just enough for the skirt to slide down my legs. The skirt taken care off, his hands dart straight to my blouse and he pulls it over my head, forcing me to raise my arms up in the air.

  “You look perfect,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost feel him peeling off my bra and thong with his eyes.

  He then lets his mouth roam to the valley between my breasts, my skin tracing the rising curve of both my breasts. As he does it, he takes his hands to my shoulder blades; the moment he finds the clasp of my bra, he undoes it.

  The cups of the bra droop over my breasts, revealing both nipples, and he holds his breath as he watches them fall down. Then, impatience suddenly taking over him, he reaches for one cup with his hand and simply yanks the whole thing off my body. I yelp as he does it, my nipples becoming even harder than before.

  He leans into me and with his mouth pressed against mine, our tongues dance around one another in a frenzy, and my anxious hands go down from his chest to his belt. I curl my fingers around it, eager to unbuckle it, but he stops me, yanking on my hair.

  “On your knees,” he tells me, his voice more commanding than ever…yet there’s a grin on his face. His words make my insides clench making me a complete wet mess. I don’t think I have ever wanted a man this much.

  “Oh, is that an order?” I ask him, a teasing smile on my lips. He yanks harder on my hair, forcing me to throw my head back and look him straight in the eye.

  “What do you think?” Just like that, I find myself obeying and going down to my knees, my hands running from his waist to his knees.

  I position myself between his legs, moving my hands up and down but never really going for his crotch. There’s already a hard shape there, straining against his pants, and even though I’m dying to set it free, I take my time.

  First, I want to tease him as much as I possibly can.

  “What shall I do first…?” I whisper, biting on my bottom lip and taking both my hands dangerously close to his crotch. The fabric under my fingers is already tented up, and I have to fight back the urge to simply grab his cock and stroke him over his pants.

  “I want you to use your mouth…,” he tells me with a grin, easing the pressure of his fingers on my head.

  Never taking my eyes out from his, I grab his belt buckle and, moving slowly, start to unbuckle it. It comes undone and I pull the belt out from its loops, letting it fall right on the floor.

  Using only my index finger, I let it go down to his crotch, tracing the contour of his thickness with my fingertip. I feel it pulse and throb, and my heart tightens inside my chest as
I realize that Blake is at my mercy…Or, maybe, the other way around.

  Slowly, I start to unbuckle his jeans, popping out the top button, as I feel his hardness pressing against the rough fabric. Without bothering to undo the rest of the buttons, I simply press the palm of my hand against his belly and let it slide down under the hem of his jeans, cupping his bulging shape over his boxers.

  Right after feeling the warmth coming from his crotch, I take my hand off it and start unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his pants, my fingers moving softly.

  Then, hooking my fingers on his boxers, I pull them down and his cock springs free almost too violently. As it jumps into sight, I feel the flames of lust dancing behind my eyes and I can no longer resist it – reaching for it, I curl my fingers around his thickness.

  He exhales sharply as he feels the touch of my fingers, and I hear his breathing grow heavier and heavier with each passing second. Using both my hands, I start massaging the bulging shape between his thighs, using my palms to press down on it.

  Bending over, I take my breasts to his crotch. Taking my hands out of his cock, I then lower my breasts over it. Squeezing them against one another, I trap his cock between them and start rocking my body back and forth, stroking him with my breasts.

  “Fuck, that feels so good…” He groans, bucking his hips against me. I grin as I do it, jerking him off with my bare breasts.

  Then, stopping for a moment, I take off his shoes one by one, and I pull off his pants and boxers both still wrapped around his knees.

  I slide my hands from his knees to his thighs, leaning in at the same time. I take my mouth dangerously close to his cock and, parting my lips, I reach for it with the tip of my tongue once again.

  Gently laying it over the tip, right where beads of pre-cum glisten, I then start running it around the head of his cock in slow circles. He throws his head back as I do it, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. I have to make a conscious effort to stop myself from swallowing his whole cock right away.

  “Fuck, just do it,” he groans, and his words assure me that I’m doing the right thing by torturing him like this. So, instead of opening my mouth wide and rolling my lips down his shaft, I just continue using the tip of my tongue to tease him.